Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Turning left and right around the mist clouding her vision—dense and thick to the point of no visibility from her hand outstretched in front of her. Smelling the air, no scent other than some iron. Ridiculously strong iron. Metal? Do rusting metal have smell? Nose scrunching in distaste, she lifted both hands and walked forward at a slow pace, moderate of how turtles move; slow but sure. 

At least that's what she kept telling herself everytime her trembling feet rise to the air and planted reluctantly to the ground. Another step, stand and pause, look around, and see nothing ahead becoming her routine. Straining her ears to hear any kind of sounds or interference to make something out of, she scowled and glared at nothing because there was literally nothing around her. 

What was this dream all about? Was there even a sense to continue on?

If she was going to get killed off, now was the perfect, ripe opportunity. Out here in the vast space of nothingness, thick mist for surprise ambushes. Isn't this a perfect prepping of jolting awake?

Anytime now...

Stopping once more, feeling her surroundings. She turned to one corner upon getting something from it. Someone was here with her. She wasn't totally alone. How long had they've been observing her?

Mid-point of locating and isolating the presence together with her; feet pausing mid-air, she slowly lowered it down where it formerly rose from and instead took a step back. 

... blankly staring at a silhoutte of a not-humanoid shape before her.

Taking another slow step back. That wasn't a someone. Not someone she'll classify as someone in her definition. In her human definition. 

That was a giant.

Where she was directly smelling the strong smell of rusting metal reeking above her head; the silhouette of what she was sure was a feet merely getting a whiff of the scent from.

Sensing she certainly wasn't alone anymore. Made out she wasn't alone in the first place, she followed with her eyes of the approaching figures emerging from somewhere she hadn't figured out yet—possibly dream magic?

A swirl of different scents of rust, who knew rust was a variety? Floated down in particles of condensed pack making her nose twitch. Holding a hand over to her nose, breathing through her mouth; she looked up as the mist gradually evaporated, revealing a detailed composition of metal creatures and, on closer look, texture of how rust incorporated itself in every spot she could see against the drastic space made possible by the severe height difference.

Counting mentally of how many they were. She, in a full circle, was surrounded by... a group of proportionally same structures in height as the first one she found. Not able to tell whether it was seven or eleven, she settled that they were more than two. 

This dream was wacky. To put this much detailing on this absolutely gorgeous, jaw dropping but foul smelling creatures? Crazy. And to spend another part of her to simulate this glitching effect on specific members at an interval? Like she said, crazy.

But she remembered not watching any robots, sci-fi lately. How did her mind conjured this much detail of moving, as if real creatures? If she didn't knew this was all a dream. She'd believed this was real.

Except she did knew it was a dream. And her dream always, more often than not, ended with her dying.

Crushed to death? 

That would be a new record, and sensation to unnecessarily know—wincing, she really doesn't want to wake up this way yet still pulled herself through; she had to finish this.

Tracing where the rough silhouttes stood surrounding her in a circle, studying the rust taking residence on their feet. She dared not to move closer despite the temptation; hands nervously flexing. Logically, by her mental count of every passing minute, this wasn't feeling like a dream but a horror suspense. Why hadn't they done anything? "Can you make it swift? A quick crush?" Demonstrating with the squalsh sound from her lips, the quick snapping of her palms together flat. Wincing from her loud clapping, the echo of her hands slapping together bouncing in every direction before awkwardly dying down, continued. "Like that?"

No response. 

Huh.

That was weird. Her dreams always somehow formulates a respond in anyway it can to maintain interaction with her. How come they were keeping silent? All the while, ignoring the thought, the possibility of this meeting being not any dream. 

It wasn't just possible.

"Or," dragging the word, she glanced around her surroundings. Still no visible changes. "You can direct me to a door and I'll leave peacefully. No harm done." Raising both arms in a mock surrender, not eliciting a response nor reaction from them. Tough crowd.

"Jazz."

Finally. She furrowed her eyebrows, politely smiling as her shoulders stood and her chin to rise in an attempt to distinguish any facial expression cues, "jazz? You listen to music?"

"Save... Jazz."

Eyebrows shooting up, opening her mouth then closing it; she mulled it over. Last she know, jazz was thriving very actively in the industry; people not getting enough of the sensual bass and instruments that make up the genre of jazz. It was a nice music, great for setting the mood. It was understandable otherworldly beings would've loved it, appreciated it. Or, the creatures her own subconscious manifested to her dreams.

She ignored the distorted voices for now, she'll think about that later when in the waking world. Maybe, maybe not. Probably not.

Summoning a bass out of thin air and cradling it to her hands, she fumbled a little in it's placement. Looking up at the once silent—probably—audience wanting to hear jazz that badly because why else would they demand her to save jazz? Probably haven't heard jazz in their dimension for so long they wanted to keep jazz from disappearing in this reality? Maybe? 

Well, if that was the one way ticket for her to get out of this. She'll show them jazz.

Strumming experimentally at the strings, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Hopefully, they'll forgive her for not being fluent in being a musician and not kill her off in the middle of a supposed performance. That would be tragic. For them, mostly.

Plucking a few strings, the scent of rust growing stronger and faintly remembering the group of feet closer than before. She bit back the thought of being crushed to death looking more and more an actual thing. Formulating a simple melody she once heard from surfing in the internet for a niche she had been hyperfocusing on that time. Mouth unclenching to lay some basic sounds to accompany the tunes, foot tapping lightly in beat, and swaying her hips a little—getting a little lost into the nice beat she created, grinning to herself while closely listening for anything to give something away, nothing.

Finishing it off with a long drawn out string left untouched; she, with the hope that they were satisfied, opened her eyes. The scent of rust lingering.

Must've appreciated the performance then.

Pausing, darting her eyes around to ensure this wasn't just another dream in a dream; she poked her finger to her hand. It didn't pass through. "Huh."

Acknowledging the smell of rust, the all too-detailed and shimmer of metal, the place being not anywhere she had been before. Thinking back, the atmosphere of being inside a church, any sacred spaces people usually visit to offer prayers and gifts. What if it was a prophecy?

... a prognostic?

Did they just gave her a sign on how the jazz industry would end? Pursing her lips, she hummed. 

Save jazz? The music genre?

Was this actually foretelling her future as a musician and not an artist? What if she's the next hit musician for jazz?

Well, she did have a nice voice. 

Snickering at the thought, it was worth considering. Standing from the chair she was previously leaning on, shuffling towards the small kitchenette to get a glass of water—not coffee, too bitter; not for her tastebuds and by proxy, definitely to her health. Coffee makes things harder to finish because it makes her sleepy, too drowsy. 

Taking a pitcher inside fridge, a cup on one of the drawers and pouring herself a drink. She gulped down the refreshing and welcoming drink; leaning on the drawer behind her, staring down on the ground. What did that mean? Was she supposed to take it seriously? 

"No one actually had the name jazz, right? At least the ones that are still alive? Plus, what are the chances of me meeting and saving jazz?" Asking the air, an invisible audience witness to her every pondering too many times, she turned to rinse off the cup and put it back to the drawer. Scoffing to herself, it was just another one of those ridiculous dreams. 

... the scent of rust still lingered.

Snapping her attention to her cellphone vibrating over to her workstation, eyesight returning to its original clarity as it come out of her thinking; she pursed her lips and approached the table, taking it to her hand and reading who the caller. The museum. 

Accepting the call, she put the phone to her ear with a pleasant smile tugging from her face; observing her drying sculpture with her fingers idly picking on the dried clay off her apron, the click indicating her call connecting with the person, she spoke first, "hello, you've reached Eloise Morgan Parker. What can I help you with?"

A date to showcase her work at that place, the section it would be put in, and of course, how much payment she'll receive from doing the commission. Since it was from a museum, she hadn't expected an hefty amount unlike from her well-off clients—still, on the flip side, it was nice to do mundane things that prove this was more than a profession. It was a passion. 

Additonally, one thing great about museums artist of all types love, most of the time, they'll give a general theme and the artist will have as many as creative liberties to work around on whatever they wanted to create as long as the theme was incorporated along.

The person happily said their farewells and well wishes for her to create more masterpieces. She ended it with a fond roll of her eyes, they seem like a fan; that was adorable. She should get in touch personally with the museum and get their name, make their day with an autograph from a piece she can freely give. 

Yawning, she wiped the stray tear edging from the corners of her eye. Sleeping would be the best solution for her now; brain bringing the fact of her earlier encounter within the dream realm, made her hesitate. 

Her eyes glimpse the huge blob of clay standing untouched from the corner of the room; biting down her excitement on starting another piece. Walking towards it with a bounce on her steps, hand gingerly tracing the rough shapes and envisioned how it would soon look from the rough sketches she had already mapped out from her sketchpad. It would look so pretty. So beautiful.

A wistful look in her eyes, she turned to the sculpture ready to be shipped off for a museum to keep. 

A figure of two people with lips barely grazing as unspoken words of secrets bubble from the tips of their tongues; eyes staring longingly with one another in hopes of conveying a message they couldn't dare utter outloud with their holding on eachother so desperately earnest. So needing of one another, a sensation of hunger as flesh gives underneath their fingers—so much of unsaid emotions they couldn't convey openly. She averted her eyes in a snap, smirking deprecatingly.

Time to let it dry at the dark. 

Taking a cart and wheeling it towards the direction of the pair, she with a grunt; picked the full bodied heavy set of two people in clay. It was heavy. Yet, long time experience of handling pieces double the height and weight of her became a norm; this was the expected weight for a piece and she knew that. Still didn't make her stop grumbling.

Understandably exhausted and carrying this much of a heavy structure is straining. It recently dawned to her that she could've dropped or slipped from carrying it but—shrugging her shoulders, it was done. Transporting it safely and making sure it won't fall; the only thing left to do is to wheel it to the storage room to let it fully dry.

"That's done," closing the door behind her, not letting it shut loudly as it could rattle the room containing delicate and easily breakable sculptures. She took off her apron over to her head and placed it somewhere around.

Just as she took a step forward, her whole studio shook. 

Literal vibrations of earthquake making her nearly lose balance; she kept her mouth close, eyes narrowing. Remaining crouched down to the ground; hands flat to the ground, the vibrations gone as quickly as it came, it wasn't questioned on how it could've passed by so quickly. 

Taking the messenger bag laying beside her canvas, stuffing it with her phone, charger, wallet, and her tools—pencils, sketchpad, sharpener, spatula—every art tool she had and can physically reach under limited time, she unceremoniously shoved without much thought of how heavy it would be or hard to navigate around. 

For precaution, she snatched the mask from her desk and sprinted to the storage room to chain a padlock and then bolting out of the door. 

Her eyes wide enough as she slung the bag roughly around her shoulder and equipping the mask around her face; instincts blaring warning sirens engulfing her eardrums, she just barely shut her door when her hearing picked up a distinct sound she wouldn't forget as her body whipped itself to the side. Sharp winds slapping her neck and parts available to feel, it was followed after a heavy thump so close to her—turning her whole head to look directly at the object lunged deep to her door as the latter broke from the impact of it.

Apparently, a huge debris can perfectly act as a substitute door if the old one doesn't do enough of a security to not let anyone enter. Even the owner.

Chest heaving up and down, eyes darting around to the chaos before her. She moved her body around the noise, looking for it and instantly regretting the very decision as she stared eye to eye at the same giant figure that just recently appeared in her dreams.

It truly wasn't just a dream.

Her body didn't froze. No, it moved even without her conscious knowledge like the ingrained instincts of any animal chased by the predator; sprinting towards to one of the covers. A safe place to hide. 

Stretching one leg to slide down as her whole body followed along, she gripped on the piece of ledge; belatedly realizing the mechanical being wasn't actually looking at her. It was looking through her.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she also followed its gaze and frowned when another mechanical she only noticed lay unmoving by her building—the visible cracks and still falling pieces of debris of the infrastructure showing evidence of something thrown at it. It wouldn't be hard for people to spew theories at the giant humanoid shape on an artist's building.

A mere spectator as the predator didn't budge from scrutinizing at the slouched figure; she stayed crouching. 

Watching with her heart living on her eardrums, they moved with heavy footsteps; what one would expect from a giant, the ground trembling under every step they took, she held tight on her position.

Save jazz. Save jazz. Save jazz.

(Save Jazz!)

Breathing sharply hitching, it wasn't a dream. It was a prognostic. A prophecy.

Biting down her lip, she anxiously watch back at the slowly approaching giant on the downed seemingly much more smaller mechanical being.

Her knees unbend to stand on her full height, her hand loosening around the rubble; she lowered her gaze and picked up a debris perfectly fit for her hand. 

—as if fate already foresaw and laid it out for her to follow through, she prepared her arm to throw the rock, taking a throwing position: one feet back and the other on front, body sideways with the dominant hand stretched beside while the remaining arm serve as a stabilizer and indirectly improving the aim.

She threw the debris with all she can, arm becoming light yet at the same time heavy as the rock was released from her grasp. Going slow-motion the moment it hit the back of their head with a solid clang echoing the place, then abrupt silence.

As if actually transported on a suspense horror, they slowly—almost purposely, flicked towards the origin with multiple eyes landing on her. 

The cannon they have for an arm warmed and in hissing gears, shifted to take aim at her as a gradual faint glow of it whirring to life made her wait for anticipation on moving at the last minute.

Hopefully.

Her concentration broke when a blur of swift movements caught her attention; diving to her side with a wide berth between the scorched ground and a gurgled scream shortly following it.

Curling her arms around her head and back turned at the rain of debris as it fell on her back and head, a burst of prickling sensation everytime small stones hit her, she opened her eyes. 

The mask fogging the clear plastic as her breath came out in hard pants, chest heaving up and down; she didn't dare raise the mask and looked up.

Wow.

The smaller being clambered around easily, as if wounds spluttering all over the place in their every movements didn't exist; they took out the cannon by slicing through with a sword and dislocating the arm off it's hinges until it snapped off with a sickening crunch.

A sharp whistle pulsating above their head, she hurriedly moved to cover herself under a building. Did the airforce came to eliminate the extraterrestrials?

Re-focusing her sight on the smaller being kicking themselves off the other by taking to the air in an acrobatic flip. Then, looking around with wounds littering their every part of the body. 

Their eyes, or... visors? A cracked visor in a beautiful shade of the same shade as the skies; they stood before her, armour bouncing back reflective light. The same mesmerizing visor staring straight to her with a tilt of their head.

Her unknowngly coming out of hiding, fully exposing berself to the still dangers encasing the place, basking on the first sunlight she had for weeks to simply get a closer look, mesmerized and taken by those visor.

Only after hearing another whistle above their head, they were the ones that broke off the staring contest. 

In a smooth flurry of movements, their whole body collapsed on itself to transform into something she should've expected. Only thing that took her off guard was them being a luxury car. A stylish Porsche? She wasn't too sure about any branded vehicles, she could be wrong.

Picking the distant whistle again, she jogged towards the maybe-Porsche with the door silently opened to the driver's seat; glancing at the dead body of a tank. She internally grimaced, that's a dead one for sure if she ever saw one again. 

"Should you drive in that condition?" Entering as carefully and as lightly as possible, she didn't sit on the seat until the seatbelt strapped itself on her and forced her down. "Do you have a medic?"

"Usually," an incredibly smooth voice worth swooning over for a mechanical species, anyone would've if in her situation, answered. "Humans scream their spark out in what ya just witnessed."

Raising one eyebrow, she took the door handle to shut it close—careful in her movements, it didn't properly close in how she handled it as the voice laughed at her. 

Never knew she had a voice kink. 

"And no self-preservation whatsoever, too. Man, how do you humans live for this long?"

She shrugged her shoulders, lifting off her mask from her face to properly breathe, resting to her head. Leaning on the seat—not saying a word when the seat readily meet her halfway, she blinked her eyes to stare at the radio. The steering wheel moving on its own as they drive, a metallic face—an insignia plastered right in the middle of the steering wheel. Cool.

"So, no medic then?"

"I'll put it off fo' now, does more damage than any cons 'round here. Name?"

They won't meet anymore. What's the harm of saying her name as a parting farewell? It was just a shame she hadn't study their body enough to replicate in her sculptures. And a voice recorder too. Damn. "Eloise Morgan Parker, and you?"

"Jazz, fancy meetin' you, Eli. Soo," she resisted a smile at how casually human they sounded, it was amazing. "Whatcha doin' outside? Not heard any soldiers evacuatin' the area or what?"

—wait, jazz? This was Jazz? The one she's supposed to save?

"Eli?"

Snapping her eyes at the radio, the acceleration gradually picking up until the line was over the speed limit—no wonder she didn't feel anything, they were driving that fast. Holding her messenger bag on her lap, she frowned and squinted her eyes at the radio. "Jazz, I'm no medic but it'll be, maybe, better if you get checked out first by a medic? Before going to fight again?"

Jazz laughed at her, their voice still the nearly same smooth quality of it except their engines were stuttering. The seats overheating as the air conditioners became a heater and recalling the bright blue liquid dripping off their body earlier; how were they driving in this state? And what was so funny?

They must've noticed her expression because they happily elaborated the reason she was searching for with a grin she could almost sense with their voice, "nah, don't go looking pouty on me. You humans are adorable enough as it is. I'll live, don't worry your pretty head."

As assurance, the seatbelt tightened in a form of comfort she didn't find all to inclined to believe. Their voice was subtly scratchy, the warm nearly unbearable they had to roll down their engines and their speed to drastically decreasing for the briefest moments before they gunned it with difficulty. It was hard to see them struggling and still manage a conversation with her.

But, for better or for worse, she soon find out why they were insistent on talking with her. 

The whistles is here with them, just above their heads and if the strong slapping winds entering their interior and rapidly cooling them down was any help; it was flying lower than an aircraft is permitted to be.

Quickly glancing at the silent radio, the only sign they noticed her realization is the seatbelt tightening and a purr from their overworked engines in an another attempt to console her like a child. And as every parent in their attempts, it didn't worked. 

"Jazz—"

"Ya stay safe out there, Eli." Their voice didn't contain a speck of nervousness she was actively feeling in her every bones, it was still happy. Juvenile. Casual amidst of a fighter jet flying low above them. "Go straight and you'll find the center. You're a smart little cookie, you keep safe, aight?"

Her hands moving from gripping her bag to holding on the seatbelt like a lifeline, she shook her head as they came to a slow gritting stop. Their brakes squealing in protest, she looked at the stereo with a frown. "Let's have your medic look at your wounds first. Come with me."

The door opened with a snap, nearly flying off its hinges. Jumping from her seat, gaze alternating from the outside and to the radio; keeping her clutch even as the seatbelt unclipped and did a tug of war with her, she didn't let go.

"Go. Get out." 

With the other hand, she pulled her mask down to her face with a final clench of her hands on the seatbelt, she let go. And the moment she did, it slithered back to its original position as if she burned them; turning her body to the side, glimpsing over her shoulder for one last look inside, she went out and closed the door as careful as she did before.

No laughter registered to her ears.

She took a step back—hesitant, should the door open again and they beckon her in again. They didn't. 

Instead of that, tyres harshly screeched against the pavements as the maybe-Porsche drifted; a gust of thick smoke resembling the fog from her dream hit her face as the smell of gasoline and something sharp she wouldn't know how to describe entered her nostrils and suffocated her with it; their blood. They sped through the horizon until simply becoming a dot to it, did she turned her eyes away with a scrunch to her eyebrows. 

The distorted words uttered by the creatures on her dream echoing like a ghost finding something to haunt; it found her and every single syllables haunted her.

By god, it haunted her.

Facing the other side, she saw the center every citizen knew in times like this. Taking a hesitant step forward; something reined her back in like a fish on a hook at full force, pausing and turning a full body degree to see what made her stop, she frowned in seeing nothing.

Nothing. There wasn't that ear deafening whistle in the air. There wasn't a maybe-Porsche revving their engine on the ground. It was just her that was left alone.

Save Jazz.

If she couldn't save Jazz; was there another way she can? 

A passing by of the familiar scent made her stop: the smell of rust. 

Sucking a deep breath, she released it and turned to the direction she was forcefully being pulled by an invisible force. Whatever that was, as long as it would help her.

This was a fool's errand. She could die from this.

The glinting visor flashing as clear as the side-mirror inside her mind made one certain leg take one step forward. As long as it would preserve the beauty that was Jazz. 

Besides, this wasn't her first rodeo on playing with her life on the line. 

It was, however, a first of putting herself in active danger for someone other than herself. Other than for her own benefit, that is.

Starting out in a walk then a speedwalk then a jog until breaking out into a sprint; as light as a feather on the soles of her feet despite the exhaustion fighting as fiercely in making her stop and turn around, for logic to reason vehemently against her will. 

For every sides or open corners, her head whip to survey any alleyways, sharpening other senses in finding for any clues or a hint to something that continued to tease her in chasing for; she narrowed her eyes when those whistles came by again. Pushing her legs, mentally thanking herself for joining the track team.

The scene of blurred burned down buildings flashing by the peripheral and the scent of it lingering in the air as if she was heading to her personal death. She didn't falter, stubbornly pushing on.

Abruptly stopping with her feet twirling as her body naturally followed the gesture, controlling her breath in measured pants to not fog the mask too much. She couldn't be wrong on the faint movement that happened from the corner of her eyes in the limited eye vision the mask offered, she turned towards a particular alley. 

The pulling worsening with every step until she was sure her feet wasn't the only one making her step inside; her nose twitched, the concentratrated smell of metallic she was all too familiar with thick throughout in the air, that wasn't good. 

Her eyes flashed with concern on the puddle of blood surrounding a body. 

Immediately dropping to her knees, skirt flowing and spreading in an elegant ball of cloth soaking blood to the ground like sponge. Assessing the condition of the person; she lightly touched around their bodies to press on wounds and gauge for reactions. The tips of her fingertips feeling on the bloodied part that was definitely a wound; the person, she recognized as a boy, groaned. It must be painful but he was alive. Barely. She wasn't a medic to exactly know what threshold of pain would either knock him out cold nor keep him alive. It was good as long as he's alive.

"Deep breaths, deep, deep breaths." Lifting the mask enough to expose her mouth, she lead an example of breathing loudly, inhaling and exhaling through her mouth; the boy following along, slowly lifting the bloodied shirt. Frowning at the deep slash on his stomach bordering through his navel in a long almost as if one was scratched by a tiger with one claw. It was long and deep, it secretly surprised her his guts wasn't what appeared. Either this was going to be casterize or stitches.

Looking down on herself, stopping from loudly breathing once he got himself under control; she took off her shirt leaving herself on her sports bra; tearing off the fabric in a long one then putting it flat on his stomach and without a pause, rolling to secure the man-made bandage, working quick and fast to finish this off as soon as possible with the idea of relieving him from the blood loss and for another thing, wholly certain at the whistle approaching in a great distance, was for them.

A cold limb limply held her arm, looking down and meeting the glossy eyes of the boy. She stroked his hair and firmly wiped the blood and dirt of his face—a freshly patch of hot tears gushing out on his cold skin, she also gently wipe that away. Such a young boy in this area left in this condition. Was he involved with that object? Holding his hand with her, she clenched it with her warm ones. A choked sound coming from him, she looked above them, narrowing her eyes and scowling. She looked down at the vulnerable boy in the verge of breaking down.

"It's not safe here." pulling the mask down, the whistles moving closer, they need to move. "Put pressure on your wound, I'll carry you."

Putting her arms under his knees and upper back; she, on one knee, carefully stood up. The boy was light, lost too much of his blood; they'll need to find a donor for him as soon as they're inside the facility which would take them fifteen minutes with running on an added weight. Checking briefly if her bag strap was aggravating his side, finding him no trouble with it; she looked around as the tugging hadn't gone away yet.

"Cu.. be..."

Scrutinizing their surroundings for the alleged cube; he better not be hallucinating with time they could've been used for getting away falling amongst the grains of precious sand inside the hourglass. 

A stench of familiar metallic foul smell similar to blood, a glint of something from the corner of her eyes. She whipped her head towards the directions her instincts and the sensations were screaming to her. 

Walking with not a feet lifted up the ground too high to reduce shaking the boy; stared at the... cube. It really was a cube. A cube with glyphs scribbled all over it. 

Nudging it to a wall, cornering with a feet to kick it up and swiftly going forward for her forehead to catch it mid-air then push it back to the wall. She hissed, good thing she wore the mask, "can you take the cube?"

A faint whimper, one trembling hand balanced the cube precariously before another shot up to take the other side when it threatened to tip over and waste her efforts in holding it up. Only when he got a firm grip did she move her head away, letting the cube fall to his hands as he put it directly above his stomach wound. That had to hurt.

Turning around, striding towards the abandoned motorcycle leaning across the alleyway, she laid the boy to sit down on the seat, him leaning on the wall with eyes closing but still breathing through his mouth. Faint breathing. She had to hurry.

Kneeling on one knee, knocking off the slot to tinker on the wires—secretly hoping this wasn't one of those mechanical beings, she went to work on taking two wires and hotwiring it; internet being a handy place to know nice illegal things to do resulting in prison, serving jail time. 

A spark and it worked, motorcycle loudly revving as she, clutching the handle, revved it more, smirk, "nice." 

Mounting the motorcycle with the boy in front, she caged him with her legs to keep him from falling off and let his upper body to lean on the motor, taking the cube from his hands and stuffing it inside her bag. This position would restrict the steering but—a better idea flashed inside her head. Mindfully lifting the boy, turning him towards her direction, and leaning his head to her nape as his chest pressed on her own; she shivered at the blood's texture felt by her bare skin. This was fine.

"Let's see how much of a fast-learner am I." Revving the engine, she briefly checked the fuel gauge and saw it was halfway empty; steering the handles to her left as she kicked off the stand by the back of her shoe and accelerated forward, the boy wrapping his arms on her nape securely and the cube on her bag remained. 

The whistles finally came around and she pushed the engine to a throttle, exiting the alleyway and letting the wind whip towards her shivering body; swerving to the side, a missile barely missing as it exploded the moment it touched the ground, it didn't hit them as badly because she managed to drive in front. The explosion propelling them forward by the force, she lean back as the bumper of the motorcycle lifted up, nearly joining with the debris flying through the air.

Her body grew colder when the boy lifelessly slumped forward, his head lolling off to the side as it fully rested on her nape with no resistance than the one he showed earlier. She leaned back more and basically used herself as a bed so he wouldn't fall backward and slam his head on the controls. 

A shift in the air and a sound she shouldn't picked up, she turned to the side; keeping her scream inside when a turret of bullets rained on them while the direction she avoided a missile passed them by. Caging them to a trap, one of the many bullets popped one of the wheels and they swerved. 

Her hands frantically fighting for control, a losing fight; she hit the brakes and clutching the boy close with her bag inbetween them, jumped off the motorcycle to land on a ground at a rough roll. 

Ignoring the burning scratches from pavements rubbing, scratching her bare skin, the boy groan underneath her. Consoling him quickly by patting his hair and murmuring quick apologies, she stand quickly as the rain of bullets didn't stopped, a shout above her head; another distinctive sound of deafening guns going off in front of them and she caught a glimpse of neon green paint. But before her mind wandered off to ponder what exact shade it was, her legs took them to the center.

All throughout it, carrying the boy on her arms. Her mask had completely fogged up and completely against her wishes, she took it off her face by any means as it flew to the ground; gaining purchase for a broader range of vision, she continued to find someone amongst everyone to leave the boy with. 

Eyes finding a person, she sharply turned to a man in uniform. Not a civilian, knows basic first-aid, disciplined; a soldier, doable to take the boy from her.

Handing the boy to him who fumbled in receiving, she hissed at the burning sensation spreading steadily on her arm as it flared, one eye squinting in pain, she didn't put her bloodied soaked hands anywhere near it, "whose handling this rubik's cube?"

Whip-plashed, the man froze from further examining the teenage boy as his eyes trailed on her bag where said cube was peeking out of shyly. "Shit." A mantra of the same word repeated a couple of times while she plainly stood in the cold presence of the winds slapping her bare bloodied upper body, she frowned. Wildly looking around him, he softly cursed under his breath one more time before looking at her with a nearly nervous look under the guise of a tough look, "find the truck with red flamed decals in blue finish. Won't miss him. Go!"

"Oh, you must be kidding me—"

"Go!" The man fully set on glaring at her, she briefly spotted multiple tents standing behind them and reluctantly turning her body on one point, she longingly gaze at the tent before looking forward.

Spotting another motorcycle wheeled off by another soldier, this time, it was a branded type meant for style and speed. Who was leaving their vehicles in this place? And how would she find that red flamed decals in this city? Are they going to shoot a beam like batman to make things easier for her?

Jogging where the vehicle was, she made the soldier turned to face her and giving a charming smile, she rested one hand on the seat, "mind giving it up?"

Her eyes staring at her face, a blush gradually crept on her face as she visibly gulped and trailed her eyes down to her body; checking her out quietly, seeing the toned abdominal muscles and her overall form—let it be unsaid of how she blatantly ignored the blood on her body for the sake of ogling, she shakily released a breath and step aside, "all yours."

"Thanks!" Mounting the vehicle, checking for the stand and kicking it up, she revved the engine and looked over her shoulder to see the soldier still blushing at her, she grinned playfully at her, "see you around." 

Then, she drove off.

As the wind whipped on her face freely this time, she bit the nervousness emerging at the sharp whistles clearly following after her without shooting at her yet despite of their earlier intentions of shooting her dead with the boy. 

The realization was easy to spot on, to identify. They were toying with her. In other words, wanted to see how long before she give up. "Fucker."

—unbeknownst to everyone else, the cube glowed with a beat from it's intentional pauses and flashes; glowing the longest in the end before slowly fading out, glyphs fading to its dirty gray the way it had been perceived by the audience before.

Chapter Text

The sun was fast setting to a rest.

Skidding to a clumsy stop as she drifted over the pavement with beginner's luck aiding in getting out with a few scratch to the side of her legs under the skirt. She, propping the stand down and dismounting off the vehicle, closely listened for any whistling, where was her captor? Did they bored chasing after her?

Wearily looking around her; she stood up to her numb, cramping feet and clutching the bag to her chest tightly, her phone surviving through it all by staying buried to her pocket. She, trepidation on everything she picked up on, roam cluelessly on the once recognizable landmarks she walked upon, all wrecked in havoc and flames—one of the survivors of the mess. The place she knew devastated from an unknown mechanical species. 

And, unfortunately for her, her instincts found her captor: watching above the building like a hawk to a mice. 

The animal discovery she used to let drone on the background while doing her work turned on inside her mind, the fascinated voice of the narrator uttering of a hawk infamously known to play with their food, firstly reducing it to strangled mess of turning it inside out before feasting on it; she clenched the bag tighter, how reassuring.

It was downright bone chilling how they could easily swoop down and dragged her of to who knows where, arms tensing—she bit down her lip from making any noises as the scratches on her arm tested her perseverance.  

And like they always say to ignore the supernatural and getting their attention aim at you for noticing them, she didn't show anything of already noticing their presence. However, even without her looking at them, it was apparent they chose to perch in somewhere she could clearly see them. It was all intentional.

Again, fucker.

Bag pressing to her chest, face exposed outside for any vulnerabilities she had no doubt they were scouring around for, searching for a moment of distress, of weakness to swoop in where she was weakest. She kept her face and eyes down, nose pressing to the cube—her breathing hitch.

The smell of rust.

The cube smelled exactly the same rust she smelled back then. The dream wasn't a dream. It really was a prophecy. 

The cube had a connection with those creatures. It had to be.

Keeping her head down, she limped to seek refuge under the bullet torn sheds for cover. A useless thing to temporarily shield her from the intense stare. Although as futile as a mice hiding from the hawk set on it, it was exactly the faux comfort that she needed at the moment.

Her eyelids shuttering, a shiver ran down to her arms and to the dried blood on her chest to stomach, her nose scrunched in distaste. The smell of blood as it dried and clung to her every movements was disgusting; biting her lip and looking on her side, she search for a place to hide. 

Still, seeing that her captor was very much still interested in watching her struggle for survival before swooping in for a kill. She, a fly flying straight to a spider's web, continued on. Her legs shaking in inevitable fear she deeply felt, resonating on every bone as thoughts swirled on what-ifs. 

There won't be this any what-ifs if she died.

A hand stretched to touch the wall and merely following where it'll guide her to be with her ears on high alert, this would be a great time for the red flamed decals to appear. Not pausing to hear if they do, the wall she was following curved sidewards and she followed in to an alleyway. A decent sized alleyway.

Cold and dark. The echo of her footsteps was deafening, she entered more; the sun behind her back providing no solid light to shine through. A start of engines from above as her figure disappear inside; turning her head with squinted eyes, somewhere a constant drip, drip, and drip of liquid around a corner, she walked more and narrowed her eyes as an almost quiet noise of engines reach her ears. 

Engines?

The familiar smell of sharp tinge she couldn't formerly and even now, describe made her stop. Could the steady dripping come from someone alive? 

No, no, no. Retracing her footsteps as quietly as she came; the engines abruptly halted and quieten down eerily, intentionally stopped.

"Eli?"

No.

A whisper of the prophecy foretold passing through the winds and making it inside her ears made her stiffen more, keeping her mouth tightly shut, she gazed at the perfect mimic of blue skies kept inside a visor reflecting her own blurry silhoutte in it; looking behind her and almost to the fading light touching her back—she wouldn't do this to them. They saved her. 

She wasn't going to be their demise for their death. She was supposed to save them. Not kill them.

"Pretty, pretty human, missed me?"

You shouldn't have come back. Her eyes searching for any movements from the cracked visor, a movement to the air and she was carefully tugged forward to be engulfed by the dark once more, refraining from hissing when cold metal touched the scratches on her arms, it slid down to her back; noticing her reaction. A cold metal curling around her waist guide her to their slouched body; the visor illuminated their surroundings as she was bathed in its blue glow, she hugged the bag tighter than ever before, drowning in the scent of rust. Preferring the foul stench of rust than the sharp tinge of smelling their blood.

Somehow, the alleyway became colder than before. Dropping a few temperature as her body shivered, she focused on the cradled gathered warmth on her chest.

"You're injured," she whispered, bag coming down to her chest and laying on her lap, eyes tracing closely scratches and dents across their armour within grabbing proximity. Her hands let go of the bag and stood from their lap, them looking at her without a word.

Tilting their head, visor discreetly shifting hues and values to probably convey whatever emotions they were feeling. They jerked their hand away from its placement on her back, quietly watching her take off her skirt with engines slowly whirring to the background, and asked, amused, "what're you doin'?" 

Stretching the fabric, turning her head with eyes squinting, she thought of how to cut through her skirt the same way as she did with her shirt. And wow, did she wore clothes for this sole purpose? If she had known she'll be closing wounds, a medkit would've been brought along. "Stopping the blood. Do you have any sharp things? Knifes? Claws?"

A schilck close to her, they presented their finger with a claw—a sharp gleaming claw. 

"Why?" He asked.

"Because you'll bleed out from this state."

Yet she had a strong feeling it wasn't about his injuries. It was something deeper, something he was personally confused of.

Jazz smiled, watching her firmly push the skirt under his claw and thus, ripping the fabric to a man-made bandage, "you don't have to go this far, y'know."

"Where are you leaking?"

"Seriously—"

Stubborn, they were stubborn. Trusting her nose to lead where the smell was strongest, she easily find some glowing substance dropping to the ground. Maneuvering herself to climb down from their lap, she knelt before a gaping wound. Scrunching the cloth, estimating if it would fit through the hole or not, she took her chances and carefully wedged it in—hearing a sharp intake from them, she fixed its position to spread inside while pulling some outside.

Stepping back, looking down to her hands thoroughly stained with their blood. Their blood isn't probably poisonous, just like their own. Probably. 

Frowning, they carefully took her back to their lap once more; turning her around and over with light touches from their fingers, examining her condition as their engines released a low growl. It made her reluctant to look up as she looked straight ahead for the gradual darkness to take over outside, "they didn't send you off by your lonesome, did they?"

They did. 

"I came back for you." She said lowly, taking the bag and raising it for them to see, their engines stuttering at the sight of the cube as she took it out of the bag and laid it to their palm. 

Their hand curling around the cube, the stench of rust overtaking her senses. The finger delicately touched the cube from her bag, she watched as the cube didn't do anything. Was it supposed to do anything at all? Her chest tightened, throat constricting as shaky fingers—one they hid so well until to this moment—handed her the cube to her arms; she took it with her own, eyes looking as lost as her expression spoke volumes in which they blissfully ignored in favor of stroking her hair. They handed it back to her.

Why did they hand it back? Why didn't the cube, one who answered her call and smell the same as the creatures in the prophecy, do anything?

After the creatures practically begging, screaming at her to save Jazz and she had given them the means to do it. They stand back?

Her gaze darkened.

A finger ruffling her hair, engines dying down to a soothing thrum and purr, she felt their gaze straying on her body as their finger gently outlined the blood on her bare stomach, a quiet contemplation as she let them, reluctantly leaning the side of her head to them; hoping it wasn't an injury she was resting on. A warm vent of air descended down at her, "took ya outta the fray and ya come runnin' back." 

Unclenching her fists, glaring at the cube on her lap. She put her hand on top of their finger, feeling it stiffen and stay in its position as she slowly guided it down to her lap, effectively encasing her lower half with it alone, the cold metal feeling warm to her bare thighs, "yeah, supposed I did."

Albeit her tone was dismissive, casual. Her fears were confirmed when the whistles settled above them, engines cutting off; their gaze not only focusing on her but as well as taking the new prey to feast on.

"I always wanted to go out with style."

"What?"

Their finger stroking her cheek, they said, "you're a smart cookie, Eli."

They were sacrificing themselves for her. For this cube that didn't do anything for them and still, and still kept tugging at her. "No, don't tell me." Cutting them off from speaking as harshly in her voice that broke, she didn't made it this far only for them to willingly die for this cube—she didn't throw her logic, instincts, and common sense for them to end up dead and her failing in what initially brought her back, "we'll find another way—"

They shook their head back in forth, a slow agonizing motion they hissed in pain from, "there is no other way. It's war, Eli. This is how it always end." They paused, considering it shortly as they looked up and leaned to the wall behind them; a transformation sequence starting on their arm as a gun appeared to the hand they retracted from touching her hair; snickering in amusement, mused loudly, "I guess that's just another sign how you humans live for so long. You survive in wars, and you'll survive this too."

"You'll survive too." She didn't like how sure they sound in their words. They were willing to die for someone they hadn't known that long to be even considered worth saving? Her hands reduced into a shaking thing surely not suitable for her profession, knees buckling and as their other hand catch her on instinct; letting her lean to their stomach with her back on it, hand encasing her figure.

"How touching."

Suddenly, before being made aware of it; Eloise was taken into their hand and roughly shoved under a series of rapidly shifting metal accommodating her sudden appearance with the cube following after her shortly. 

Hissing, her arms flaring at being pressed on, she sat up. Eyes moistening at the dawning realization, she helplessly curled around the cube; fully knowing this was something important for them if they were so willing to die for it, "—do something." Whispering under her breath so desperately like a string of mantra with religious fervor, clenching her eyes shut and taking deep breaths; anticipating on bated breath with her pulse deafening her eardrums for something that she knew would happen outside.

"... please." Don't make me regret picking you up.

The cube glowed once more, little tendrils emerging from within as it reached after her without a moment of pause. The glyphs gradually glowing with incandescent sensations as it pleasantly warmed her quivering body; it was merely the start, as bit by bit, the heat build up—a campfire to a sauna to an erupting volcano, to until it was burning her flesh. Too painful to hold.

—and like hell if she was going to let go. 

A whimper escaping past from her bleeding bruised lips. The tolerable light beaming like staring straight at the sun like Icarus once did, it shine under her eyelids and a searing pain literally burning through her arms and chest caused her to muffle her screams by directly slamming her forehead to the cube and redirecting all attention on the beating pain to it.

Lifting her head, eyesight doubling and dizzy; momentarily forgetting what was happening as she, licking the substance dribbling down from somewhere, tasted... blood. Her eyes looking straight-ahead, glazed over as she tried to make sense of what was happening; focusing on trying to smell for something.

The burn of rusting flesh assaulting her nostrils snapped her to reality as tears rolled off her cheeks, dripping to the sides of her arms and like rubbing salt on open wounds—she choked a sob, body rapidly heating beyond what was considered normal; she tucked her head down, biting her lips and curling further if only to muffle the screams threatening to come out any second as the biting flames licked her skin clean off like a tiger's tongue and thickly rushing through her blood with boiling intensity of a scorching heat of the sun. 

Tasting blood and snot, it felt like an eternity when only seconds went by. Seconds of experiencing how witches underwent burned to the stake felt. 

Blinking her eyes, the urge to puke even on an empty stomach strong, she focused her other senses to something else whilst taking deep breaths to regain her bearings; her nerves, without a doubt, all fried from how numb she was feeling. That was supposedly a bad sign and it was because as she tried to will her fingers to close on the corners of the cube, it didn't move. Her eyesight blurry and readjusting at the sudden absence of light inside the cavity she was shoved in and leveling her breathing as if that would stop making everything spin and stop her from the feeling of light-headness that she knew she shouldn't cave in to. 

Gradually as her senses adjusted, sounds from the outside world filtered to her as the ringing disappeared along with the pain numbing her arms and chest from the burns she endured. (And somehow survived from.)

Trying with her fingers again, she choked a sob when it still didn't move in her command. Her eyes blurring as tears edged to the corners, rolling down hotly to her cheeks. She closed her eyes, if only to protect her own self from the sight of her own limbs fried. 

Footsteps stopping a decent distance across them, a rough hissing she didn't understand to the being speaking in mechanical clicks, she focused all herself to the conversation, "hand over the Allspark and I'll make your death quick."

"Anythin' else on the menu?" 

"Last chance, autobot!"

"Heh." She weakly thunked the side of her head on something and leaned closer to the cold metal behind her back, finding comfort at the coldness of it against her almost bared scorching back. "Over my dead body, Screamer."

A rapid jolt and a sharp whistle of something thrown to the air and vaguely, she heard it explode as a single scream erupted from the action—an enraged scream intensifying in its loudness, she was shaken around with every shot they aimed at her captor. 

Multiple sounds of gunshots close to her, sounds of explosions going off in multiple successions as vibrations went pass her body like an earthquake; another explosion and Screamer's voice releasing an unholy scream.

Grunting in effort and engines giving one final roar, their shots stuttered and as birds was famously known to especially attack at the show of any weakness; a violent shake and this time it wasn't from Jazz. Even as they resumed from the erratic pace they were shooting at the other, their fate was sealed.

It was the same seconds long whistle but this time, thrown at their direction.

The explosion in the same vicinity at such a close proximity with just nearly nothing shielding her from it except the closed armour in front of her. 

It detonated off, washing over her scream like tidal waves as her arms tried to cover her ear from permanently going deaf as the spot she was in violently rattled and shake, she didn't want to think what she thinks that happened. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be, it only took a minute—screaming as light flooded into her space, her eyes closing and turning her whole body away with her back exposed to the unwelcomed light; her arms found the cube and hugged it, pressing it to her newly gained wounds.

Screamer snarled and hissed, sharp whistles coming from their vocalizer as they probably curse her out, they carelessly and without remorse, dug their sharp claws inside and drag her out screaming and kicking, claws digging to her skin that bled and dripped down the sides of her thigh to gather on her skin-tight short.

Weakly crying out, half-lidded eyes not seeing the same blue skies anywhere on them—her eyes watered and chest heaving for a desperate call for oxygen as she clutched the cube on her. The sharp prickling sensation by her hips all too noticeable to ignore.

"Pathetic!"

Blurry sight earnestly searching for the deep blue encased within their visor, she was cut off as Screamer whirled her around and directly looked into narrowed red eyes. 

"Such primitive creature. Weak." They spat out, other clawed hand plucking the cube from her arms—she didn't readily gave in and did a tug of war with them, they growled; her arms too numb to register anything anymore, her hands permanently closed around in the same position to clutching the cube. "Disgusting." Ending the farce, they curled their fingers on the top and bottom of it and wretch it out of her grasp as chunks of her skin stuck glued to the object. 

They glared at the grotesque imagery and inwardly tightened their grip around her hips, claws digging deeper making her cry.

The cube safely in their hand and seeing no purpose in holding her anymore. They held her up more highly than before with a manic smirk spreading in their face at the dim lightning. Their eyes flashed at her, "pathetic, primitive, weak creature." They said sweetly in whistles that sounds wind chimes on an idle day, their eyes meeting her own frightened in the reflection of their eyes; she looked down and knew that the ground shouldn't extended farther than the initial traitorious height from it—a blackhole, she didn't knew how far she was up. 

A grating mechanical laugh, she looked up to see their eyes brightening in amusement as the pressure within her hips lessened, slipped out. 

Hands somehow managing to grip at the very edge of the metal, she hissed as flesh pressed on the cold metal and clutched on, her own weight dragging her down; a thousand ants crawling on her arms as her legs dangled terrifyingly at nothing; tears streaked down her face and she tearfully looked at the unsympathetic grinning captor, "no, no, no, please—" 

Laughing, they cocked their head to the side and raising their wrist to be on their eye-level, they smiled at her sweetly, "see your disgusting autoscum on the well."

That she wholly understood as they flung her to free-fall.

Rushing winds whipping her body refusing to curl into a ball mid-air; refuting her internal commands. She shielded her arms around her face, knees slightly bend. The several hundred feet they held her over in feeling like falling off of a building but without a parachute to safely make her landing. Her bag spilling the contents into the air, she held the empty bag around the side of her head, closed her eyes and willed her body to relax, angling herself partially standing; bracing for impact. She crashed to the ground with not even a sound coming out of her lips.

Crack.

—just an audible dull crack echoing the dark alleyway.

Her body falling forward the same as the human materials fall on her body. Somehow, having the coherence to muffle her cries in every object hitting any part of her body; body trembling as she coughed blood from her mouth, spilling it to her hand and dripping down in thick; they tilted their head and quietly watched her for a moment with interest.

"... Not so weak, after all." Transforming into the fighter jet with red accents—she still somehow managed to notice under the multiple figures of the fighter jet, they blasted off the dirt from the ground and into the air, quickly taking off to the skies. 

The sun had fully set to a rest.

Leaning forward to wipe the freshly squeezed cloth to his burning forehead, Mikaela pursed her lips. How did Sam found his way back here? Who saved him? 

Where was the cube? 

Absent-mindedly wiping and dipping, squeezing the cloth in a routine her body had fallen back on the times her own father, brave as he was, was also careless—fell ill to his own persuasion of doing more. Making more money for them. For her.

A chattering to the side briefly catching her off from her thoughts; shifting her attention towards the noises, tilting her head slightly where it was to hear better, hands still mechanically moving on wiping Sam down.

"Prepare a search party. Jazz's body is still not found—mobilize every abled-soldier available." Lennox ordered, his eyes focused outside and wiping blood from his hands with a spare cloth.

Jazz hadn't returned yet? Body not found, what? Was he dead or something? Slowly putting the cloth to the basin sitting in between her feet. Head swiveling to find where was Lennox, she stood up, chair scraping as it was pushed back and she made her way to Lennox, dodging a few soldiers on the way going each to their own ways by the orders of their captain. She slicked beside him.

"What happened?"

"No. You're not getting on any of this, kid." Putting the bloodied cloth to the crate close by, he clicked his tongue at her and frowned, "you put yourself in enough danger. This isn't your job to do."

This isn't your job to do rang too close with Trent, perfectly aligning with her former boyfriend's every word denying her the same privileges as him when she probably knew his beloved truck better than him. That asshole. Her eyes narrowed, "we, as much as you, put ourselves in danger. We had every right to know what the hell's going on."

"That may be, but it still don't change your status as civilians. And as I remember, civilians don't do military protocols."

"Put me with your soldiers then if you're soo concerned over our safety." She hissed, readily meeting Lennox's glare with her own, silently challenging him despite the obvious difference in strength and power. A predetermined winner she was all-too willing to flip over, as brave and as careless as her father.

A familiar sound of sirens broke the staring contest, Lennox's arm snapping to snatch her arm, coiling with a tight grip making the other side of her lips to rise, latching like a snake to a mice. She pulled her arm with half of her body tugging in one strong pull, glaring after putting a distance between them, "you never said anything going with an autobot."

"Mikaela—"

"—and I don't care if you did." She ran on the high chances Lennox chase after her, not looking over to her shoulder if he did as her hand outstretched and gripped open the handle to open the door, launching herself to the seat and shutting it with a concrete bang shaking the interior.

Ratchet grunting at the impact, a gentle yet warning growl of his engines, she offered a sheepish smile in return.

The door locked just as Lennox stood in front of the door, glaring at the window as his mouth opened to talk with her chosen chauffeur. 

She stuck her tongue out, smiling victoriously over herself whilst chasing after her breath, body relaxing when Lennox stomped his way back.

Eyes flickering over the dashboard, she leaned forward over on the mirror, fixing her hair a little and briefly smiling at her reflection. The low glow of the white headlight shining below the ground illuminating her features and she cringed at herself. "Anything, Ratchet?"

"Optimus and Ironhide are searching for Jazz. Idiot spread his signal all over the place. I'm leaving the searching for them." The steering wheel started to move as Ratchet drive, "we'll search for a human civilian." 

"Why would he do that to his signal?"

A splutter on the radio as if he failed to understand her confusion then silence; a deep sigh made her frown deeper as the seatbelt slid down and strapped her down securely, tugging at it for something to fiddle on if anything else. Accelerating, the dashboard with a holographic screen came to life; showing a beeping red dot moving towards a map with not a red dot around them, "to confuse enemies. Scrambling a signal or making multiple points is a great distraction to waste time."

"Wouldn't that be the same for you too?" 

A grunt from him, she rolled her eyes at such lackluster reply. 

Turning to the side, an object catching her attention from the reflective sheen; her breath got stuck on her throat. Blinking, she delicately picked a welding mask from the passenger seat with a paling face. 

Mission City was her hometown. 

She didn't see her amongst the crowd of other civilians back there. This wasn't any ordinary welding mask, her fingers rubbing the initials engraved on the edge, her fear intesified.

"Your heart rate is increasing, releasing heat and rapidly cooling of body. Are you alright, Mikaela?"

"Shit, Ratchet. Why do you have this?" Waving the mask to the dashboard, Ratchet hummed.

"The civilian we are searching for." Glaring at the dashboard, Ratchet released another mechanical sigh, "what else do you want?"

"Why—she isn't the one that took the Allspark, right?" Ratchet, sensing her increasing levels of nervousness, didn't answered. It didn't bore results he was looking for, "right, Ratchet?"

"What is her significance to you?"

She, bewildered, gaped at the stereo. Oh my god. She took the cube. Lennox didn't order his men to search for her, he disregarded her. Ratchet was the only one to actively have some concern over her.

If she hadn't heard Ratchet back there...

He might've not confirmed it but he might as well have, "big. My role-model. We have," choking on her words, the seatbelt soothingly tightened around her chest, "we have to find her, Ratchet."

"And we will, Mikaela." He said immediately, with all the reassurance and confidence he had and it was set to stone. A medic, taken by the oath and believing all were important; he was pretty convincing. She gave a watery smile, not voicing how his tone softened and simply nodded her head. All the while, clenching the precious object close to her chest.

Flipping to watch outside and tempted to sound the sirens and hoping to have someone walk out from the sounds of it. She stopped herself, the idea of potential decepticons lurking around the area making her bite her lip—made her stop, it wouldn't be a bright idea to bring attention to themselves. Looking down at the dashboard where a miniature GPS on their moving signal and, gasping; she lurched forward from her seat to stare at another signal barely beeping in response at just around the corner, inside an alleyway.

An alleyway. She let herself hope that Eloise managed to get away, found a hiding place to keep herself safe.

"Don't enter yet." Ratchet said. She didn't respond, too busy unclipping the belt over her chest, "Mikaela, do you understand?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It matters because it concerns your life."

She stopped abruptly. Her life? "My life? Like, life or death?"

"Yes."

Ratchet hit the brakes and opened the door, her hands weakly taking ahold of the seatbelt, earlier eagerness wearing off like old socks as she relucantly looked outside from the window. 

He must've known better than to joke about this, right? Medics don't joke around, right?

A click made her jump, turning towards the opened glove compartment; she let go of the seatbelt and took a flashlight from inside, clutching then wondering if she had really a use for this when she had Ratchet to basically become the sun with his headlights. Still, she held the flashlight close to her and by the door opening, went out and stepped to the ground. Standing close with her back practically leaning by the ambulance.

"Take the stretcher by the back." Ratchet said.

And by all means, she wasn't easily scared. No, not her while growing up in an environment where kids no matter the gender, would've made a fuss, throw a tantrum. Yet, there was something eerie in going back, walking, taking in the effects of a clear battle resulting this much destruction, of this feeling of fear, of anticipating anything to jump at her while vulnerable in the open. The smell of blood didn't made things better but that was nothing more than rusted metal. Those two do smell similar, she was simply mistaken. Eloise—is fine, will be now that they're here. Willing her legs move, the cold wisps of air to caress her arms, goosebumps running across all over her body. She flinched when the back doors opened, quickly taking the stretcher albeit with a little care in fear of Ratchet's fury to hail down at her; she stepped, with the stretcher in tow, a couple of steps back.

Transforming efficiently as his personality deems himself to be, Ratchet stood with a gleam in his eyes; a brief flash of light scanning in a circle, feeling tickly when the light passed her by; she watched him focus on one point at the direction of the alleyway.

Where she was certain Eloise was in.

"Are there any cons?" She asked, whispering.

Similarly to her, surprisingly, Ratchet respond in kind. "No. Just traps Jazz prepped." 

Traps. Traps? That couldn't be. Jazz was the smallest, he couldn't have had that much of weaponry inside him. "How's that possible?"

"It just does. Wait here, I'll disable the traps."

"Be careful, Ratchet."

Ratchet, she knew he was touched by her words; he was just shy, not openly expressive, scoffed. 

Wait. Jazz? How come his signal didn't—oh.

Oh.

Puckering her lips, she merely watched Ratchet bend down with his back presented to her, arms moving up and about towards disabling something as he says so; a distant roar of engines, she looked where the sound came from. A bright flash of light momentarily blinding her, rendering her sight blurry, she turned away and put her arm over to her eyes. Coughing when smoke choked her lungs after going through her nose as the sharp, crisp sounds of aggressively rough—the roughest transformation she had heard, and the ground under her feet trembled.

"I'm going to kill them!" Ironhide yelled, eyes flaring, burning those he looks at. She swiftly averted her eyes from him, opting to find the bed interesting; she knew a losing battle when the opponent was a thirty feet tall something robot. With cannons for his arms. She did not want to test Ironhide. 

Ratchet stood up, lowering the intensity of his headlights when facing her; he gestured, with a jerk of his head, to follow him. 

Glancing at Ironhide, Optimus Prime noticed her apprehensiveness and with a cue taken by her body language alone, secured Ironhide from accidentally lashing out and bringing more harm than good at the current circumstances at hand.

She pushed the stretched ahead and followed Ratchet, entering the alleyway. The stench of iron hitting her nostrils point blank, she thought nothing of it. (She forced herself to think nothing of it.)

The unnatural coldness of the alleyway clinging onto whatever it can cling it, clung to her. Moving closer towards the stench oozing the place; making it scarier to walk in knowing something bad must've happened here, it made her stomach did unpleasant flips and she knew why her body was reacting this way.

This wasn't rusting metal, she finally admitted to herself. This was blood.

Hands clenching to the fuming metal warmed by her grip, holding onto like a lifeline; an anchor. She relucantly followed Ratchet in, Optimus Prime and Ironhide remaining outside to leave them with space to work with and watch put for some decepticons. She darted her gaze with a quick taking of everything around her.

The ominous feeling hadn't gone away. No. Not with what she could make out as bombs disposed, discarded on the side with sparking wires. The thin line of string that gleamed above her head as Ratchet snipped it off, made the back of her hair raise.

"The human is alive." Ratchet said, back turned to her, engines quiet. She nodded. "Take care of her. I'll see to Jazz."

"Is he—?"

"No."

A twinge to her chest. She turned her head away when Ratchet continued forward, reaching the end of the alleyway where a figure his body covered peeked out from. The short time spent with the former second in command flashing like memory films to the very center her mind. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, coughing when she inhaled too much as tears gathered from her eyes.

Kneeling on both knees beside the unmoving figure laying to the ground, the flashlight on the side and turning her on her back—hands shaking when the putrid smell of blood and flesh mixed together create such a stench making her nearly puke, intensified. Carefully taking off the bag cushioning the side of her head, it wasn't wet. 

Her head was okay. She was okay. 

Holding one finger under her nostrils, feeling the faint brush of hot air, a continous warm but faint, slow release of air amidst the freezing degrees of the alleyway—barely, but she's alive. She glanced at the stretcher behind her, pivoting on her heel. Making a quick work to adjusting the knobs and screws to lower the stretcher to the ground, dragging it closer to her until barely touching her arms.

Shaking arms tenderly touching any body part that doesn't seem to be on the verge of breaking or creating more pain for her, she bit her lip and settled on putting her hand under her neck and legs, carefully depositing on the bed—not a groan made all the while, she looked down and had to check if she was still breathing. She was. 

Going to re-adjust the knobs and screws for a comfortable, ease of transportation. She, with the hands finding it way to grip the handles, stood up with weak knees. Eyes looking everywhere except the figure on the stretcher, biting her bottom lip as Ratchet turned towards them with what used to be Jazz, pieces left of him anyways.

Ratchet stared at her for a moment, merely letting their eye contact a fleeting but of flutter on his eyes, gaze lingering on the body laying on the stretcher with an indescribable look. He nodded at her, letting her move forward first.

Arriving outside, out of that nightmare. She froze as keen, sharp whistles of multiple jets distantly flew above the clouds. Starscream... and who?

Did the decepticons returned to finish off the job?

Having had heard before seeing, the sound of Ironhide's cannons whirred furiously to life, a choom of activation as the almost animalistic growl emerged from the deepest pits of his throat; his eyes flashed. Her stepping backward from the sight, eyes never tearing away from Ironhide. 

Optimus Prime caught her stance, "stand down, Ironhide." He said with finality, reaching to place his hand on his shoulder and squeezing. 

Ironhide testing switching gears of his cannon, internally adjusting settings for a better precision and accuracy of ways he could shoot them down right here, right now. He lowered his arm, cannons dying with a gradual quietening of thrum.

However, they wasn't what she was keeping an eye out. It was the decepticons. Why would they have a shipping container? Surely they wouldn't have missed that detail, right?

They watched until the distant whistles were gone, waiting until Optimus Prime turned to her with the soft glow of his eyes then looking at his two autobots and speaking in mellow sounding yet sharp clicks in which they spoke in return. Ratchet's response slow and careful.

Risking to take a peek of Ratchet, she regretted satiating her curiosity. 

Ratchet gave the body to Ironhide, murmuring in clicks and she couldn't tear her eyes away—something in the exchange feeling like a glimpse of a sacred peity she shouldn't be part of felt like a sin, felt the need to break in and know more. Transforming in his vehicle mode in a snap; he opened the back-door and with an anxious step on her trudge, she pursed her lips in figuring how to put the stretcher with a person on it inside without jostling her or potentially dropping her.

"Let me." Optimus's gentle voice made her stood the side as he picked the edge of the stretcher with two fingers and not a hint of tremor in his grasp, securely put it inside and retracted his arm to stand up. He nodded at her and gestured with his eyes for her to climb inside too.

"... Thanks." Climbing and closing the doors after her, she sat close to the stretcher. The welding mask somehow appearing from the back of her mind and she gasped, hissing a curse. The art materials. Whenever she was, there was always a trail of art materials slung on her and looking at her, it was an absence she overlooked. A part of her she abandoned. "Ratchet, wait—"

"Whatever that is, it can wait. The civilian needs to be urgently treated. It cannot be delayed any further."

Her mouth open to naturally retaliate, closed. He was grieving. She curled her hands into a fist, holding the stretcher to a still as the ambulance started to move; she gazed at the person on the stretcher and poured her attention on her instead. 

Stroking her hair from her face, careful on the wound at the forehead, she winced at the dried blood by her stomach.

If she took the cube then, Sam—oh, Sam. She saved Sam. 

Tear stains evident on her face, she wiped it away with her thumb delicately; eyebrows creasing and feeling her heart clenched at how Eloise didn't look at peace even on her sleep, tears somehow making their way down from her tightly shut eyelids and each time, with a heavy heart, she made sure to gently wipe those away.

What the hell happened to her? 

Eyes roaming to finally examine the person before her. Her eyes saw scratches by her arms, bleeding on her lips, wound by the forehead, burnt marks exposing the red mass of muscles by the inner side of her arms and nearly her whole stomach area, and looking by her feet. Her heart dropped to her stomach as bile took turn to rise from below and to her throat. Her hand slapped sealed her mouth shut, numb of how she vividly smelt iron straight to her nostrils. 

Her leg was twisted in an angle that shouldn't been in that way. Her legs was fractured. Bent. 

Oh my god.

The doors opening as light poured in to the dim interior, Lennox with Epps waited below and seeing a body at the stretcher; moved to take it with coordinated effort, she dumbly stood by and let the gust of wind greet her face in comparison of the interior lingering the smell of blood and flesh—a relief to get out and have a few minutes to catch her breath, shuttering her eyes at the mental image of Eloise in that state, she balled her fists and ran as much as away from the center and to the shrubs of trees to puke her guts out, bending over and wrenching what she had not ate as foul smell of her own stomach acids took her nostrils, sloppily wiping the saliva from her mouth with her arm.

Eloise. Eloise almost died. 

Moving away from what little puke she had poured to the ground, she closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing. No. It was okay. She was okay. She would be okay.   

Taking a few more deep breaths, not noticing a glimmer of light from the depths within the entrance of the forestry she was in; she stood up and walked back with profound heaviness in her steps.

Following the pair wheeling the stretcher inside the tent with the rest closely following behind; feet faltering at the thought of seeing her. She let the autobots enter after no humans entered anymore with Jazz being carried inside.

Her eyes stung, a quiet whir to her side and she turned to see blue doe-like eyes blink at her; a bottle of water between his pointer and thumb, Bumblebee chirred. Profusely wiping her eyes of any tears that was yet to even appear, she took the water bottle with a small laugh, opening with a tremor and gulping it down to its near contents and then deciding to do it in one go, went for it. 

"Thanks, Bee."

Bumblebee chirred softly, nudging her head with his finger until she looked up at him. He pointed the tent where the rest was.

They need you.

She stared at him, the same baby blue eyes not wavering nor standing down, she sighed and lightly smacked his finger; gripping the empty bottle until it was crushed, she looked up with a weak grin. Bumblebee chirred at her.

"I won't win against you, will I?"

His doorwings adorably rose and fluttered behind his back, persistently pointing inside the tent like a broken compass; she turned to look inside the bright tent filled with people and autobots alike.

They need you.

Her shoudlers slumping and feet suddenly heavy like lead, she pressed on the water bottle to release inner turmoil inside her, "I'll just check in. I'll be back out." She heard herself say, mind already half the mile of imagining the amount of damage Eloise had.

Bumblebee whirred. 

Taking his answer as it is, she marched stiffly inside. Peeking inside and seeing a medic wrapping a bandaid around her body and forehead, just finishing the last wrappings. A load of bloodied discarded tissues on the trashcan piling of it, she winced. The smell of sterilized alcohol as bad as the stench of flesh and blood. Her eyes trailing to see her exposed leg left untouched.

Entering the well-lit tent, her body comforted by the gathered warmth inside as she briefly glanced at where Sam was, still sleeping. Standing beside Lennox, she bit her lip in seeing the medic talk with another medic about something, gesturing towards Eloise with a troubled expression on their faces. That doesn't look good, "how did she ended up like that? Did a con hit her or something?"

"Or something." She didn't miss the suspicion in his voice. "She's the civilian that saved Sam that's for sure."

Glancing at him with a frown taking form on her lips, she glared at him; her mind bringing up the fact that Lennox involved a civilian and provided no back-up like he did to Sam, didn't even form a search party when he was partly responsible over her, "she's a civilian. Are you thinking of making her 'fess up when she wakes up?" Stepping in front of him, shielding his gaze from her with un-crossing her arms and pointing an index finger to the center of his chest, she poked with a hiss underlying her words, "because I'm telling you this now, Lennox. You won't be doing anything like that to her."

Scoffing, Lennox shake his head at her and pushed, with the back of his hand, her bloodied hand from him. "You make it sound bad."

"What? Like I'm supposed to believe it's not?"

"It's not like that or whatever shit you've been watching. You make us sound barbarians."

This time, Mikaela freely glared at him, lips tightly purse to control her mouth from uttering another word. Mentally deciding whether to continue the conversation or check on her condition herself; it was a no-brainer, Eloise was the reason she mainly came back inside other than Sam. She chose the latter and left the former by his own, whatever they're planning, she sure as hell won't be letting them do it easily.

Pulling a chair with less grace than intended, she slumped to it and continued to glare at him from across the room as he talked with Epps—probably to plan how to interrogate her.

Eavedropping to the medics standings a couple of steps away from her bed, she didn't like the snippets of what she caught in the conversation. And being a teenager specializing in, on a whole opposite direction, car vehicles—it wasn't hard to pick up when they plainly said they'll have to leave her leg be for the lack of materials. Meaning no anesthesia. 

Looking down on her hands, pursing her lips. She felt the corner of her eyes to burn.

Oh my god.

Chapter Text

"We can't afford to have another civilian involved in this. Two teenagers should be the limit."

Ratchet rolled his optics at Captain Lennox's words, scoffing a little as Optimus attempted to console the frustrated human with his own pair of servos showing and purring his engines; alas, sadly for their leader, it didn't work. While many would've been flattered by Optimus purring their engines at them but yet again, humans wouldn't know the significance in the actions.

He, without a pause, continued pulling scrap metal from beside him as Ironhide went to collect for more outside—not having to mention the torn vehicles used and continued to weld the parts into gaping holes. 

"I'm taking her account on the situation. After that, she'll be signing legal documents to keep things tight. She'll be relocated to the civilians tent after."

Just like that? 

Humming in contemplation, he briefly made a quick research of how human anatomy functions. Was it like them? Were they more alike than he had though of? That couldn't be, the humans should be more physically alike to the organic species they had unfortunately came in contact of during the heat of their war.

Then again, it must be if Captain Lennox had deemed her to be capable of relocation despite the otherwise grave human injuries he had formerly categorized as fatal.

Grunting as he looked back at his progress; he narrowed his optics and turning his gaze to the pair still at it back and forth. He reverted the tools into his servo, stretching his joints as he flexed each of the rigid gears. "I think," he stated firmly, making sure both turned in attention towards him, "you should talk to her. She's conscious at the moment." Barely.

Rechecking with his profile of what he had gathered from her. He determined her identification, running across an identification scan amongst the face recognition of many humans furiously sliding past his processor as his sub-routines checked individual profiles. Stopping at her ID, an identification card, he saved the data and stored it securely under patient profiles.

Eloise Morgan Parker (human???)

Basics: 

> knew Jazz. 

> took the Allspark. 

Important:

> clean fractured leg and pelvic point. Fourth degree burn on entirety of chest and inner side of both arms. Minor scratches on wound. Dent forehead. Energon poisoning. 

> must treat. Surgery at once.

His own systems being override by the simple fact of their energon—precisely, Jazz's energon already too deep in her own immune system to drain out without sucking her dry. Repeatedly mistaking her as their own as it identified as cybertronian, even correcting his self-diagnosis as it replaced with the word cybertronian, he compromised with putting question marks. Three question marks. 

Sighing, he stared at the soaked human cloth spread out on his palm. Shuttering his optics, she had saved Jazz from the brink of death but because Jazz had to be stubborn glitch and tried to do everything to save the human—he became the ultimate end of his own fate. He could've waited it out, not bleeding from this... small, fragile cloth she had torn and—and could've been used for her own means...

He carefully stored the cloth inside his subspace. Looking back at his progress with Jazz, he tried his best and this was the best he could do with the setbacks of a materials. Silently, he stood up and adjusting his optical sensors to zoom at Captain Lennox. He watched.

"Why wasn't she treated by the medics?" Ironhide asked, leaning towards as he brushed his shoulder kibble with his as a form of greeting.

"Lack of materials." He said plainly. Switching to closely observe Eloise's shift of expression for any kind of distress as her own face remained painfully looked devoid of such.

Captain Lennox and Mikaela arguing to the side, having the courtesy to distance themselves from Eloise whom looked at the ceiling, not moving other than for the sake of breathing in small quantities as her chest rise and fall in concerning levels. He crossed his arms over to his chassis, taking note of how the medics were significantly hovering, incapable of doing anything and the increasing volume of shouting from the pair.

Looking around if anyone had plans to approach the newly patient he had registered under his exclusive care, his peds took a life of their own as his processors had sprinted to cover every medical procedures dealing with human injuries in the record breaking of thirty seconds it took him to arrive on her spot.

Making sure his presence was felt and acknowledged with the quick flick of her awareness taking a glance. He introduced himself curtly, straight to the point and taking no hassle to soften his approach. At least on a personal, sentimental level.

"I am Ratchet, the Autobots Chief Medical Officer. Would you like to be informed of how the surgery would proceed?" He asked, careful yet firm. Her eyes met his and as his own reflective blue light shone through her darkened hues; she managed to smile, looking more like a show of teeth and a cringe than a smile.

"Jazz spoke about you."

"What of?"

"Bad. But you seem nice." Her smile turning into a wince, she closed her eyes and controlled her breathing. "Yeah, you feel... nice."

Feel. Feel? Not look? Not know? But feel? Strange.

"But yeah, I'd like to know. It'll be nice to know." She added, eyes still closed; body temperature rising mainly by her chest area as her breathing pattern stayed the way it is. Seemingly not out of breath by how her body is currently producing heat in rapid rising levels enough he was confused how she wasn't breaking out in the form of sweating.

"Very well, I will first do a full body scan—a diagnostic if you will, and report what best procedure we will agree on." An excuse. It was an excuse, a lie. Still, she opened one eye and give a miniscule grin with one cheek lifted. 

Gaining consent, he let his scanner pick up any radioactive energy from her, any that should be caused by their coming in contact with her own. Scan returning as negative, he redo the scan without a fuss from her—making him feel dread at the thought of seeing (Jazz laying lifelessly, always associating him with insistent buzzing and noise, of life, by the similarly cold ground) her in pain and opting to not voice her complaints.

Then the scan turned positive. 

Blinking, he stopped midway. Her defense mechanisms didn't recognize the foreign bodies, the virus; the energon, as an outsider. As like any of their human cells, it was coursing through her bloodstream. Her body had accepted the energon.

Without thinking, he sent an urgent signal towards Optimus Prime. 

Optimus, from across the room, catching Ratchet pulling the blinds in the hopes to cover whatever he had chosen to do, knew his current duty. Provide distraction and this was either bound to go well or not. He merely hoped to bring time for Ratchet to do what must be done.

Shielding his side with the sheer size of him, he successfully covered them from any eyes. Quickly taking a device from his subspace, placing it to the ground and then pressing click as it lit up; he cautiously stared at the invisible force field, an invention of Wheeljack. One he proudly called a noise cancelation. 

Seeing as it didn't explode yet and managed to block out outside noises and, its main function and purpose why it was built in the first place, their private conversation included.

"What had happened with the Allspark and you?"

She scoffed, "I think this is important. Is it?"

"Depending on your answer." Staring intently of stable energon readings of his scanners, he added, "be assured, however, you're life isn't in dire danger."

"Comforting," a wheeze resembling a laughter, she continued, "the cube burned me."

"What?"

A burst of signal from Optimus Prime. Their time run out. 

He, as quick as before, turned off the gadget, and stuffing it to his subspace in time just as the curtains slid open to show Captain Lennox and Mikaela, with all intentions, shouldered him aside and took her place in her chair.

Captain Lennox ran his gaze to Eloise; his frame bristling on how hostile he had looked. His engines hadn't a chance to rip out a growl before he had put a stop and placed an internal command to shut his engines. 

"Ratchet, why are you here? Any particular reason?" Captain Lennox asked, head jerking in his direction and he forced himself to relax enough to not appear tense, hostile in their perspective.

"They administered anesthesia. A large dose of it." Eloise suddenly spoke, an edge to her tone challenging the military captain before her as her eyes opened and twinkled against the light. "What do you need to know, Captain Lennox?"

"Anesthesia?"

"As Ratchet had kindly explained, my lower half is crushed. My upper half is literally burnt, why do you think I'm not screaming yet?"

He stared at her, blatantly lying infront the platoon captain of humans who would readily follow his commands—does she know no fear? She couldn't be really thinking of enduring being at that much of pain—their species weren't meant for enduring pain levels that high, it couldn't be possible. It wasn't possible. More so while recounting details if Captain Lennox, who looked to be as willing to follow through his words, take her recollection of accounts in kinder words.

In not-so kinder words, also serves to determine her threat level against them.

She wouldn't last without breaking down from the amount of pain she's in.

Opening his mouth, Captain Lennox cut him off of it. His attention wholly aimed towards Eloise, laser focused of every on her movements as if she was even able to move in her position. 

"Tell us everything from how you met Jazz."

"By your orders." The human then, normally recounted every details starting from the mundane thing of how a museum called her to have her piece displayed.

A crash towards the side of her workshop, the things she packed—he didn't ignore the way her words faltered when she, more or less, remembered where her messenger bag was. Regardless of the evident sentimental value of the object, continued of getting out and narrowly avoiding being smashed into bits by a rubble thrown at her door. 

Captain Lennox's expression tensing upon thinking how her instincts reacted so quickly, he held his words and let her continue as she had taken a pause to permeate the air with unsaid questions lingering throughout and when none spoke, continued.

Her seeing a decepticon, hiding from said decepticon and the realization she wasn't the initial target of them. Calmly described the state of Jazz laying limply from being thrown across her building to leave a visible crack threatening to shatter with his figure denting the wall. Why his back plate was damaged. He took notes. And her taking initiative to give a distraction—she hesitated in saying anything more after throwing the rock and Jazz fighting off the con and transforming to take her as a passenger. However, she confessed the vague conversation they had being seeking medical assistance.

They proved once again, that humans would really go at great lengths to do something they believe is right from her fool's errand to face off the decepticon. What if Jazz wasn't actually playing dead and the decepticon went after her?

He frowned at the thought, deleting the one definite outcome with countless methods to execute it that followed after.

Attentively listening when she describe, quite accurately might he had, his symptoms he had to applaud of her noticing; humans are perceptive. 

Approaching the part where he knew; he was right then. Her voice beginning to show signs of exhaustion; he prepared the needed tools for plausible immediate operation, idly letting few of his sub-routines to listen, take note, and watch Captain Lennox whereas his main routines busied itself with running mental procedures on treating human injuries up to this degree. 

:: Prime, the Allspark might have the possibility to not be absolutely gone.:: he stated, browsing and rewatching the memory loop Jazz had personally consented of him to access in dire situations in determining if they were compromised or not. 

Jazz had thrown her to his compartment, he wasn't able to access footage inside. A definite conclusion of Jazz being badly damaged his interior sensors and modded cameras went dark. However, if he has to based around the information—

There was a high possibility the Allspark wasn't gone.

:: What do you mean?::

Pausing when the memory went towards the moment of Eloise free-falling and going flat to the ground, he checked Jazz's internal scanners. It didn't detect any change within her body composition. 

Unlike the current readings he was receiving. 

:: I have a hypothesis. But for now, as I have said earlier, we should be safe.::

:: I see. Will the human be alright?::

Probably not. :: I'll try.::

He updated her patient profile to an undefined cybertronian with three question marks in bold. Adding a bullet point at the high probability of containing the Allspark—a totally unheard phenomenon because if there was any sacred artifact that was solely capable to choose its host, it was the Matrix of Leadership. Not the Allspark. Still, he didn't push the bizarre thought and wrote it down. It was a possibility he considered despite the continuous absence of the Allspark even capable of such actions.

Does that mean none were worthy to be chosen?

"What about your burn marks?" Mikaela softly asked, worry over her voice, looking on the thick bandage nearly covering her upper body and forehead. One of the few things their medic could only hope to offer.

Eloise blinked her eyes, red and puffy, she answered in a whisper, "when they fought, the pursuer threw a bomb directly towards us and got us. Jazz shielded me partially, I still flew across from the impact."

"But pieces of your skin were peeled off." Captain Lennox pointed out, determinedly not looking towards her lower half the whole time he had been here.

"Was playin' tug o' war with 'em... before, before dropped me off from height, saw peeled skin stuck 'n cube." Her eyes starting to blink, fluttering shut in more counts than staying open, her speech slurring and reduced to incomprehensible bubbles of small grammar fixations. Captain Lennox tried not to show how disturb he was as was Mikaela. 

Lennox shuttered his eyes, taking a deep breath; he turned to her with a steely frown. "Your statement will be taken into account. May I have your name, please?"

"Eloise," blinking, she closed her eyes and he immediately performed a discreet scan through her body. "... Morgan Parker."

Her levels were stable. The energon not posing as danger on her immune system. Pain levels somehow skyrocketing past the normal parameters of what an ordinary human can endure for so long—perhaps she went numb? 

"Ratchet."

Flicking his optics, tilting his helm as Mikaela regarded him with a frown. He made a sound from his vocalizer, stretching his arm and carefully placing the tip of one digit over the top of her hand. Personally checking the way humans do it, he confirmed the diagnosis as accurate as his scanners. "What is it, Mikaela?"

"Can you do something with her?"

"What makes you think I would be capable?" He asked, gesturing with his optics for Mikaela to close the curtains for a little privacy; doing so, he transformed one digit to a small rotating small medical saw and hover it around her bandages. "Captain Lennox hadn't given explicit order for your human medics to do anything. Much less so, entrust the matter with us."

"What the hell are you doing then?"

"Medic's oath. As medics have sworn to provide help whenever they can. I merely see this situation fitting as such." 

Activating the tool, he slowly cut through the bandages. Frowning at the sight, transforming another digit, he used the tweezers to gently pluck the bandages from her arm and Mikaela acting quick, threw it at the trashcan she provided.

Retracting the saw to switch it out with a sprayer, he lightly sprayed on her arms, whole chest area, and then dousing continously from the pelvic to the feet. Mikaela watching beside, standing with her whole body nearly vibrating over of anxiety, "sit down, Mikaela. I cannot to assist you when faint out of fear."

Mikaela sat down without a word. Not once peeling her eyes from his procedure—solely looking away, however, to periodically see anyone coming in as she stood guard. "Is that anesthesia?"

"Numbing spray," he corrected naturally then amended, "or, as you called it, anesthesia."

Both feet unnaturally bent then knees similarly the same as the former. Pelvic area sustaining lesser damage in comparison of the pair. For falling from an equivalent of four buildings, she had distributed damage fairly throughout the joints, cleanly breaking the bones that the healing process would happen earlier than a messy, tense breakage; it was better than he had thought and initially given credit for once personally seeing it.

Cleaning her legs with a cotton ball with alcohol, he hummed as the spike of levels took his attention. A small portion which garnered his full awareness when her legs—the limb he was touching turned cold. 

Not making a fuss, he glanced at Mikaela, "come back later. This surgery would be, provided can be educational, is graphic in nature. I'll call you back. Take a breather outside."

Uncertainty dance across her features, shifting eyes going back and forth between them; she pursed her lips, nodding her head. "I trust you, Ratchet." Pushing the chair without a sound, she shakily wobbled outside, making sure to securely return the blinds as it was before making her way out.

"Coast clear?" So, she didn't faint from the pain.

He stared at her wordlessly, mentally baffled of how she could look at him straight with only an upward quirk of her lip.

"Why are your legs cold?"

Eloise opened her eyes, blinking a couple of times; she settled to keep her eyes half-way opened. "Must be the numbing spray."

"No, the numbing spray couldn't have done this. This is purely done by your body."

She went quiet for a moment. Mulling it over, her eyes moved to his, "scan me again."

Opening his mouth to protest if she was questioning the credibility of his scanners; he closed it when her firm glare planted on him as if predicting his next course of actions. He narrowed his optics and begrudgingly performed another scan; furrowing his orbital ridges at his scanners detecting a sliver of energy in her, a definite and clear energy. Mainly concentrated on her chest then flowing to her arms, it was in tiny dosages of a tightly controlled flow of unknown substance.

He pulled all the previous scans he had done to some unknowing human participants of his study. Comparing data and finding no match nor similarity like her structural making. 

"What was that?" He asked, no other humans had the same reactions unlike hers; he made sure to check and compare data. No human have energy inside their body like it was to them nor were their organic bodies are capable on the production. Did the energon poisoning have a negative effect, after all? "Are you aware of this?"

"I don't know, I'm not sure what's happening really. The numbing spray is too effective."

As the energy significantly grew in size and the three dimension of her body showing rapid progress in the cells regeneration focused on the parts of her arms, forehead, chest, and legs would be considered superhuman in fiction—it was healing too quickly. It shouldn't be possible. 

He, rendered speechless, watched it unfold in real time through his live scanners on the front row seat of the show. The regeneration of lost permanently nerve endings reappearing in a neat cluster of extending lines stretching and clinging on formerly where it should be, knotting as one into a tight secure form of astonishing speed recovery; his mouth, all along, was open.

It wasn't medically accurate for her body to be like this. An extensive thirty second of filing around every professional medical records containing any information about burn marks, about fractures, his fears were confirmed that this was truly impossible for a human to accomplish on their own.

Somehow, somehow, she was annoyingly calmer than he could ever be in the caught act of regenerative abilities performed that stumped theories of natural recuperation, he closed his mouth and looked at her, "could it be the cube? Did your scans detected anything foreign inside me?"

Of course, it was the energy; a human body couldn't possbily achieve incredible recovery like that—all along, it was because of the unknown energy inside her. The energy coming from the Allspark. It was the Allspark's doing. 

The Allspark wasn't lost.

The Allspark is within her. It chose her as a vessel.

The Matrix of Leadership was the only known sacred artifact to have some form of sentience in the ability of choosing an ancestor; a Prime. But never was the Allspark considered to have the same level of sentience as the Matrix, how could it? It, after all, hadn't done anything the thing the Matrix was already expected to do.

"What happened when you were inside his interior?" He asked, pulling himself out of his processor to bear witness of her leg he was, unknowingly, touching cracked. And he hadn't withdrawn his servo as fast as accidentally harming a patient. 

Hearing weak laugher beside him, he whipped his optics to gape at Eloise, glaring after, "is there anything funny?"

She shook her head, grin in place; lifting one leg on it's original composition to the air, stretching and suddenly kicking as another resounding crack inside made him inwardly panic. Putting it down, only to lift the other and do the exact same thing. He couldn't find himself to move and possibly break more than he can fix.

What was happening? Did the Allspark healed her?

Shifting his optics towards her chest, as fast as the cells were regenerating inside. The progress rapidly being made was shown outside, the mass of exposed muscles gradually covered by what appeared as the makings of her skin stretching until reaching to the very tips of her fingertips individually.  

Yet, what took him aback was when the healing of her fractured lower half was perfect as it can be; her upper half wasn't. The healing left scarring, visible scars dragging across her body roughly guiding one's eyes to how the burn happened. 

Lifting her arm, she turned it over and about. Something in her eyes glittering as it expressed some form of relief, she smiled. Clenching and unclenching her fingers and spreading it out, testing the mobility and flexibility; she gave a pleasant hum.

Memories recollecting and finding reason as for why that is; he found that Mikaela meant to say something back then. Then, her words of a museum contacting her—in which based by the World Wide Web, meant for artistic individuals with sufficient popularity to showcase artworks free for the mass. She was an artist. 

And being a medic holding the same importance as one of an artist's touch, he could understand her reason. He shared her smile.

Eloise looked up, locking gazes with him and her smile morphed into playful twitch he knew very well, "what about you finish this up and we'll talk?"

At his questioning quirk of orbital ridge. She helpfully added, "humans don't heal this quick. This is to avoid suspicion until you—or we, can think a way to approach the topic with the military."

Ah. He had momentarily forgotten that Captain Lennox simply provided assistance for the sake of keeping peace for his planet. It goes without saying that not because he treated them as allies, it didn't meant the same as the human comrades he fought and served with. Captain Lennox was, understandably, cautious of their existence.

Wordlessly transforming his digits into another kind of sprayer, for covering wounds in organic species such as her. He considered if she would be alright on being covered by alien substance—

"It's okay. Do what you gotta do, doc." She reassured.

—that she was alright with. He, with careful instructions for her to follow, successfully covered her legs in it. Observing any outward and inward reaction by scanning, twice. He nodded to himself, spotting a fresh roll of human bandages laying on the small stand beside the bed, he took it and unfurling some as he started to diligently wrap her legs.

He didn't thought of how much trust a select humans placed on him. 

Then, moving to her arms; he covered it with only bandages. Letting her watch as he improved her wrappings by having her individual fingers wrapped instead of collectively smushed together to resemble a mitten. Her forehead covered the same after she brushed her hair and along the way, somehow made him touch and let his curiosity get the best of him: stroke it, tug it, and rub between his digits as she amused herself at raving on her covered fingers. He quite liked the texture of their hair.

"Does anything hurt?" He asked, poking the bandages around her body to see if it was secured around its placement. He waited her response.

"You did great, thank you."

Inclining his helm forward, he pulled back the curtains and stared at how quickly human medics gathered in their place, bustling and throwing questions one after another as it reminded him heavily of the interns he had formerly taken under his wing; he, with the patience only a mentor can have, answered and organized the medics as he did back then.

It was a bittersweet reminiscent on a what could've been if the war hadn't escalated as far as it did currently.

Shaking his helm, deleting the thought; he refocused his awareness to the reality of the situation. No time to dwell on the past. He had matters to do. 

The question was, how would he sneak her out without Captain Lennox or any other human misunderstanding and worsen their predicament amongst their species?

"—thank you soo much. This means a lot!"

Rotating his body to determine who Eloise was talking it, it was one of the medics. The head of this section, nearly bearing the same command as him towards the rest of human medics. 

Blinking, he watched Eloise beamed at the back of the retreating medic with biscuits and a water bottle laying by her lap.

And like sensing his gaze, she turned to him with a grin, "she said yes!"

"Yes to what, exactly?"

"To you taking me outside. I did say we're going to talk, right?" Her head turning to another direction, she smiled at the medic handing her clothes. The medic, his scanners caught, blushing under her presence as she made a swift return to a certain spot where a flock of medic was giggling. 

How? That medic was as grumpy as him! He knew after he tried talking to her like all civilized, like-minded medics that they were. Squinting his optics, he hadn't expected discrimination of race despite being under the same field and at the same position as hers.

"I'm sure she meant no harm. You're a fantastic doctor, Ratchet."

He crossed his arms over to his chassis, finding himself to huff petulantly like a sparkling as he briefly glared at where he detected that specific medic coursing around the room, "is professionalism not a necessity?"

"She had her reasons." Following his gaze, she smirked, "on the contrary, she looks up to you, you know. Maybe you can get to know her better?"

Rolling his optics, uncrossing his arms; he scoffed. "We'll see." Arms unfolding, he laid two servos close to the ground, beside the bed, hovering for her to slide in as he let her settle in first with the snacks and whatnot. "For now, let us depart."

Mindfully cradling her to his chassis closely, he stood up and crouching another bed with a blanket, took it with his servo and placing it around the puzzled yet grateful human nonetheless; she took it and made herself comfortable on his grasp, muttering a quiet word of gratitude muffled by the two blankets covering her mouth as she buried herself inside the fabric, the quiet opening of a wrapper heard as she ate under the blanket.

He briskly walked outside with none intervention from the other humans, standing outside with only them as Ironhide automatically guarded his back to stop any eavesdropper that decided it was a good idea to follow them. Setting his commlink as short-range, routines clicking in place as systems rooted out any anomalies on implementations of the security locking into respective places. 

Holding her on one hand, taking the noise cancelation from his subspace and opting to hold it on his servo after a moment of deliberation, "how did the cube burned you?"

Eloise didn't stop from wearing the offered clothing, wearing the jacket and buttoning it then working for the pants, smoothly answered, "there was a bright flash of light. It stayed throughout—'m thought was going blind. Then, it grew hot. Nothing too fancy."

The Allspark harming a living being?

No one had ever experienced what she went through in all the millineums of him living, this was an unheard occurrence.

Rather, it was outright blasphemy. He wasn't a huge believer of Primus but it was still common knowledge that the sacred artifact dared to harm no one at all cost no matter the circumstances. This was totally unheard of, in a whole realm of possibilities that hadn't previously existed; an unexpected variable.

"Elaborate what occurred before you saved Samuel." 

"Well, I don't know to phrase this without sounding crazy but," side-eyeing him with much untold reluctance of what peeked out under the blanket, she tugged the blanket over her head and continued, "something compelled me. Something—probably this Allspark you talk about—tugged me to that alleyway."

"What of Samuel?"

"Let's say, he was at the right place at the wrong time. He got lucky this time, Ratchet."

Temporarily basking in the absolute silence; he wordlessly turned off the device and returned it to its place inside the subspace. The, surprisingly, burst of life making Eloise poke her head out and took a fresh breath of air, opening the water bottle and chugging it down. She glanced at him, an eyebrow raised.

An expression he knew too well.

"You'll return with us." He decided right there and then—rash as it was, he didn't care; walking out of their solitary spot with Ironhide lifting his helm and tensing upon witnessing whatever expression of his faceplates. He could roughly guess his expression with an internal optic roll whilst disabling the restriction within his commlink and setting it to the usual functioning parameters he preferred.

Pinging Optimus and tagging it as urgent, he met them where Bumblebee stood guard; alarmed at the sudden appearance and the ping he sent, Bumblebee quietly kept Mikaela to his lap as the teenager looked around in likewise confusion as him.

Mikaela's eyes dragging downwards from his optics to why his arms were curled for no apparent reason, growing curious on a physical evidence of a blanket dangling from the edge. In the clashing work of colors of neon green against black, Eloise was easily highlighted and therefore, quickly spotted without much difficulty. 

"Eloise!" Bumblebee almost not predicting such enthusiastic response from Mikaela, had narrowly prevented another accident of another human falling from a height. Holding her securely as he locked his digits infront of her figure as to shield her from jumping off. A thing he considered to be effective with sudden enlightenment.

"What's the situation, Ratchet?" Optimus asked. 

Sending a thorough information pack to their private commlink with Bumblebee and Ironhide; the trio's helm swiveled to look at the bundle resting on his arms comfortably, Eloise quietly observing the others and lingering on Mikaela, somehow managing to forced Bumblebee on a compromise; she smiled at her. 

Bumblebee reacted first, his doorwings wildly flapping behind him in what one unassuming individual might think as excitement whereas it actually meant as a show of agressive anger; vocalizer producing sharp clicks and chirps directed solely to him, "not to doubt your skills, Ratchet, but are you sure? Didn't she nearly died because of the Allspark and she's the vessel? You're telling us she's a vessel?"

"Apparently, yes."

"Bullslag!"

Bumblebee openly glared at him, always the defiant protector of a species he decided was worth protecting, his hold on Mikaela made her pat his servos in a futile attempt to soothe him. 

"Ratchet," he didn't have to look in order to know who was speaking and yet out of sheer respect—earned respect, he still did with a prominent recognized frown, "to decide one's own fate should be decided by the main individual of concern. We do not decide their fates without their explicit consent." Fixing him down with a repriminding gaze—an expression he also came to know. He instantly knew what was coming next. "It is rude and impolite." 

Let it be unsaid for the meaning underlying in his words implying to literally let her decide for herself on whether she would be left alone and die or be protected and increase her chances to survive. He didn't like it and he didn't have to.

He knew autonomy was her right. In body. Not in choice of putting herself in literal death! Who knows if she was careless? Of her being their newly, in an equivalent rank, Prime borne in an organic body, chosen by the Allspark, of their, in an almost symbolic way, life? Of—

Their sparks don't radiate physical heat in any means, rather the mimicry of what heat resembles from their personal view. It was different for every cybertronian. 

And the moment a small, very much unknowing hand lightly stroked above his digit. He opened his optics of a familiar, spark- wrenching sight; the hospital he worked in flashing before him, standing as a static witness on a what could've been. He didn't deny of the bitterness, of the longing, of the anger he felt—on all of this taken away from him so easily, without as much as regards for others lives in falling for their determined fates in much worse than him. 

Of how he failed to save everyone.

And yet, he also stood by when it showed a scene he hadn't seen before but relentlessly plagued his processor of ever formulating memories not personally made, simply didn't existed; a future he had wanted to see before everything went fully geared for war. A future where the medical apprentices succeeded reaching their dreams.

He felt heat. He felt warmth caress through his spark.

"Ratchet looked like he'll fist fight God if he have to." He felt a smile under her words as, all order of things naturally go, followed by a chuckle, "I'll be coming with." 

Bumblebee silently stared at him. "You okay, Ratch?"

Optics involuntarily flickering at the barrage of emotions, of memories flowing all at once pass the security and barging to his core of where the pre-existing memories live by. The mere dream he hadn't even get to see during recharge, slipped by so seamlessly past the existing ones and took its own place, of creating a space. And for a moment, in those precise fast ticking seconds, he merely watched if it would evaporate. 

It didn't. 

He controlled his optics, shuttering for a few seconds then adjusting the perceived brightness to a normal degree, cooling fans whining in protest as he lowered the strength of it potentially blowing away the stream within. 

Keeping the gathered warmth for a moment, somehow wanting to cling upon it no matter how dangerous of the rising temperature levels harmful for him, brought. Of simply feeling what natural, physical embodiment of heat felt, he opened all vents and released the pent-up air. 

He nodded as he mindfully opened his optics. Immediately, similar to how fixated anyone would be to seeing and holding something extraordinary, gaze at Eloise. Satisfied of the fleeting eye contact he made, he lifted his chin to observe Optimus looking at him, gaze softening as his shoulder plates slumped. The feeling of the fabric patting still patting his digit sending a wave of comfort.

Eloise abruptly stopped. Freezing in place, unblinking eyes and promptly, without further instructions from someone, deducted something was wrong. Scanning for anything causing the newfound unease growing to the pit of his spark, his scans returned negative. 

"Eloise, what is happening—?"

As her face remained unreadable, carefully crafted to be a blank canvas. He often forgot this was the same human that endured excruciating pain just to get sassy with Captain Lennox. He tapped his other digit to his palm, close to her but not physically touching her in her state.

"It's okay. I'm okay. We're safe." She said.

Although, he appreciated the reassurance the statement brought. It didn't exactly relax him at the thought of gaining inaccurate results with the Allspark interfering with the data whenever it liked or felt inclined to do so.

"What happened?" He asked, softer.

"There was numbers, words: coordinates in my head. Of tools, materials," her gaze surveying each one of them, she pulled the blanket up to her nose; having reached the limit of rising his temperature as safety procedures locked him out of cracking his core temperatures higher, his lips curled in distaste, "to fix you up."

"Are the materials of higher quality?" Ironhide asked.

"Hopefully, unless the cube want you to be in worse condition than you are currently. I think so." 

Ironhide taking her words with a huff, briefly rolling his optics. Stepping away to give himself space, he transformed in his vehicle mode, opening his door as Eloise shifted her attention on the pickup truck, head tilted in wonder; he picked her up from his lap and put her to the ground gently, servos hovering to assist on an instance she couldn't stand. 

Her medical results showing a complete healing of the fractured bones. The Allspark making show of its abilities bearing all the evidence she shouldn't have any problems.

Still, he prepared himself as she, similar to him, held her arms on her sides and stood by her own feet.

Eloise smiled, looking over to her shoulder and then abruptly spinning to face him, arms proudly raised above her head, "do you think I need crutches or not?"

"Not. Your legs and pelvic recovered nicely, there should be no need for such."

Her eyebrows raised as her arms went down to her sides, smile becoming confused. 

"I will explain your circumstances with Captain Lennox." He added.

Transforming to his vehicle mode, he opened his door. Eloise entering, sitting on the driver's seat and automatically pulling the seatbelt to clip around her, she moved to shut the door before leaning back to the seat. Making herself comfortable and then tapping the steering wheel with her finger.

However, proximity scans alerted him of another presence on his right side and with an honest mistake of recklessly throwing his door open with Mikaela's force alone, he refrained from opening his mouth as the latter took her seat beside Eloise.

"What's the coordinates?" Ironhide asked, voice coming from the radio he manually set for his passengers to hear and interact with.

Eloise listing off the coordinates, he added the coordinates on his GPS, a holographic three dimensional map hovering on top of the dashboard. Following the coordinates inputted to their GPS and emerging to several places with an abundant resources she denied half off from using. A handful were only taken from the specific locations she told them; Ironhide doing his best to store the materials on his back door with Mikaela helping around the arrangements of other medical equipment that posed as an inconvenience for a space they needed.

Eloise stared from the window, the biting cold of wind making her recoil as the window rolled up shortly. She huffed a sigh, crossing her arms and glaring—with no actual anger, at the steering wheel, "I should be out there, Ratchet."

He said nothing. This was the third time she spoke, two times he answered and explained of why she shouldn't be out there. He wasn't going for the third time.

Observing her eyes flutter, he checked the items from the back. If she were to rest, he could coordinate himself on what materials they were to take; it was the same pattern, after all. Merely different coordinates but same materials. He can make do. 

Wordlessly, he adjusted his thermostat to a warmer setting; playing a soothing background music in which made her mumble and squirm from her seat to get comfortable. He loosened the seatbelt around her body and simply watch as she stopped squirming and settled in.

Proximity scans notifying him, Mikaela entered with a huff. Throwing her weight to the seat before noticing the resting human beside her, was quick to change her behavior to a meek mouse; closing the door with nearly no existing creak nor uttering a word other than tapping the dashboard and nodding.

The passing wreckage of what used to be tall buildings in human standards faded into small infrastructures that had somehow survived with what reminiscent feature one could distinguish the kind of establishment it was formerly. A blinking streetlight as it flickered and went out; they drove with their headlights turned on all the way. 

Every coordinates weren't too far away of a distance as if thoroughly planned to make their travel at ease, he noticed at the last minute when they merely went to point A and point B and onwards—not point A then point D and going to point B. It was convenient; he internally checked the impromptu makeshift storage of his vehicle, filled to the brim with materials significantly better than the ones Ironhide had found himself and given to him—he was starting to think Ironhide hadn't put much thought and effort in finding decent parts that he gave him credit for, he drove them back to the base with his tyres keeping firm despite of the weight from his back part, it was manageable. 

Arriving to the temporary base or center as the others call it; he ceased the music, opened his doors and retracted the seatbelts.

Mikaela nudging Eloise to wake, the latter smiled in appreciation, muttering a soft word of gratitude before groggily getting out; blankets tightly wrapped around her shoulders in which she continued to clutch on.

Waiting until every part they salvaged from several equipments and vehicles—mainly parts from vehicles, were out of him. He transformed to look down on the neat pile of parts Optimus recently finished arranging into a line. Performing a scan and humming, it would do.

However, Eloise had a different idea from him.

He warily watched her approach a part, Optimus closest to her side as she plopped down beside him, her blankets cacooning around her body—Optimus sent him a reluctant glance he answered with a shrug and a frown before they both refocused towards her picking up a big piece of slab metal, with little difficulty, in her arms.

Beaming, she hold the item with pride. Optimus gently taking it from her arms and to his servo, showing it to Ratchet who briefly had paused to glare at the extraneous effort she was putting on her—although fully healed, she was lacking in sleep and hence—strained body.

Obligated, he scan the material and narrowed his optics; re-doing the scan for the second and third time. He rapidly read the results from his HUD, it was cybertronian quality dating back from the age of the golden era—the era of the Primes. 

"—I think we did something."

She considered the Allspark to have some form of sentience? He groaned. "What did you specifically do?"

She beamed at him with a proud smile, smug in the way the blanket remained tightly wrapped around her body with minute shivers constantly racking her body. He didn't let her explain yet as he smoothly scooped her up with his other servo and ushered the rest of the materials to be put inside for it's chances of receiving contamination from outside forces lessen.

His feedback from the logical explanation was the incredulous and doubtful looks the trio shared with eachother. The feedback wasn't appreciated.

After only putting her down to a bed he moved to be put near the resources, did he let her continue with a nonchalant nod. Optimus Prime snickering beside him was blatantly ignored for the duration of a time. 

Apparently, they don't understand the level of his concern after he put another blanket he took to another bed over her body. 

He was really going to have a word with the humans responsible in producing such thin blankets.

"I'm not sure yet." Smiling to herself, and in the visible lighting of the dangling bulbs of the tent, he found himself staring on the curve of her lips, presently devoid of bruises and cuts and he fleetingly wondered if her bruises on the thigh was healed just as well as her fractured had been, "I just thought of looking to judge the quality and thought of how it would be improved."

"Any references?"

She thoughtfully put her covered hand to her chin, "I always judge my materials and would wonder how to make it better for my needs." At his blank look, she helpfully clarified more with a hopeful smile, "say, I have a paint—I would improvise on making the flow of paint smoother or if I wanted to, have more texture. Like that."

Like that.

If either Mirage or Sunstreaker or even Sideswipe was here, maybe the ideology would've been understood by them. Unfortunately, he wasn't artistically inclined and the only autobot who had some form of artistic appreciation was gone, he was getting help from no one. He frowned and tried to apply it on his skills, is it the same as him medically cutting off armour from the freshly deceased than the ones that had been dead for a longer time? 

He hummed, seeing her perked at the sound he made. She must've thought he understand her. 

"I... see, can you do more?" He asked, reluctant in the way her body was nearly to the point of collapsing on itself and only forcing herself to put on a show for them. He was torn in making her rest and having sufficient quality materials to repair themselves. She was mentally exhausted, she needed to rest; his medical protocols that hasn't ceased from blaring internal alarms of explicitly going against one of the acts, he clenched his jaw.

But if she says she can do more, surely that meant she can, right?

He loathed the way she stared at him as if she was suddenly possessed by someone like Jazz to cleanly read him off with a look, like an easy-to-use instruction manual, she smiled—he loathed that too. "Sure, I can do more."

Looking at the smile seemingly glued permanently to her face, he openly stared at the expression; a clench directly to his spark as it spasm mildly in the sensation, he grunted and turned around; leaving her to it as she touched each and every material she could get her hands on then putting it to the side. He went outside. 

"Ratchet.." a servo on his shoulder plate, he clenched his fists and bowed his helm. "Are you well?"

No. He wasn't well.

But, what can he do except to wallow in the endless stream of guilt replacing the energon in his wires? He had endured this for a long time, this wasn't anything different. He had made choices unthinkable for a medic sworn and binded to his oath. He would live with the consequences of his actions; the consequences in his decisions. 

It was one life amongst the four lives he had spent his waking moment in life and death circumstances. He shuttered his optics, since when had he disregarded the very thought of one singular life for a few? It was still a life. When had he given away saving a life and preserving it?

The servo tightened on his shoulder plate, a whirr of engines standing beside him this time, Optimus pulled him in a one arm hug he weakly fought against yet ultimately lost.

"She is a determined human. She wouldn't have done this if not for her persistence to do so. A commitment to be applauded for."

No, Optimus didn't see her as close as he did; Eloise wasn't just determined, she had already set herself on helping them in the expense of her own state—distracting a decepticon, taking the Allspark, lying for him; primus, he feared of what would be her next course of action she would steered herself gladly soon. He scowled and whether it was for him or for her, he couldn't careless. Just that he felt pissed off. Very pissed off. "... yeah. Probably need a good smack on the head."

Optimus mindfully nudged him for his words, taking his tone for what it is. 

Yet, he wasn't comforted by the thought of it, lips thinly pursed. Such delicate lifeforms they are, he mused. Too easy to get cold, too easy to get hot, too easy to get injured and taking too long to be healed. They weren't like them, they weren't nothing alike between them other than the shared morals and level of sentience they both harbour. They were of flesh and bones, of blood and soft internal organs. They wouldn't ever be like them. 

—and perhaps he should take that as a sign to not get attached. 

A primitive species with nothing going on with them but to lead a short lifespan, blissfully unaware of what lays pass the ozone layer protecting them from foreign invaders to live the rest of their lives with the world literally only spinning for them. 

He leaned the side of his helm to Optimus's chassis, it wouldn't do him good to grow attached for this species.

No good at all.

Chapter Text

If she moved the materials to where they are, it would be exhausting. She risked doing more work than she bargained for. Would she really take it?

Taking another tentative glance to where Jazz lays, she frowned. Glancing where the materials surround her everywhere, all in arms reach. She hummed under her breath, smirking as she glanced behind her to observe the bed then at the materials. Her eyes going down to the wheels of the bed, she decided.

Carefully picking each pieces delicately, she weighed her choices once more. Yeah, she was really going through this. Resuming to assemble the pieces to fit around the bed, leaving nothing to the ground and letting it pile on top of eachother when it threatened to fall of the edge if she put more there. Also putting the blankets as it kept slipping from her shoulders.

Walking to the headrest, gripping the metal under her bandaged hands. She wheeled the bed towards where he is, stopping to the side of his head and making her place to it; settling with a pleasant hum as she tapped Jazz's armour lightly—for some form of greeting or checking if he was alive somehow, she didn't ponder too much on the possible implications. She had enough of thinking for today.

And for a few moments, she let herself fully soak in the amount of damage Jazz took. The work done by Ratchet noticeable as it showed in the way pieces of metal melted and cleanly melded with his own, the wires must've been fixed because if she knew Ratchet from however brief time they spent together, it was he was thorough.

Hand absent-mindedly tapping and stroking the once warm metal under her touch, registering the coldness on her palm; she tilt her head to the side. 

Blinking, she leaned her back to the armour. Finding strange comfort in feeling the coldness seep to her body like a familiar greeting bordering to intimate. It was kinda sick when this was also the armour she leaned back when—breath catching through her throat. She pursed her lips. 

Right. Still sensitive. Not going to prod then.

Abruptly picking a material without much of a thought; she redirect her attention to somewhere more productive, more prone to take her mind away from comprehending the past events that led her to where she is. Shaking her head, she focused all attention on the piece grip by her hand.

Softening her grip slightly, loosening to a point of her encased fingers uncurling. Letting a loose breath forth, concentrating as her chest start to grew warm—a crackling of bonfire against the cold of winter, the heat transferring to her arms as it slid down smoothly to the palms of her hands and towards the object. The energy surged forward relentlessly, a momentary silence as she focused on being the conduit. Was conduit the right word? Lips contemplatively puckering, she settled for the lack of better term, conduit. 

Feeling the material as if holding them to her hands, it shaped themselves up and modified the quality like making the texture of the paint better. It's the same with this, just as she had explained with Ratchet. Though, she guessed he didn't understood the analogy she used; probably should went all medical on him.

The cube, an on-going theory she had, was applying her knowledge in making this possible—so far, they were doing nothing to reinstate her theory nor bust it; rather they made her more certain as she went on, encouraging her to explore and do more.

Whereas she could still feel the phantom heat of a thousand suns lapping to her skin and to her nerves then nearly to the bones, she contained the tremble of her hands—they helped her regain what she thought was eternally lost.

She should feel grateful. 

A breeze within her chest as she felt the sensation of cool mint candy; the refreshing coolness akin of a cooling patch. It was familiar. It was comforting. It wasn't... as scary as before. In comparison of the cube literally burning her and especially everything else following after, this pales in anything she ever experienced. 

Reluctantly resting her hand to her chest, she momentarily paused from her task to inspect herself. What was that? 

Another breeze flowing and almost forcefully ebbing the remnants of merely throbbing limbs and the incoming headache she had predicted ever since staying nearly awake without an hour of sleep for two days. Her eyebrows came together, they were helping her recover?

Had they not already reverse the damage they inflicted on her?

Although, a nagging feeling that it was done with no harm in mind; she took a shaky breath. Closing her eyes when the vivid sensation of her hands not taking anything—not feeling the cold metal bleeding through the bandage, the firmness, the smoothness and miniscule indents, and the thought of her limb eventually being cut off like a rotten bark of a tree. Or at least, the part of it which took place inside her head, made her live at the mere possibility of it.

It was terrifying. More than falling to her death, to facing art critics, to keeping confidential secrets with her literal life on line. She squeezed her hand into fists, the hesitant tugging of something inside her abruptly snapping her out of it.

Right, she had a task to finish.

Blinking, she mentally counted the handful of materials in one hand, huffing; she closed her eyes. A little experiment of trying to see if she (truly had her senses returned and feeling something, anything again) would know if the quality is determined with physically seeing its condition or not, by only touching it and letting her senses have the reins. 

Putting the finished material to her side, picking another from the bed and sitting down with a huff; as she laid her palm flat on the object. A faint outline appearing in her mind's eye, she let them took control in polishing the object while she observed from afar after determining the points where improvements or adjustments were applied, she hummed and smiled. They can. 

That was great, resuming with feeling around for hard objects with her eyes staying close—a way to somehow rest without actually doing said action; she yawned, that was the last of it. 

Blindly feeling the ground as she crawled to the bed closed by with the finished materials neatly piled on one side. She dragged her arms to stretch to the bed with half her body on it as her cheek rested on the soft yet stiff bedding—it was better than resting on the ground; face rubbing the firm bedding, she let all thoughts come to a halt as her tensed shoulders sagged and for her hands to repetitively rub the bed for comfort.

Eyes tiredly blinking in and out to finally rest, a presence loomed over to her; she pointedly ignored the presence. If she ignored them long enough, they'll surely bug away.

Their silence a comforting noise in an otherwise noisy, lively ambiance noise her mind adapted and tuned out of. She relished the quiet presence, it must be some human medic checking over her condition. 

"... er me? Ma'am, can you hear me?"

Or not.

Sluggishly turning her head to the other side where the presence hovered over her, opening her eyelids to lights momentarily blinding her before Lennox moved to shield her from it. She sighed and mentally prepared herself for whatever the Captain was to throw at her. 

Surely, being this close to an extraterrestrial species wasn't good. Or her provocation earlier didn't go as unnoticed as she thought it was, maybe she was still on their list of uncharted territory of deciding to be a friendly or not. There were multiple plausible reasons to go after her, she wouldn't be surprised if he did interrogate her.

"Captain Lennox, how may I assist you?" She asked.

For a moment, Lennox simply stared at her, unwavering gaze searching for any clues or hints she may unintentionally give away. She hid her amusement under the scrutiny of such subtlety, "did you walk over here?"

"Yeah."

At her curt answer, Lennox raised an eyebrow. Silently asking her to continue with a shifting of his weight to the other foot and crossing his arms. 

"Ratchet helped me in my injuries. I believe he will go through the procedures how he did so once he meet you. Had you not seen him yet?"

Frowning, Lennox briefly surveyed the room before planting his gaze at her, "not yet."

She smiled—a disarming, carefree smile she had used to allure many others before him, further lower their walls to her; her own eyes, as many times of practice it took between people and the mirror of her bathroom, twinkled with that practiced comfort. She knew precisely where his wall crumbled.

"Perhaps I can assist you to find Ratchet?" She offered, looking up through her eyelashes.

"No, no. It's alright, I can manage," glancing somewhere else, he sighed under his breath, continuing, "I'll talk to him and return here. Have you eaten yet?"

Letting her smile lightly fall, she shook her head—still hungry despite eating the snacks the medics kindly gave to her; eyes taking in all that it can with his body language alone, analyzing every of his breath rising and falling, eyes faltering with hers, and how he overall seemed to be reluctant in his former approach of initially treating her as a hostile, an enemy.

"Alright, I'll be back with the food. Wait here." 

Watching his figure turned his back to her, she laid her head to the firm bedding again. He wasn't as cautious as he did before, she would bet he had a family of his own to soften as quickly towards a show of vulnerability no matter how fake it was in her perspective of simply acting. And also to the visible imprinted tan-line mark in his ring finger where his ring must've been taken off for the sake of duty. How sweet.

All that matters would him not being as determined to level her as a threat to his comrades, lessen the hostility towards her. To be as forgiving in searching for information pertaining all of her.

Her eyes fluttered close with the last mental image of a different shade of light flashing under her eyelids.

For a giant robot with a color scheme of neon green, he couldn't find Ratchet. Ratchet who was a twenty or less foot of a robot and wore the sickening neon like an eyesore seen even through the corner of anyone's eyes.

Doing the second reason, he opted to simply find Ratchet after her. Rummaging through their supplies brought in cases such as this, as an emergency and for them to have chances of survival with rationing food. He didn't ratio her food as he scooped mouthful of two servings worth of it, serving as an apology for his actions that Mikaela had loudly pointed out at the heat of their argument. 

Lennox, as quick as he came the first time, returned personally carrying a packet of food he rack up from their crates, generously carrying several pieces of food on the way for one person to eat all of it. A lukewarm bottled water and a couple of biscuits, and a nutrient bar for a boost up. 

Rounding on her side, he stuttered in his footsteps as he lifted an eyebrow upon seeing Ratchet hover beside the woman, arranging the blanket and her position after putting her properly to the bed then draping the three blankets—what was he thinking with draping over three blankets? She wasn't that sick, an injury isn't the same as a fever, right? He pursed his lips, dodging someone with a swift slide to the side. Right? The guilt intensified as he softly curse under his breath. Continuing on making his way—faltering when Ratchet turned to him with a questioning frown, he stood beside the bed and dropped some of the food there.

"What is that?" Confused, Ratchet poked the items he brought with him; eyes brightening and dimming as he turned and flashed his scanners down at her, he hummed, "I suppose humans have shorter fuel reservations. Must you routinely eat?"

"Three times a day, yeah."

"Three times? Can you not..." his expression pinch in articulating an equivalent word for something, continued with uncertainty, "sleep it off?"

Sleep off the hunger? They can but it doesn't usually bode well on the impact it would have on the body. And based on what the medics had reported to him of what they saw, if Ratchet is really as determined to look after her, he'll need to expand human body functions outside of the injuries section, "we could but it doesn't go away. Left ignored, we get weaker, have less sleep, and lose weight are the few things bad in sleeping off the hunger."

Nodding, Ratchet picked one delicately as it was pressed between his fingers; a blue light washing over shortly, he frowned at the results as he, on the other hand, stared at Ratchet in disbelief after depositing all of the snacks to the bed.

"You were here all this time?"

Ratchet looked at him like he was crazy, "where else should I be?" Putting the snack, he scooted and fuss over her—doing absolutely nothing other than occupying himself and letting his curiosity get the best of him as it overruled anything else, "was my color scheme not enough?"

"It's just—" closing his eyes, taking a sharp intake of breath then releasing it slowly. He lips drawn in a thin line, he opened his eyes, "nothing. I wanted to talk to you about the medical procedure you did with her." Jutting his eyes at the person resting on the bed, he looked up to see Ratchet—mistaking it as glare of the light because he wouldn't actually glare at him— looking at him with a contemplative expression. 

"I understand."

Expecting for them to go somewhere with enough privacy to not only discuss the medical procedures but to also, hopefully, earned Ratchet's joint cooperation on taking their side to finding information and what to do with her being involved through knowing the autobots existence and even especially, having direct contact with Starscream. He looked over to his shoulder, half-way away from them when he didn't heard audible, recognizable footsteps belonging to Ratchet who should've been walking along side with him.

Confused, he returned. Studying Ratchet meticulously turning the biscuits over between his fingers; either Ratchet ignored the context of his words and took it for what it is or he didn't care to think about discussing it out in the open and in front of the person in question; he released another helpless sigh. "Ratchet, focus."

The sound of clicking metal, his eyes snapped towards him. Wordlessly putting the biscuit close to her with distaste, he turned to him with a tilt of his head, "do you want to know the full procedure or the effect of our technology on human body?"

"Whatever can explain on how the hell she is walking after falling from fifteen feet with no safety gears."

"Alright. Both, then."

Ratchet further bent down, gesturing him with his eyes to follow where he was looking; he walked closer as Ratchet hovered his finger on the outline of her legs. 

Starting his explanation of how the bone was cleanly fractured, an oblique fracture on the knee and ankle he said, and thus only need to realigned the bone shape carefully, screw metal within the bone to help it stabilize and heal normally then sealed it with a coating of formula Ratchet state would make the healing process faster due to the components of that spray assisting the healing progress. It seemed Ratchet had tried to steer away from being too technical as he wasn't in the medical field the he was. 

"What about her burns?"

"Ah—"

The ringtone of a cellphone interrupted them.

Swiveling where he heard the sound, he saw Eloise's eyelids open with her face wrinkled in annoyance; her hand moving underneath the cover to take her phone from the pocket, she took out her arm and carefully sat up. Briefly glancing at him then at Ratchet with an eyebrow raised in question, she answered her phone with the press of her knuckle.

"Eloise? Are you doing fine? Where are you?" A voice of someone spoke, evidently a mother from her tone alone. He watched as she put the phone on speaker.

Noticing the food by the edge of her bed, she casually took a biscuit, staring down at it before looking at him with a frown. Silently handing the biscuit for him, he took it and hold it. Then remembered she couldn't fully use pressure on her fingers because that was where the worse of the burn was. He, with haste, opened the biscuit and handed it to her; watching her smile and pat the space by her foot for him to sit.

After finding it to himself to simply make things easier for him, he sat down. Only feeling the fatigue come down in full force as his shoulders sagged and popped his back with a satisfactory crack; Eloise offered some of the snacks with a kind smile, another thing he can't deny himself of as his stomach grumbled, he took one and ate as he listened to their conversation.

"I'm fine, mami. Still at the workshop," biting a biscuit, chewing thoughtfully; she smiled, "the museum was satisfied with the sculpture, I'm just taking a break before working on another piece."

"You should take care yourself better. It's already midnight, why don't you give it a rest and call it a day, hm?" 

"I'll try. Why did you call, mami?"

An audible sigh from the other line, he opened another biscuit and waited for an answer. Flickering his attention to see Ratchet listening intently as he did, he huffed and returned his eyes on her.

"I wanted to check if you're still up and was right. Do you still have the coffee I bought for you?"

"Yeah, still brand new though." She joked, laughing as her mother shared her amusement, chuckling softly. 

"Well, try to drink some, okay?"

"And you as well, mami. Try to get some sleep too."

"I love you, Eli, sleep when you're done with that piece and send me a picture! I'll love to see it!"

Her smile positively beaming, she returned the affection twice before ending the call.

Her eyes finding his, she looked down on the snacks he brought with an amused glint by her eyes, snickering under her breath as she covered her mouth. Her cellphone laid abandoned on her lap, she pointed at the pile, "are you sure you won't run out? That's a two servings per head, isn't it?"

"I'll just put it back after." He answered curtly, studying the arms completely secured by a bandage, he wondered if her burns that was mended by an extraterrestrial being did heal faster. He stood up, patting invisible dust off of him, "is there anything else you need before I go?"

Eloise shook her head, seemingly pleased by herself as she handpicked a few snacks to stash close to her side before looking up at him with a grin, pushing the remaining snacks for him to return. He gathered the snacks and trash, stuffing a few to the handful of pockets of his uniform and briskly leaving them to their own after bidding his farewells, out of courtesy. 

From the back of his mind, there was a nagging feeling he very well knew he should listen to and he intend to do so. Something off in a place he can't put a finger on. Yet.

Regardless of how he felt, he had to do his duty befitting of a captain with the peoples trust and faith on him. 

No matter how the thought of leaving an innocent bystander—the same bystander smiling and even acting polite despite her current circumstances, to die by his stupid order sat heavily on his shoulders. He quietly wondered if the guilt of sending off a citizen to their definite death with no assistance and not even a search party after would go away just as the same blood of the boy he wiped from his hands. 

Tracking until Lennox was out of sight; expression carefully contorting into a blank slate of nothingness. It was amusing how little the man even attempt to hide his suspicions on her. He wouldn't survive a day with the people she regularly brushed shoulders with, to wear his heart on his sleeve openly; she pity the man. 

Was he even trying?

Scoffing, casually leaning her back to the headrest then closing her eyes, they would likely do a background check on her, that much was certain.

Opening her eyes, switching to people watching and letting her thoughts run similar to how an antique recorder with the needle-like cartridge play the data on the CD, be occupied as the melody of her own expanding theories floating and bouncing off took most of her awareness.

Nevertheless she, no matter how entertaining everything was, particularly didn't want a military soldier on her case. She couldn't fight for her life if said opponent was a trained captain of a special force team like special operations or something, it would be a losing game for her the moment Lennox suspected her as something she was not—background check notwithstanding. 

"Eloise, are you feeling well? Your heart rate is slightly picking up."

Lennox could very well suspect me as a potential enemy. A captain of a military platoon. "Must be the sugar kicking in my systems. It has been a few hours since I last ate." Turning to Ratchet, relief spread to her chest as she saw his softly glowing eyes blinking at her, it was relieving to see him and to stay on her side, her eyes softened as was her, undoubtedly, smile lose some of it's pretense, "how about you? Did you already eat?"

Ratchet, as if startled by her question, leaned back with a thoughtful grunt, "not yet. My energon levels are still at a manageable eighty percent, as unlike you humans, we can last longer. More of medic frames."

"Energon?"

Nodding at her, he elaborated with gazing at somewhere she didn't dare to follow in favor of taking the intricate details etched on his armour, "yes, our fuel source. Or in human terms, food."

That was interesting, this was interesting. She took the multiple blankets to put around her shoulders—Ratchet smoothing the rest of it, she put her feet down to the ground and looked up at him, "that's fascinating. Where do you get your fuel source?"

"Usually, it's naturally produced in what is similar as your rivers or oceans, in that matter. It is blue in color—" he paused, glancing below with a quirk of his nose, "I am not keen in the coloration but energon varies depending on how it is manufactured. It may come as in varying shades of pink, blue, or purple."

"Cool," smiling, she didn't point out the small, almost unnoticeable quirk of his lips at her word, "does our planet have your energon?"

This time, she saw his frown deepen as he sighed with the vents of his body releasing a stream of hot air, "unfortunately, we do not know yet. I have yet to detect a possible fuel source as your," his nose wrinkled with disgust as he huffed, "gasoline don't meet our standard lest we want to chug an entire gasoline station to have our fuel levels reach even thirty percent."

Ratchet was still fine in not eating for now but what about the others?

A shifting of air beside her, she looked to see Ratchet not tearing his gaze at the specific corner of the room and she pursed her lips, vividly aware of how hard it was to keep her eyes open and the annoying constricting of her throat and her insides repeating the process of dropping to the same height as she experienced back then and, she didn't like any of it. With nothing else to do that'll keep her mind at bay for the memories she tried to keep away, she was left to face the repercussions on the blunt force of such vivid sensations her body recalled. 

And with memories came with the thought of Jazz. 

"What will... happen to Jazz?" She asked carefully, in a way she convinced herself for the sake of Ratchet, their comrade and own medic, a dear friend if their fondness was anything to go by. 

She spared a glance at them, eventually feeling a cold pressure on her shoulder and not breaking her gaze, her hand patted the finger resting lightly on her shoulder. 

Personally, she didn't want to know but she was somewhat responsible over him; after all, she had several unknown giant figures tell her to save Jazz, an indirect responsibility she shouldered after deciding it was the truth. 

—and after everything that happened, the unusual prophecy she had didn't sound strange anymore with literal mechanical beings stepping on the same ground as her and their ancient artifact deciding it should be her to take them like adopting a stray animal, merging with her.

Instead, of all the things that should've come as strange for her, Jazz, an annoying hippy mechanical, felt so strange. It was frustrating. 

A stutter of engines whining, she closed her eyes at the sound, "we—we don't know about the traditions of this planet. However, on our planet, we honor the dead by burial and building a holographic picture of them to remember them by."

Swiveling her head to properly gaze at the figure neatly laid on the dirty ground, she frowned at all the dirt on their once silver armor. Closing her eyes and lowering her head, she couldn't fathom to escape from it as in her mind's eye she still manage to see everything in a full three hundred sixty degree, floating slightly unstable above her body; spreading her arms beside her as if walking on a trapeze, it worked.

Internally celebrating the small victory, she surveyed her surroundings: Mikaela sitting beside an unconscious boy she recognized that she saved, Ratchet still staring at the unmoving body, and her physical body that sat still. 

She paused, what was that?

A different kind of light brushed by her lap, feeling the faint heat; she looked on her physical body to see something sprint, passing her by. From her vision able to see in every directions, there was a small ball of light that she was sure she didn't see before. It wasn't there before.

Opening her eyes with eyebrows creasing in confusion, she turned to glance at Ratchet who still kept staring at the body. Did he also saw that light? Was that why he kept staring?

"Do you see it too?"

Apparently, he didn't because as he turned to her with mechanical eyebrows both raising; silently questioning her with his expression alone as his hand retracted to lay on his knee, it was so humanoid-like. So fun to watch.

"The ball of light," pointing to where she last saw it, Ratchet involuntarily followed at whatever she was pointing with his frown deepening and even going as far as squinting his eyes in effort to see what she pointing. He doesn't see the light. Her hand stayed pointing on it and after closing her eyes to quickly check upon, it was still there. "It's floating above their body."

The sound of engines stopping as suddenly as sharp claws scratching the blackboard to create an awful soul-screeching sound; he whipped his whole body to her in a speed that made her flinch. Ratchet's eyes dramatically brightening as his fans turned to top notch, nearly grating it made her internally wince at the sounds. Was it supposed to sound like that?

"What's the color of the light, Eloise?" Ratchet asked, literal urgency in his tone—breathlessly uttering the words as he leaned closer to hear her answer.

The color of the skies, the blues of a perfect day for an idle time to relax, listen to music, and gazing by the meadows and point the shapes of clouds that would resemble something; she let a small smile appear in remembering such a pretty imagery, annoyance evaporating and replaced with the all knowing emotion she vehemently denied entry of, "the same color as their visor. A very pretty blue."

"And what's it doing? Can you still see it now?"

"When I closed my eyes, outside of my physical body, I saw the light but right now in this reality, I can't. But it was just hovering above their body as if... lost? Or, don't know where to go?"

Ratchet put a finger on her shoulder—unintentionally putting it a little too roughly as she bit down a noise of complaint. What was that faint high pitched sound? Putting his other hand flat to the ground to step on; she carefully moved to it and sat down as he stabilized her position to hastily stand and walked a few quick steps with her close to his chest radiating heat, her blankets forgotten in his haste. His chest was a nice substitute for it.

Her hand, any former reservations of touching anyone, relucantly rested on his armor, "Ratchet."

Ratchet didn't look at her.

"Ratchet, look at me." Tapping his chest; he glanced at her with a frown. The faint high pitched sound still audibly heard somehow—it was making her dizzy, blinking her eyes, she smiled soothingly; tapping his chest everytime his attention would falter and return staring at the cause of panic, "breathe."

"Eloise, I'm alright—"

"I know. Breathe for me. I'm," blinking her eyes, she let her smile falter the same as his eyes would, "I'm just getting dizzy."

"Dizzy? How?"

The faint high pitched sound decreasing, she released her smile, "vertigo."

The noise wholly disappearing, engines calming down to a mere thrumming similar of a cat's purr; Ratchet snorted, "no, you're not." Pausing, he slowly blinked his eyes, cocking his head to the side, "you... heard the noise?"

"What noise?" She did and the noise served the purpose of annoying the hell out of her. It was Ratchet's anxiety she cared about, not whatever the noise was—although, it did help to signal Ratchet was slightly losing his marbles. Hand retreating to her lap, she breathed a sigh of relief; good to know she somewhat helped. Ratchet was alright now. Hopefully. "You're scanners okay, doc?"

Feeling his stare trying to decipher her actions, comprehending and analyzing her every gesture, a warm vent of air splashed down above her head, "it is now."

"Cool." Looking straight ahead, humming to herself; her eyes narrowed in a thought. If she could see the ball of light, had Ratchet indirectly confirm of it's importance—the ball of light to float aimlessly above their body. Could it be... Jazz? It had the same shade as their visor, it was likely. Very likely. 

She didn't let herself hope.

Standing before the body, Ratchet crouched down as another set of footsteps entered inside the tent; Optimus, the red flamed decals and Ironhide, the distinguishable individual with no distinct details given to her prior. The yellow individual called Bumblebee as Optimus kindly introduced earlier as they sort out the pile into a neat line.

Optimus Prime was a gentle giant, a little intimidating on first glance but meant no harm, he was great.

"Can you try again?" She turned to look at Ratchet, her chest tightening at seeing anguish and distress on his features; she patted his fingers with a determined nod. 

And come on, how could she deny him? He was on the verge of breaking down, pleading at her basically; her hand continued to stroke his finger in what she hopes as reassuring; at least he wasn't as distressed as he was before? "Of course, Ratchet."

Taking a breath, she closed her eyes; hovering outside of her physical body and at the close distance, clearly saw the ball of light swaying side by side with no distinct direction going, "I see it. Should I approach?"

"She can't be serious, Prime. A human seeing a spark? And to know it was his?" Ironhide whispered roughly with disbelief—there was more he said in their native language roughly, not as inclined to believe in her words than the other two, nearly growling when Optimus patted his shoulder in a poor attempt to calm him down. His growling engines increasing at the gesture yet overpowered by the purposefully purring engines of a truck, he stood no chance.

"At a safe distance if you can." He softly said.

About to approach the "spark", she looked down below to examine his condition. As same as it was in determining what Bumblebee needed for the construction of his legs. 

The warmth returning forth to mainly her chest and arms, it grew into intensity; a transparent view of everything similar to the architecture's plans, she hovered closer to the body. A faint outline of it's entirety, tapping the outer cover; the cover vanishing as it revealed the cluster of wires and circuits within. She tried to find where the energon was stored, tapping around the stomach area; a part dissapearing to reveal another layer of a small quantity of liquid substance. He should have around five or seven gallons, not even half of his reserve.

"Before anything happens, the amount of energon in him is low. Ratchet, can you...?"

Ratchet mindfully moved her relaxed body without a jolt in his movements, opening a panel on his arms with a wire extending out of it; Ironhide walking to his other side and taking a wire out of Jazz's arm and connecting it together. Ratchet softly grunted and shuttered his eyes momentarily with Optimus tugging him to his side, "initiating energon transfer, what else do you see?"

Quickly tapping several layers away to see other layers and circling around the spark—not getting close to it just yet as she performed a thorough examination of his body's condition, she went back to the stomach area and hummed at the rising levels of it. "All parts are doable, energon levels are being taken. I am," pausing in her words to glance up at the spark, she took another breath, "approaching the spark."

Close enough to the spark she could reach an arm and pull it towards her; she opened her arms wide and not knowing what else to do, waited for a full minute with the spark still not moving towards her.

What was she supposed to do?

"I told you we'll survive this together." The spark paused in its movements the moment the first syllables slipped from her mouth, "will you come back with me? Have the medic check your wounds over?"

The spark, as if her voice was a path to follow—the light at the end of the tunnel, swayed towards with each word like an hypnotized snake to a snake charming until it was eventually hovering in front of her chest, floating within her opened arms. Right in front of her as if that's where they belong.

"Where is the spark now, Eloise?" Optimus asked, still holding onto Ratchet as the latter disconnected the wires with a low grumble, letting the wires return to its respective places and putting the panel over after; Ratchet leaned towards Optimus's chest.

"The spark is in front of me, within my arms."

"Tell that idiot I'll smack him so hard he'll wish he's never been done that." Ratchet growled from his face comfortably snuggled on Optimus. 

The spark vibrated within her arms, flashing quickly like panicked or not anticipating the more likely outcome of his future. She smiled and laughed, "he heard you, Ratchet. He's not looking forward to it."

Delicately, deliberately—painstakingly closing her arms around the spark; engaging into an embrace with a small space for him to escape if he didn't want it. The spark moved closer as her arms occupy the remains of what little gap they have in between, "you'll be fine, you have them. It's going to be fine this time, will you come with me?"

The spark vibrating more harder, it send her giggling as it sweetly snuggled up to her nape; something wet forming from the corners of her eyes as her giggling turned into shaky breaths, warmth spread over to where he touched her, she gingerly embraced the spark. And like her unformed tears had watered the withered flower inside her, making it bloom into a bountiful plant with petals of hope in vibrant hues; hope bloomed inside her.

Lowering them down as they guided her—she let it happen and until her feet was merely inches off from touching his chest, she softly pushed the spark downwards.

Murmurs of reassurance as the spark stopped seeking her, he melted through the armor—her heart dropping as she watched with mortification when the spark completely melted going down. She had never would've willingly done the same stunt of going down at the speed she fell but she did, all for the sake to pull him away even as they sooth her—she fought against them. (She wouldn't do this to him. She can't—she didn't want to do this to him.) A sharp cry from behind her made her have a whiplash.

Eyes snapping open with a gasp, stumbling all on her own as Ratchet moved with a start and automatically clutching her closer to his chest with his engines vibrating visibly—sending welcomed vibrations to her own, his other hand caged her from slipping or falling from the height. A much appreciated thought.

Catching her breath, she didn't want to ever hear Ironhide cry out of joy if it will startle her this bad; carefully wiping the edges of her eyes and cursing under her breath when it left evidence through the soaked bandage. 

The weight finally off her shoulders, body sagging like a sad deflated balloon, she peeked from her blurring vision to see that same cracked visor come to life, the familiar blue light appearing. Her lips curved upwards with effort, fully surrendering to the much needed rest she needed after confirming he would be alright; she let herself be lulled by the engine's vibrations, her eyes finally achieving what it wanted the whole time: a, hopefully, undisturbed rest.

Chapter Text

Memory core re-establishing. Weaponry system: online. Detecting hostiles: none. Detecting friendlies: (four)—five. 

... System accessing latest memory file...

Engaging all receptors for immersion. 

Grunting, he cursed internally. Busted shoulders, inaccessible malfunctioning weapon systems—dialing down pain receptors to near zero and biting back the groan, he tried to look around—knowing his helm, as small as the movement was, shifting. Nothing. Darkness; sending a rush of codes to override the error continually flashing in his processors. He bit back an amused laugh, he was blind. That's why.

Fragging seeker.

Accessing his commlink to call back-up or at least let anyone in the team knew where he was, he inwardly threw his helm back and cursed; busted too. Ain't that just sweet. Perfect. 

"Pathetic!"

How Starscream's voice managed to register in his audials was such a giant mystery. He froze when an unidentified noise of... something caught his attention, registering faintly a snippet before his audials soon failed him too; he hastily performed a scan and felt dread settled in his tanks. (A gaping tank that was rapidly gushing out precious energon every minute he lay here dumbly with nothing to do.)

Eloise. Eloise was with him, where was she?

Sensors receptors not registering her anywhere on him, keeping the bubbling steam of anxiety sealed. He quickly act to pin-point her location by clicking his glossa lightly and sending an echolocation; clearly imagining they were in the middle, far from him. Smart Starscream. Hissing under his breath, he attempted to open his jaw, unhinged it from the locked position and having to work it only to have nothing to come out of it.

Having no choice but to fall back in relying echolocation, (HUD flashing crimson errror signals he couldn't disregard with a simple flick as his processors gradually started to fail him too.) A quick check of his reserves, it was approaching ten percent. Either he was offlining or dropping into stasis. Which one of the option, he would know soon.

Starscream, for whatever reason was still here, and Eloise—where was she? Hasn't he took the cube yet?

Mapping a visual purely based on the heat signature from his thermal scanners; he took in the situation despite of the unbearable heating of his frame—not overly fond of the heat or feeling warm; his regulators, probably fried from the explosion, not doing its purpose to control his rising, so far spiking temperature. It was annoying. 

Starscream moved, revealing another heat signature clutched to his grasp and he let himself wondered why he kept her if the cube was already in his—! All movements stilling and yet reeling at the same time as Starscream raised his arm, scanners instantly zeroing on the organic; he watched as Starscream, without hesitation, dropped her off. Eloise managed to cling somewhere, dangling from roughly fifty foot or higher from the air, he willed himself to move. 

If Starscream dropped her from that height, she won't survive. Humans, no matter how courageous and strong, weren't as durable as they think they are, Eloise would definitely die upon contact to the ground.

Her little legs kicking, heat blooming and swirling so heatedly, so angrily inside her small squishy body like a tornado he had once gotten the pleasure of getting caught up in, a welcome introduction of the relatively dangerous elements native to this planet. His spark dropped the same as Starscream flung her to plummet down.

And he was glad his audials weren't functioning yet also swore at himself for being like this—sending code after code for any of his weaponry to come online, to activate, to respond on any of his growing senseless attempts of getting any respond. 

Yet, it happened all too fast.

A dull vibration of the floor made his body grew warmer. 

No... no, no. 

... initiating shutdown protocols. Engaging safety subroutines...

Wait, wait. He just had to know if she was alive before going to the other side—just a quick moment, a snap! Then, he'll go willingly—he just need to; in a last ditch of effort, attempted to redirect his faltering and blinking HUD and self-constructed map towards the ground whilst it fell apart like rusting metal parts. He just need to...

... need to...

The actual blaring of sirens inside his helm making him wince; naturally monotone voice calmly uttering the dreaded sentence condemning him of his failure. He stubbornly tried again, redirecting the rest of the power to his scanners, the scanners vividly flashing and stuttering as multiple errors of reaching over what temperature his frame can only endure for so long furiously blinked in blazing, in all of its glory, red.

... initiating shutdown protocols. Energon reserves: one percent. State: critical. Danger. Danger. Danger—shutting down...

He came online with a discreet click from his subroutines, accomplishing the thorough background check of the surroundings he was currently residing whilst he was walking down on a memory lane. Safe. He was with friendlies. 

Scanning for the second time with him fully in control, determining someone was giving him energon via transfusion. Recognizing the pattern of medical, someone whom he gave verbal permission to access his systems and an override code whenever something happened to him—something that happened more frequently than said medic would've personally preferred. He rechecked for his weaponry, decently fixed. 

Reading the scans, he easily sent a command for his receptors to online; finding his systems more receptive than before, optics coming online slowly and threading carefully. Manually adjusting the degree of light filtering through his optics as he adjusted his settings, he blinked. 

"Good to see you back." Ratchet dryly greeted.

"Nice to be back—ow!" An audible thunk from a part Ratchet was holding on for, he knows, the sole purpose of hitting his helm and making true of his words; his engines whined. "Ratchet, c'mon mech, I'm a patient!"

He should've honestly expected it, seen it coming actually. What he didn't take account for was him being a fool to think coming back to life was a way to escape from a medic's wrath. He was sorely wrong.

And a sore loser he was, would also be the literal first resurrected from the dead to not warn the others, make them feel it themselves; yes, he was that petty. And he was sure as pits he would sic Ratchet to them like the hound he is. Nothing better than to have the original do it for them, right?

Disregarding the HUD warnings popping up but noting some of what he thinks are important, he reduced the pain receptors screeching at him as his body protested from Ratchet's loving handling; doing an internal scanning from his systems rather than to hear Ratchet's usual rambling of him being stupid and etcetera, same old as usual. It was, if anything, amusing; hearing Ratchet go at the same length as Bluestreak and at the speed of Blurr, was something. He sometimes wondered if Ratchet would pick up mannerisms from his most frequent patients and sulked when he noticed Ratchet hadn't seemed to pick anything from him despite of the countless records on the amounts he had to basically live inside the medbay more than his own living quarters.

Reassured, he was with those he fought side by side, amongst with comrades confirmed by the scanners. He finally scatched the itch he had been wanting to pay attention for awhile, redirecting his scanners inward. The response as fast as one should be expected with someone as modified as his systems—as someone working in special operations. All clean, nothing was tampered, all information still in his processors, in the same arrangement he had made and the subtle pattern he uniquely created for himself to recognize, he was fine. Everything still secured; he let subroutines of varying degrees to idly run for another inspection to be on the safe side, can't never be too sure of everything. 

Although, it was great everything was functioning normally. As it should be.

Darting his gaze all over the place, he turned his helm to where Ratchet and the rest minus Bumblebee were standing, studying their reactions out of instinct. Unintentionally confirming their identities again, his gaze shifted downwards at the familiar heat signature cradled by Ratchet—one of the friendlies his own highly guarded and protected system recognized at the last minute. It must be, Bumblebee, after all, wasn't anywhere near his proximity.

"How's Eli holdin' up?" He asked, coordinating the rest of his limbs to move at his will; it was really receptive after Ratchet worked his magic on him and upon doing a check on his reserves, he was really considering Ratchet some sort of wizard as his reserves was at twenty-five percent. Medical frames were really built different, it was cool.

"As good as a burn patient would be faring." He responded without so much of a falter in tweaking some cables and wires with the organic still on his arm; shifting his position by carefully standing and crouching back down, getting to work on the side of his legs.

He paused and looked at Ratchet, she was burned? "Burn?" How was she, in any way, burned from falling from the height? Did he underestimated how fragile the human skin was it didn't withstood the whipping pressure from the air that it conducted some sort of friction creating burn-like symptoms? 

What did he know? He wasn't a medic. He frowned, "you did check my last memories, right?"

"I did, up until you blacked out."

"So, how'd she get burned then?" He asked, not remembering where she was burned; he racked his memory cores. Perhaps he was misplace, although seldom as wrong in his own abilities, he double checked for any evidence of her being burned under his watch. He didn't find any.

Ratchet let the silence stir for a while, picking a material beside him and replacing his poorly melded metal with a significantly better one. He internally rose an orbital ridge at the quality.

Throwing the discarded metal to the opposite side and fixing the better one, Ratchet spoke lowly in their native language, "the Allspark burned her, imbued her with it's energy."

"What?"

"The Allspark chose her, Jazz. The way the Matrix of Leadership recognizes a Prime." Ratchet added, lightly pushing him back down to lay down in which he quietly growled at.

Optics narrowing behind his cracked visor, he hissed, "that ain't possible."

"It is." Pausing to take another metal, Jazz stopped him by quickly sitting up as Ratchet aimed a glare at him. "Lay back down."

Grumbling, he lay down. "How did the Allspark even manage to pick an organic host? How is she compatible to be it's vessel?"

Not answering him, Ratchet leaned back and took something from his subspace; waving a tainted cloth to his peripheral vision, he immediately recognized the piece of cloth.

"There was your energon in her bloodstream. I suppose before the Allspark burned her, her arms were covered with your energon—indirectly creating a pathway for the Allspark as it became the medium."

"Aren't energon toxic to organic species?" He asked cluelessly, flexing a digit and taking the fully stained cloth from Ratchet. 

"It should've been." Ratchet easily agreed in english, finishing the last touches before backing away and nodding, letting him sit on his own then glancing beside him as Optimus took his turn to speak.

"How are you feeling, Jazz?" Optimus, gentle as ever and as blissfully unaware of the silent crisis circling inside of him, asked.

Blinking, he snorted—sharply wincing after, a bad move on his part as his pain receptors that Ratchet purposely returned to its normal setting, screamed alerts, the blaring sirens coming alive once again. A setting where he can fully feel the sustained weight of his injuries and doing a check-in, Ratchet also locked him out of that section. Slagger. He shakily smile at Optimus, "never better."

Ratchet rolled his optics and huffed, somehow not disturbing the slumbering organic in his arm and himself from repairing Ironhide. 

His commlink finishing performing routine checks for any malwares, virus, errors, and the worst of all: a breach in his in-built communications. He jerked his helm to where Ratchet was, optics falling on the bundle of his arms, :: do the humans know anything about this?::

Ironhide huffed, :: no, not yet at least.::

:: good. We'll keep it that way for now. Never too sure if they're with us or not. Ratchet, could you send the information packet about this?::

Ratchet, surprisingly—without any further probing or prompting from him, sent the information datapack; taking not a single pause from his work on fixing with a material he had yet to scan and verify despite the armor automatically registering the quality of said material to be cybertronian making. Skimming through the information seemingly compiled last minute—something he knew all to well, it left him wondering yet again at how everything went down when he wasn't around while briefly checking the contents for a general gist, he was more baffled than anything else.

In the background, Ratchet made Optimus Prime sit down as he poured his attention on him next with Ironhide nearly finished and ready to go after, turning to the side and thereby shielding the organic in his arms from him; he refocused at the task in hand after hearing Ironhide cry out and sharply took an intake when, or at least he thinks and likely correct for, Ratchet glared at Ironhide.

Sliding down the report, humming; as one would expect from the famed CMO, he included all the important details despite being hurriedly constructed—stumbling on a really detailed take of how humans regenerative abilities were at worst in comparison to other organic species he had met; containing a chuckle, he frowned when reading the extent of her injuries. Badly bruised and scratched legs, fractured bones, and burned arms; another detailed section of a fourth degree burn with the possibility of paralysis on the limbs.

Burned by touching the Allspark. The same Allspark meant to save them all. And the Allspark choosing her the same way as the Matrix Leadership? Releasing a stunned chuckle, it was all true then.

:: when Eli told you this thing, you was secured? No eavesdroppers around?:: he asked Ratchet, raising one orbital ridge as he checked his signal jammer if it was working; it was. Fully operational.

:: of course,:: a scoff, Ratchet turned to give him a side-eye, offended at the thought of making a rookie mistake when he could be considered as a veteran in the war, :: what do you take me for?::

Well, looks like Ratchet did take after some traits from him.

Storing the information on a specific section of his processor, codes swiftly blocking after and subroutines heightening its security. He lightly stretched his limbs, claws unsheathing before he took it back and flexing his digits; he sit up carefully, of course, no one wanted to bring Ratchet of all medics to them. That would just be the same as being stupid to challenge Megatron—a thing he did but hey, he was specsops, alright? He had all the reasons, not the right ones majority of the time but still: reasons.

Clenching the cloth, he stored it on his subspace. Looking down on what kind of materials they managed to scoured up in this organic planet seemingly abundant in metallic materials of low grade as he remained mindful of the fresh welds, lifting one servo to gingerly touch the material; orbital ridges shooting up when his scanner re-confirmed that the materials used were from the age of the Primes or more precisely, the era where Solus Prime herself was personally forging weapons from the same material that was currently on him. Comparing data from the previous scans, it was the exact same result as if a duplicate blueprint from another and his systems were anything but faulty. This was legit.

Earth, as he had previously performed a prior scan in finding decent materials they could endure to utilize or armor from dead decepticons—or autobots; an unthinkable thing to do if they weren't in a war, didn't have decent materials. It was sub-par, worst of the worst he saw that Ratchet would have to find a way to strengthen the quality of whatever scrap they find.

Bringing up the report, he scanned for what the Allspark can do with Eloise handling such an ancient artifact, seeing the document edited by Ratchet just now. He ignored it, pointedly focusing on the bullet points: 

> detection of raw(?) materials.

> scanners comparable to a medic frame.

> purifying low-grade materials to Cybertronian quality.

> and, resurrection via spark.

:: we're bringin' the lass back with us.:: Ironhide stated, noticing his rapt attention solely directed at Eloise.

:: no kidding. How'd Lennox find another civilian joining to the pan?::

Ironhide scoffed, :: bad. No budging from him, Prime tried.::

Fully sitting up, he swivelled his helm towards Ironhide with a smirk, :: too bad, I'm no Prime, huh?:: Ironhide crossed his arms over to his chassis, shaking his helm in a mixture of disapproval and weariness from his usual method of getting what he wanted. Offering no more than a subtle snort in his words.

Pausing beside Ratchet, he peered down at the slumbering organic. Raising one digit to unsheathe a claw and alarming Ratchet, he delicately brushed with the tip of his claw a stray hair from her forehead. Ratchet hissing and clicking his glossa, he shrugged with a smirk. Studying her for a moment longer as his gaze drifted below to movements of her rising and dropping chest with the steady breathing through her nose; she was alive and all at once, his audials zeroed to the sounds of her heatbeat, similar of how theirs function. The blaring alarms, gradually, inside him simply becoming a distant memory.

Lifting his gaze to her face, zooming on her features. He cocked his helm to the side, analyzing the dried substance on her cheek even if it was blatantly obvious of what it was. He smiled, looks like he was well-liked. 

However, Ratchet had other plans, "are you just going to stare at her all day?" 

He could, fleetingly entertaining the thought; he leaned back with a light shake of his helm, "nah, I'mma secure my babygirl a spot."

"... Babygirl?" He heard Ratchet mumbled under his breath behind him as he turned around.

One servo on his hip, optics casually surveying the surroundings, and scoping the specified human like a sniper with the target; he found the human amidst the small crowd forming around them. Perfect timing.

A cheshire smile emerged from his faceplates.

Waving casually at the gathered audience, he directly made eye-contact with the human he would be spouting all kinds of bullslag with all the confidence he had and Ratchet helping him with the scientific terms he'll confuse the human about, "hey, Captain! Have a minute to talk?" 

With that said, he obviously didn't miss the look the human directed at him then to the group still huddled together—belatedly moving apart as the attention made the quietness of the place to increase and buzz like a swarm of insecticons infesting and chewing away the wall; he saw his eyes moved to follow Eloise as Ratchet walked passed them.

Behind the visor, his optics narrowed; he sure missed a lot.

Eloise didn't knew how long she slept this time. As sleeping comfortably was a rare occasion—and yes, she could sleep. Everyone can sleep. But can everyone also sleep comfortably? Sometimes, more often times than not, she would just fall straight asleep for the sake of her body not enduring anymore of keeping her awake, not because her body wanted to but it has to or else it was straight to the hospital for her.

Sleep was hard to come by for her and this one didn't also made any difference to make her believe otherwise. The entire time she had been here didn't made her believe anything could change.

Blinking her eyes and rubbing her face on the pillow, she flipped to her side with a groan. She appreciated Ratchet truly but it doesn't take away the fact that she wanted to take them off. But then if she did, everyone would know about what she kept to herself and she doesn't trust them enough to confess nor show concrete evidence anytime soon.

Who knows if Lennox was only just tolerating the mechanicals presence? After being partially responsible for definite rolling deaths of civilians and destroying a city for a battle that didn't involve them. Who's to say anything really? 

"Hey," turning at the voice, she saw Mikaela shyly standing at the edge of her bed, "you doing okay?"

A familiar face. She beamed at her, beckoning her to come closer by eagerly patting the bed, Mikaela shuffling closer to her—and on the closer observation, her cheeks were flushed?

Grinning, she tilted her head to the side, her eyes sweeping in the mess beside her, "I think I should be the one asking you that. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, er, uh," Mikaela nervously laughed, "yeah. I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" 

Shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head, the smile remaining; taking faint amusement on the fact of Mikaela showing signs on knowing her as akin of a fan meeting their favorite artist. She was being a little obvious at it, an avid fan. Or, she had crush on her, in that case: she hoped not. Really hoped not.

"You know me?" She asked.

"Uh, kind of. Yeah...?" Evidently flustered face twisting to a poor attempt of a smile, face contorting between unsettled and eagerness; the former outweighting the latter as the concept of actually meeting her should throw her off into this mess; Mikaela awkwardly shifted her eyes all around her.

She chuckled, always taking a time off for her fans and any people who knew her—that was, as long as they remain respectful. Glancing to her side where the familiar weight should be laying in the same bed as her, she frowned a little at not spotting her bag. 

Oh, right.

It should be still outside somewhere; she didn't linger on exactly where it was left abandoned.

Frowning deeper this time, dismayed for Mikaela's sake on not giving her something to remember her, she met her eyes, "I'll give you something after I get my things, yeah?"

"Oh no, no, no! It's alright!" Laughing as her voice went shrill, waving her hands at her so fast it went as a blurr; Mikaela hurriedly added, "I really didn't come for that. Honestly!"

Leaning back with her arms supporting her weight from behind, she offered a small grin at Mikaela, "okay." Smiling out of amusement, she softly continued, "so how long did you know me?" 

Twirling her dirtied shirt within her fingers, pursing her lips and looking down at her lap. Mikaela mumbled something she didn't quite understood and not it was of her ears having problems—she spoke fast and it was really incomprehensible; furrowing her eyebrows together, she paused to lift her head and properly looked at her eyes and quietly uttered, "... when you were still underground."

"What? Those art shows on abandoned alleyways?" Mikaela nodded her head lightly, cheeks brightening again; she laughed, not really taking her words for it. Mikaela was a teenager, she couldn't possibly be—at Mikaela awkwardly smiling at her and not joining along, she stopped with wide, rapidly blinking eyes, openly gaping at her, "seriously?"

"Two years ago, yeah. Stumbled on your first mock exhibition accidentally and you know," shrugging nonchalantly, her awkward smile faltered. A brief shot of regret crossing her features, she turned to her, "the rest was history."

"... wow." Though, she felt there was more to her words on how she could've accidentally stumbled on her impromptu gallery with no banner she personally handed out on the streets months before; maybe word got around? 

Chuckling nervously, Mikaela combed her hair back with her fingers, "yeah, wow."

"Then you saw me?"

Her smile eventually wiped off from her face as she shuffled closer and watched her with fascination, a mix of disbelief and respect. She patiently waited for an answer.

Mikaela squirmed under the intensity of her gaze, "you wore a plaid t-shirt with a white shirt, hair still as short as before, and you were," she bit her lips, "speaking with such enthusiasm, passion. It was really, um, something. Made me watch but I arrived half-way I think?"

"What did you think about the set-up? Not bad, huh?"

Laughing at her joke, shaking her head and shoulders loosening; she turned half her body and sitting more on the bed rather than at the edge of it, she quietly scoffed, "not too shabby. You know, I think you talked to me but I kinda," vaguely gesturing with her lips and arms, she casually shrugged, "ran away, didn't know shit about arts. Never really cared for it, actually."

"Ooo, changed your mind?" Smirking, Mikaela shared her expression with a blush dusting her cheeks.

"Oh my god, you won't believe it." Laughing at her own thoughts kept to herself, Mikaela continued with a less shy smile on her face, "something about your art makes me feel things—emotions. It was strange and so as a teenager with impulsive last minute decisions, I kept coming on any art gallery. I tried with multiple artists but you just," making another gesture with her arms, she frowned at the unhelpful action that didn't appropriately conveyed whatever she wanted to show but she, nonetheless, appreciated the gestures, "you're just amazing. Like, actually amazing. Literally. I roped my family on whatever convention had your works."

Tilting her head, smirking as she bit down the excitement of making such a lost lasting expression to a person, asked, "am I your ultimate Van Gogh then?"

"You're not, like, his successor or something?"

"You know, that's the highest praise any artist would die to hear." Probably shouldn't have used the word die since the situation was set for death to come so easily, she shrugged, "wanna exchange numbers?"

Mikaela inspected her, an eyebrow raised, "somehow, I don't get the vibes you're happy about it."

"It's cause I'm cool. Cool people don't break so easy, you know." Winking at her, and discreetly taking her phone from her pocket. With a flourish, she dramatically presented the phone towards the amused teenager and gave it to her.

Mikaela with a smile, asked, "is this real?"

She laughed softly, "of course, it is. You called me Van Gogh's successor, anyone with a brain won't think twice about this." Pausing, examining her casually, she added, "artists are this... small cryptids of the night that needed someone to booth their ego as the same height of the economy."

"And you think I can do that?"

"You already called me Van Gogh's successor. Your family practically knows me, you said I made you learn more about art. Mikaela, you're the greatest hypeman—woman, anyone could ever ask for!"

Rolling her eyes after snorting, Mikaela went to work with putting her phone number from hers; calling from her phone as her own rang a standard ringtone. Mikaela smiled, quickly saving Eloise's number on her more than slightly worn down flip-phone.

Handing the phone back to her, she was about to reach it with both hands when one of Mikaela's hands snapped behind her and she was pulled to an embrace. Two frozen, unmoving arms staying outstretched; she stilled. Her mind momentarily blanking then blinking and then, rebooting; she, like an infant gaining awareness, looped both arms to awkwardly put around her shoulders. Something in her mind clicking, her hands rubbing her back and shoulder registering a weight leaning on it; she pulled Mikaela closer as the other mitten hand stroked the back of her head.

"Adrenaline wore off, hm?" She whispered.

"Yeah..." Mikaela's trembling arms moved, pushing more of her face to the nape of her neck as if she personally wanted to disappear and become one of her body part; she took a breath and chuckled in between bated breaths of growing hyperventilation, out of breath. "God, how do you still smell good?"

"Pheromones. We're cryptids, remember?"

A weak chuckle and Mikaela squeezed her a little, a teddy bear amidst of a thunderstorm while hiding under the cozy covers of the blanket. 

Whereas, the back of her hair raised and firmly stood as if a porcupine detecting a hostile, a cat not liking something; the thunderstorm. She closed her eyes and simply provided the comfort a rumbling, fearful thunderstorm can give Mikaela somehow confused of a soft, tender teddy bear. 

It was bittersweet. 

A lightning striking down, was she doing it right? 

Another lightning, how long will they stay like this? 

And another earth crumbling lighting striking down scorching the ground, she closed her eyes; when will this end?

Feeling rather than seeing of arms retreating, she took her cue to un-loop her own limbs and leaned back; like clockwork, a smile of a teddy bear emerging from her own features, she asked, "you'll be okay?"

"I'll be," eyes shifting to meet hers, Mikaela nervously rubbed her nape, "sorry for, um, hugging you out of the blue. Anything hurting?"

Her touched skin. Smiling, she answered. "It's all good. As long as you're okay. You'll be okay, right? Promise?" 

"I promise." Mikaela smiled gratefully at her. A silent gratitude, she mirrored the gesture with putting her arms back to her side and looking to the side; stubbornly ignoring the way her skin reeled from recalling the sudden contact as she kept her smile. It was irritating as her skin recalled every sensation she felt just like a broken recorder.

"That's all I needed." She said, feeling her own voice as if talking underwater. Ears drumming, gaze unfocusing; she lowered her eyes and took a subtle breath, body tensing as a cool sensation from within enveloped her body; erasing the remembered heat on parts touched and felt by another, her body loosening. She pulled a tiny grin, "boy's awake. He looks lost."

Following her gaze, Mikaela dropping the fond expression coating every inch of her face to one of faux disgruntlement for the sake of probably making her laugh. She gave in and reacted accordingly, witnessing a smile Mikaela aimed at her when she did.

"I'll see you around?"

"Text you later, Ela." She corrected with a meaningful wiggle of her eyebrows. 

Eyes brightening, Mikaela picked her weight off the bed, "nicknames, huh? I'll text you."

Waving a hand as a farewell until Mikaela was on the other side of the room, she curbed her attention to the presence standing beside her with an eyebrow raised, arm lowering, "hey, Captain Lennox. What's up?"

"I need to talk to you."

Talk? Just talk? Not letting fear show to her face. The smile straining to show her confusion instead of the gnawing terror; she frowned and relucantly lifted her legs off the bed and to the ground, standing up to walk behind Lennox who, for a reason that made her grew anxious, stayed silent as he lead her outside. 

Where were they going?

Abruptly stopping, nearly bumped into his back. Peeking over his shoulder to look at whatever made him stop, she regretfully saw no one and upon a subtle investigation around, there wasn't anyone as far as she could see in the vicinity. Except the nagging, tingling sensation of someone around the area, hiding—lurking.

What the hell. What kind of talk needed this much privacy? At the top of her head, she could speculate a few reasons to be considered list and none of them were good. The prospect of someone hiding didn't lessen her worry over her safety.

Finally, Lennox turned to her with a tight frown on his lips. Staring, assessing her with a contemplating expression, his eyes squinted into a mistakenly taken as a glare; she stood her ground.

The wind caressing her nape; the spot they were standing having less illumination from the overhead lights, Lennox crossed his arms to his chest. The wind turned colder as she wondered what could Lennox be openly observing her of.

"You're coming back with us."

"What?"

Frowning, he pointedly stared at her, "coming in direct contact with the NBE's, radioactive radiation inside your body needs to be released before we return you to a temporary household to recover. Your place is to be reimburse by the government." Hissing, he crossed his arms, looking away to redirect his glare at somewhere else, he continued with a snap, "until then, you won't come in contact to any civilians in this vicinity." Side-eyeing her, he narrowed his eyes, "do you understand?"

Flinching at the hard tone in the end, she nodded. "When will we be leaving?" She asked lowly.

"Two days from now. The carriers are still mobilizing at the moment."

Nodding her head, grasping something from the surroundings as she pursed her lips; there really is someone with them. Around them. It won't be smart to get sassy if it was his men or someone on his command watching her every move, she decided to play it safe. Her previous attitude on their first meeting was enough. Smiling, she asked, "did you rest yet?"

Not expecting that kind of question to pop up in the current atmosphere they have between them, his frown turned into a confused pursing of his lips with the creasing of his eyebrows loosening a little bit, "no, not yet."

"You can take my bed," at his still confused stare he directed at her, she quickly elaborated with a nervous chuckle, "the others already took each bed and I think the only available bed is mine."

He stared at her for a few tense moments, eyes searching the truth in her words; browsing and flicking and deciding it was what it is, slowly nod, "... I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

Clapping a hand on her shoulder—a flare of heat bursting inside her, he took off his hand and briskly walked past her without much of sparing a glance over his shoulder as she turned to watch him walk away. It probably, hopefully, didn't travel fast enough to burn his hand. Probably, although there was always a possibility he walked it off to keep up the macho image.

Probably.

Dropping to the ground, breathing out a huge sigh—the biggest she had ever release from her lungs. That was terrifying. Not an experience she would recommend for anyone, really. If the threat was more discreet, subtle; she would at least have just suspicions. Not straight up confirmation it was on sight, right in front of her. Huffing a breathless laugh, she slowly raised her head to look at the skies. 

Pulling her knees to her chest, she didn't lay on the ground. Not only because it wasn't as comfortable as movies showed it to be, she didn't want fire ants crawling to vulnerable exposed parts of her body, the blades of grass sharp to poke at her skin, and the dirt that would inevitably stick to the borrowed uniform. 

Otherwise, the concerning matters she should've focused on, lest she want to forfeit her life; her thoughts decided to circle at the idea of Jazz, straying from worrying about herself to think about him. An hindsight moment, she realized, once she face the consequences of not polishing her plans to evade losing her life.

Still, Jazz is alive and well—she would get to see the skies in his visors again, smiling and fondly gazing at the twinkling stars. She mentally recalled the many names of each constellations she stumbled upon, so beautiful. Too many dots of blinking hot gases too far away from theirs in light years—it was the most breathtaking creation a hydrogen and helium could create, or so the internet said.

She wanted to replicate that beauty someday and she had exactly the perfect someone in mind.

Silently observing her across the distance, casually flickering his optics at the flock of humans surrounding the same area as her; it was only appropriate that he memorized some of the brave souls, thinking the same as him, staying in the shadows to gaze at her who quietly soaked and cherished the moment under the moonlight and millions of stars. For reasons on why he would want to, on sight, recognize specific humans, he withheld his reasons.

That was something only for him to know and for them to found out—too late.

Taking in her stance, he stood up because unlike them, he wasn't one to beat around the bush, to idly wait for a chance to slip away when he can smother and snatch it for the taking. He made his way to her direction, pedes transversing with little to no noise; he plopped down beside her as she simply glanced beside her with an upturned one corner of her lips.

Her eyes reminding him of those blackholes they frequently avoided at all costs in the galaxy, twinkled like the stars she hold fascination about; recognizing him. She smiled prettily.

He grinned at her, "pretty night, huh?"

"Mm, like you." She said, not looking at him yet for the tug of her lips to not dissapear; he stared at her in suppressed surprise.

A straightforward one, not someone to also beat around the bush, huh?

Feigning to look at the stars above them, he leaned back to his arms; mirroring her position while keeping his lower half stretched out—medic's orders. "How so?"

She smiled delicately to herself, looking at his cracked visors with the softest gaze he hadn't expected to see from one so close to eating spaceships to oblivion; her eyes shimmered, "I see the skies in your visor and remember my adoration for it everytime I see it, even now." Pausing, she stared back to the darkened skies with stars dotting every space, "I find that really pretty."

The quiet clicking of his cooling fans so loud compared to the utter serenity they were surrounded with; the purring of his engines audible as he gazed with wide optics at the nonplussed human beside him, grinning at him. Is flirting a casual human thing? Do they consider interspecies relationships? Were they not the first alien species that the human race encountered?

He had, as his very processor automatically determined any important future information it would predict and the endless supply of questions, recorded her words. 

—and like a running gag, her same exact words, same exact tone, same exact voice repeated it on loop inside his processors. He had the skies inside his visor and primus, wasn't that so poetic? 

"You're not too bad yourself too, babygirl." He managed to hear himself say through the music drumming, reverberating inside him. Thankfully managing to keep the static from creeping to his voice.

Head twirling, she cocked her head to the side before looking down with a frown. "Babygirl?" Testing the word several times, letting it roll down her tongue until it sounded natural, she looked up, "does that make you "babyboy"?"

"Ya really wanna call someone older than a human's grandpa, babyboy?"

"Why not? It's a cute pet name. Unique, did you come up with it?"

He laughed, playfully nudging her to the side with the curved of his digits as she giggled along; rolling his optics, he countered, "what can I say? I'm just great at what I do."

"And that great applies to calling someone you barely know with a pet name?"

He shrugged, "if the shoe fits, you don't like it?"

"With a voice like that calling me with a cute name? I would be insane to not like anything with your voice."

He threw his helm back, stunned by such boldness from her. Not expecting her to be like this compare to the perception he had already created. He noticed her smile widening when he laughed. "What am I gonna do with you?"

Grinning at him, jerking her head back to the skies, she playfully asked while glancing to the corner of her eyes for his reaction, "watch the stars with me?"

"Anythin' for my babygirl." Lightly tapping her arm to make her scoot closer to him; mindfully leaning his upper body to lay on the ground, feeling the blades of grass stroking his frame as more dirt gathered from those little spots he wouldn't ever pick out from, he angled himself to be a tad closer; almost brushing his armor with her warmth.

Scooting herself to lean the side of her body to his arm that he noticed wasn't covered with the new welds and how she wasn't totally resting her full weight on him as if to just maintain contact and not also aim for comfort. Just like the time on her entering his interior the first time, he raised his other arm and with a sheathed digit touch her shoulder blade, gently pushing her to fully rest her weight on him. 

In their position, he had full coverage of her bandages, or what was at least showing. Observing the bandages wholly covering her hands, he wondered why she didn't die off from falling at such height. Could the Allspark had kept her on the brink of death? To trick Starscream from killing her? If it did, then that implies the Allspark had chosen her on an earlier point of time; a point of time managing to trick both of them, out of sight from the scanners until to the time it seemed to voluntarily reveal itself from Ratchet—where it deemed was safe, the least warrior type of the unit.

What motivated the Allspark to choose now?

"Does it still hurt?" Snapping his awareness beside him, he blinked. "Your wounds. You had... a hole on your stomach, you know."

Oh. Taking the unnatural coolness of her core temperature, filing it away from his observation to later discuss with Ratchet, must be a characteristic of the Allspark; he didn't forgot humans not having the same biology as them. Merely put to the side until mentioned, he huffed, "could be worse."

"That was worst."

"By your standards, babygirl." Pausing, he added softly, a rumble of his engines accompanying the question, "and, you? That was a nasty fall back there."

She shrugged, shamelessly parroting back his words at him, "could be worse."

Ratchet would be having a field day with this information. Whether he would accidentally tell her on him or not, remains as a question. A question he soon finds himself weighing as the determining factor of the decision, recognized by his subroutines, was her voice.

"Do you sing?"

Her back moved as she was about to rest on her side and then remembering her injury, leaned on her back to his arm. He raised an optic ridge, did she worry that he didn't knew about her being all healed up? Must've not Ratchet told her they already knew all about it then, another human deficiency: in-built communications. "I know, make yourself comfy."

Looking over to her shoulder, she huffed and rolled her eyes—quietly gazing towards at something with a quirk of her lips, "good to know, but they don't."

"Want me to get rid of 'em?"

"I'm too comfy to be moved." A no, then.

Returning her attention on him, she smirked, "will that make you rest if I say I do?"

He knew his answer. No, it won't make him rest but he still made an obnoxious effort to muse about it for a solid minute, giving her a contemplative frown; he smirked back, "I'm all ears."

Briefly looking around their surroundings, she let her head rest on his arm—a light thunk, she hummed; a wordless song with only a tune to carry the rest of the melody, she opened her mouth and continued to sing with repetitive words only differing in tones. It was honestly mesmerizing and if he didn't a section of his protective subroutines functioning responsible for voluntary stasis, he would've find himself dozing off under her voice.

However, that would be set for another time. A very long time to ever happen.

This time, he voluntarily set his processor to record the new song he was going to be listening for a week straight or more. The scales tipping off, slamming to one side on not telling Ratchet on her and thus, had the hound that was Ratchet not sic her on sight.

"You have a nice voice." He said without much of a thought, a small spike of heat signature beside him taking his attention; he internally laughed at making her flustered. No matter how little it was, she had a praise kink. What a discovery. "So nice to listen on, ever consider a career on music?" He continued, purring the words as he fully turned his frame to her, laying on his side with his arm supporting the side of his helm as he smirked at her. 

Her head resting on his chassis moving as she completely turned to gape at him, she laughed it off with blush dusting her cheeks, covering her mouth with her hand and muffling the sounds he wanted to hear—he wanted to pull her hands away from her face; the moon's glow forming a light encircling her entire being as if a messenger of Primus lend to be on the mortal ground, she was, upon observation, pretty. Really pretty for an organic.

If being the chosen one was based on human appearance, he would have an inkling suspicion she was chosen from its preferences—but the Allspark couldn't possibly that shallow.

"Should I consider it?" She asked after going down from laughing, face still red on laughing too much; her smile bright it made him blink.

Belatedly, he realized he really didn't want her to let anyone heard her voice. Even at a price of humans paying for it. "Nah, it's a private performance between just us two. Makin' me rest, 'member?"

"Whatever you say, Jazz." And that silly smile appearing again, he returned it with pure ecstatic joy not originating from successfully pulling off an information gathering mission, sabotaging the enemy, and generally special operations he was often tasked with; rather, it was simply the joy of keeping a precious thing to himself. All to himself.

He smiled, gazing at her from the corner of his optics, "so, star constellations. What's your favorite?"

Chapter Text

Jazz was somewhat comfortable to sleep on. Maybe it was because how she perfectly slotted into a space of his armour or it was the purring of his engines she grew to recognize from the life and death she took with him, or his presence was simply a comfort for someone she intimately shared an intense moment with. 

It was probably of how his armor perfectly melded her body. 

Definitely.

Eyes remaining close, a state of stillness within her chest as they remained stagnant with making her feel some form of warmth or cold. They were quiet and it made her uneasy. 

A flicker of quick warmth bloomed as if merely checking in and going as quick made her reevaluate and minutely relax. She mentally smiled, ah. They were resting, like her. That was kinda cute.

So she let go of her worries about them. Letting herself float between the delicate balance of consciousness and drifting off, she turned towards somewhere in the dark she was in. Realization sinking in that she wasn't alone.

Who was it that were in the same place as her?

Curiosity settled in, having an awareness that this reality wouldn't inflict as much as damage other than possibly making her have a headache after waking up. Her arms stretched out and she went closer to investigate up close, head going side by side as she pursed her lips and lightly touched where she felt the presence was—foreign.

This presence was nothing like Jazz, like Ratchet or the ones she knew. It didn't felt like anything human. Nor it felt like an ethereal, all-knowing presence like the figures she spoke with. 

This presence was foreign.

Fingers curling inwards to the presence, she closed her eyes only to open them with the sight of greenery, surrounded by the forest. Her eyes adjusted to literally identify it was leaves that covered her. The leaves of the bushes. The scent of recently watered soil entering to her nose in a heightened way an animal would be smelling with how strong and vivid the scent was, the feel of soft, muddy ground under her feet as the breeze would occasionally brush to her body.

Her body not moving in a way she wants it; she moved spots, nimble and silent to the ground with not a single sound of leaves crunching beneath her feet. She registered the sounds of engines hissing in every of her movements, a mechanical. 

She was seeing this perspective through an unidentified mechanical. 

And it only serve to confirm her theory when in the distance as their eyes zoomed in, she saw herself and Jazz. Their eyes focusing on her sleeping figure as letters and numbers appeared before her, rapidly taking in her details and information writing itself for her to read and comprehend.

Oh.

This was the presence she felt when she was talking to Lennox. The presence of a predator.

Some few hours—give or take; he wasn't really paying attention to the time that he should have, Jazz had a human laying asleep on the side of his chassis. The recordings simply the ambience sound within his processors pre-determined to play on loop, her voice pleasantly rubbing spots he hadn't known of himself; quietly humming along the tunes he had memorize as any would've if it was played non-stop for six hours straight. It was soothing. (Kept away the memory purges usually hunting him when nothing was keeping him occupied, keeping his processors running, busy. It was with reason he didn't like being on stand-by and monitor duty is more or less the main event for memory purges to creep in where things were calm and stable.) And really catchy.

The air turning into a breeze constantly whipping all around them whenever it blew past them, the temperature lower than it should be. His frame gladly welcomed the cold like an old friend, thriving in the natural order of things of its coldness seeping into his frame's exposed seams and gaps.

Only one specific part of his armour kept the warmth circulating solely on that spot. Not trusting the clothing with her core temperature at the same dropping, freezing cold he had initially fooled himself in believing was normal for humans and discovered that no, humanity can't voluntarily control their core settings. And upon further investigation he took to himself, also discovered the devastating effects of humans being cold. He warmed himself pretty good after that.

Amidst of keeping himself still; discovered the fresh air humans rave on about with his first normal experience of their sunrise. Noting of how winds tend to be cooler in sunrise, something that was good to know. But maybe a little bad for her because don't humans get sick easily? With the outrageous amounts of disease found everywhere, he briefly wondered if a human's lifespan would've went longer if not for the diseases literally surrounding them. How is their planet so hostile with it's inhabitants? 

Perhaps, not as physically hostile unlike the other planets he went on. 

At least this planet wasn't actively killing the inhabitants directly and was instead releasing small amount of what could be fatal for them around the environment, giving enough time for the inhabitants to adapt? Humming under his breath, he huffed, such a strange planet. One of the few that doesn't function like Cybertron, proving once more of Cybertron being the only one of it's own like Earth to this organics.

A slight shift to the air, audials picking footsteps approaching them with a purpose, the vibrations on the ground sending tingling sensation all over his frame as scanners, pouncing the moment it detected another in his radar, recognized who it was.

The rock clenched inside his servo remained as it is: something to throw, a precaution to keep away unwanted people from them. 

And there would always be a group staying persistent. He knew that. This rock being the fourth he had gathered was evidence enough. 

Proximity scanners following the signal emerging from his left, Ratchet, with his creaking joints, crouched down to examine Eloise. A frown adorning his faceplates, orbital ridges knitting as he glanced towards him in disbelief. Slowly looking back down to stare at the fact she made his armour looked to be worth sleeping on and for the mech specializing in sabotage or anything doing the dirty jobs others wouldn't have done despite being in war, to be worth lowering down her guard for—it was something.

Without a word, he scanned him first and then Eloise, closing the hologram data in a click, "why wasn't I notified of this?" He asked, eeringly calm.

"You was busy with Bee. We need Bee in action."

"Over her?" The Allspark bearer going unsaid, Ratchet stared at him with his notable scowl.

Lowering his gaze, he hummed; stroking a piece of her hair back and forth, the smooth texture going over to his digit everytime his receptors registered the simply caress, "figured it wasn't on 'er. And I had it under control."

"And what exactly did you have under control?" Glaring at him, Ratchet's digits twitching as if wanting to take her from him—his processors considering the possibility very likely after acknowledging how fond Ratchet was with her, something which he took note of. His arms wrapped around her curled further, a small mumble from her as she rubbed her cheek to his armour before settling down.

"My temperature. Pretty toasty for my frame."

"Your frame isn't built to endure to produce and contain heat for long duration of time, Jazz. Why exactly are you going this far?" He asked. Apparently noticing his gesture.

Well, this trait Ratchet picked up from him was really biting him back good.

He didn't answer, quietly shifting his helm to gaze towards the horizon; digit idly stroking the patch of fluffy hair. Ratchet sighed and he had a feeling he was rubbing between the space of his optics in frustration.

"As long as she's not hurt." He conceded in a grumble, also shifting his gaze at the horizon, knee joints protesting at this point as he stood up; putting one servo to his hip, "you stayed still for six hours?"

"Yup," specifically popping the p at the end, he continued, "wanna stay?"

Grunting, Ratchet taking something from his subspace; he, with a quick unintentional flourish, presented a blanket. The three blankets. Bending on one knee, he carefully tucked the blankets over her lightly—trusting his abilities enough to not disturb her, he let him. Ratchet standing back after touching her hand briefly, clicking his glossa, "I'm scouting with Sergeant Epps and a select group of teams for any civilians left at the rumbles." The unspoken behave didn't need to be verbally articulated; it was implied and for all the time they were together, it was basic to read between the lines with them. 

Ratchet, about to stand, stopped mid-way. That gotta hurt his joints, and speaking of joints; he was going to milk all information about coordinates for resources from this small human. Once she wakes up, that is. Watching her sleep so peacefully was doing wonders in his processors to nearly still in the presence of matching with her breathing. It was a pleasant feeling he found to be liking for his six hours and counting of staying still.

"Want me to call Prime over to take your place?"

Doing a quick double take with him, he really was worried; huffing in amusement, to call Optimus, a Prime to babysit a human. He idly resumed his digits from delicately stroking the human hair he rapidly grew to like touching, so soft and so smooth. It was comforting and he wouldn't deny it was addicting to touch, was all human hair the same? He shook his helm side by side, "nah, I'm fine. Only two hours left to go."

Narrowing his optics in doubt, he stood all the way while jutting his hip to one side, "I'm serious—"

"When are you not serious, mech?" He joked.

He reacted before he fully comprehended what he heard—what they heard as they both turned to the sound sounding so close to their area. Whether it was meant to be heard or not, he knew it wasn't a human that made the sound. Humans aren't that stealthy and their heat signature would've give them away anyways. 

For his scanners to not detect anything was alarming. He narrowed his optics behind the visors and protectively shifted his frame closer to Eloise. He wasn't going to let any harm come after her the second time.

"What was that?" Ratchet asked, alarmed.

Against his earlier will to not move, Jazz shifted his available arm to transform into his telescoping sword; promptly running all scanners to pull out any hostile figures to be detected, he tensed more when the sound repeated; only noticeably louder since he was actively searching for it now.

It was a growl, a grumble inside of... something. What if it a decepticon managed to find their base? To see his moment of vulnerability to Eloise? Who would also connect that Eloise would be significantly important for him on emotional basis alone, unknowing of her true value?

A low growl emerged as his telescoping sword thrummed. Who left them alive? 

He had said numerous times to finish the job thoroughly; narrowing his optics behind his visor, he put his other servo around her body as Ratchet, in a similar fashion as him, ran his more advanced scanners to detect anything strange around their base. Ironhide or Optimus probably left one or two in their wake; an enemy that will inflict them harm. 

Inevitably, Eloise woke up, yawning and looking around, blankets sliding to the ground. Making a small sound at the back of her thoat when his arm unintentionally pushed her back to lean back on his chassis, "what's the problem?"

"There's something around the area. We believe it's the decepticons." Ratchet answered, grunting when his scanners returned as negative. He shared a look with him, :: we cleaned all decepticons in the area. There shouldn't have any strays.::

Easing Eloise back to his chassis with his sheathed digits soothing her, he held their gaze before glancing towards the direction of the noise, :: if it's none of the strays. It must be one of the mini-cons::

Eloise gently rubbed her hand on top of his digit, "did you find the decepticon?"

:: they don't know about her. This is only a suicide mission for them:: Ratchet thinly pursed his lips; optics never straying too far from the specific area as his digits twitched, "no, and we are alerting the rest to investigate around the vicinity. It's too close to the base."

Staring where he knew the mini-con was hiding, scanners working to detect any sliver of movements from the bushes and around the trees. He guessed between Soundwave's mini-cons if it was Laserbeak, Rumble, or Ravage. Rumble automatically crossed out without a moment's consideration. He narrowed his optics at the thought of Laserbeak and Ravage being so close to their base.

That sound coming once again, he finally determined where it was coming from, carefully sitting up while not loosening his hold on her; he kept scanners running and looked down, "babygirl, why you makin' that sound?"

"Because I'm hungry?" Similarly to his confusion, she looked up at them with her own, "maybe that's the noise you heard?"

Holding his gaze, he saw nothing in her eyes and notably in her body language to be lying, a quick scan and he determined from the results that her words were true. Everything was good, no racing heart, no shifty eyes, no nothing. 

Staring ahead, unconvinced; he made an agreeable sound from his vocalizer. Not entirely pursuaded yet but it was close, the noise nearly matching up. Transforming his weapon away, he remained focused on its approximate origin with a frown, not letting this go so easily but he'll give it a break; loosening his arm shielding around her body as she patted his arm firmly, casually continuing to stretch after standing up.

:: Ratchet, scout ahead with Sergeant Epps. Double them guns.::

A grunt, Ratchet casting a look at Eloise's smiling at him, he huffed and raised his chin; briskly walking away before transforming once a decent distance from them. 

Still sitting, one arm behind him, he contacted Ironhide, sending his coordinates with an urgent tag, :: sniff out any hostile, on sight.::

:: decepticons?::

:: probably one of Soundwave's cassettes. Always had trouble with those pipsqueaks.::

Activating his scanners, servos clenching into a fist, claws unsheathing and digging through his palms, engines lowly growling; he retracted the claws and glared at the direction he knew he heard it from. He knew something is out there and, no matter how similar it sounded, didn't came from the sounds of her stomach. He smiled at her, "aight, time to get moving. What we eatin'?"

From her peripheral vision, Ironhide appeared as he transformed and scrutinize the surroundings, sniffing the air and walking with his big cannons making some noises she didn't plan observing anytime soon. 

Breathing in deep and exhaling, she took the mental image of the mechanical that nearly took her life with how similar their cannons look. She turned her head away.

Spotting movement, she turned to Jazz who decided he'd take Ratchet's initial position as her personal bodyguard. His seemingly footsteps erased by himself stopping beside her, close enough to nudge her with his feet; she clutched the blankets draped over to her shoulders.

Making a show to look around even if she already knew something is definitely up with them—must be if they were discussing via their in-built communications systems. She didn't show knowing anything than what was explicitly told. Not able to help herself but to glance where she easily pinpointed the spot of the decepticon; where they had viewed them from afar, she somehow had a feeling that they didn't moved from their position yet. Feeling him behind her, she observed Jazz making his strides casual, an air of carefreeness, and moving as he was when she first met him. He left one important vital detail from the perspective of an artist observing life around them in plain camouflage, someone great at acting as a chameleon enough for individuals to think no one was with them, to trick them into a sense of security.

He make sure to act extra casual at something unusual. 

Others must've not noticed it as no questions arose when Jazz comfortably sidled with chattering along the other humans happily. Rather than questions, it was gossips—he was taking information. She shrugged that off, with what she gathered in his behavior; he must be some kind under a stealth type of position. Like a spy. Her eyes glistened at the thought, that would be cool.

And traumatic.

Crouching and taking one biscuit inside the opened crate, she paused when another biscuit was offered to her? Following the hand, seeing a green long sleeve and the nametag; Captain William Lennox. Her face pulled into an accustomed smile, she reluctantly took the offered biscuit with an unsure hand, trying to see if it was a test. Lennox didn't pull away the extra treat.

"What's this for?" Showing the treat to his eyes, Lennox made an effort to be polite with her as he smiled.

"A thanks for letting me take your bed." Taking another one for him on the crate, he tore it open and bit down on the bread, standing up with her following his lead, "the ground wouldn't definitely make a good bed."

Snickering under her breath, grinning and remembering her arms undergoing on the pretense of still healing and therefore not able to open the snack. Again. She huffed, the treat taken from her hands, the sound of plastic crinkling before it was handed to her; taking it with a pleased hum, Lennox holding on her extra treat. She bit on the bread and closed her eyes. It was good. 

"And it was cold too. Must've been shivering from the ground."

Lennox snorted at her words, leading her outside and sitting on one of the foldable chairs with other military people surrounding them with eating their breakfast and softly chattering under the not yet scorching sun—bathing on the gentle rays of the morning glow.

By the same principle, she ignored the heated stares for her or him, on them; the previous chatter momentarily stopping when they took a seat at a decent distance across the others; she surveyed where Jazz was and saw him sitting close by, also staring at the spot where the others are. Observing his stance with her biscuit laid abandoned on her lap, eyes following the rays of the sun reflecting the remains of what clean reflective armour not tainted with dirt and grime, and the off-color welds of spare parts. A touch of red accent and probably something a shade of blue to heighten his curves and the gold lining of his joints—maybe she can offer to paint him, repaint his whole body—

"I'll bet." She blinked, what? "I have some concerns with the production of blankets too." Leaning on the chair, he stretched his legs out and finished off his bread in one bite, "woe on the poor patient that had a medic take three blankets for them."

Ah. Blankets.

Remembering she had three blankets stacked over her shoulders, she pulled it closer to her; smoothly coming back at the on-going conversation, chuckling, "the blanket was thin. And a worried medic is no medic a man should piss off." Rolling her eyes at the laugh answering her, she took a large bite on the bread and continuing eating until Lennox finished his thing at laughing, waving to Jazz when he noticed her shameless and obvious ogling at him.

Man, how does he look so pretty still? She took in the shimmer of his armour against the sunlight, the gleam of wires peaking underneath the hissing gears and eyes slowly trailing to see the visor. She felt herself sigh almost wistfully, he was just so beautiful beyond words. 

Her next work should be definitely based on his vibes. Or, she could just make a sculpture of him. She smiled at the idea.

"Fancy anyone here?" Lennox asked.

"Yeah, you wouldn't mind me creating a sculpture of everyone here, do you?"

He turned at her with an amused smirk, one eyebrow arching, "sure, Ratchet might need a little convincing though. You're his patient, after all."

Won't you look at that, they must've failed retrieving information from the web. For him to resort gathering information directly from her didn't came out as smooth as one would think, as rather than being subtle, it broadcasted his intentions of why he was nice.

Shrugging her shoulders, she gestured for her extra bread to be open, humming thoughtfully, "I don't know. He might or not give in for a six-six feet tall human with an irresistible fluffy hair. You tell me." Turning to him with a well-practiced smile, she took the opened bread and bit on the dry but well-received by her utterly starving stomach. So good. 

But she had to give it to him, he was good at his job. 

—alas, he just chose the wrong person to do that.

His eyes trailed down to openly observe her bandage reaching until the tips of her fingers, "still hurting?"

"Still can't feel it." It was probably for the better she left the personal retort or, an ancient million year old burning her arms and chest like a house entirely engulfed in flames with no amount of water able to douse it down. She didn't, as much as she wanted, brought up and accidentally resurface any traumatic events similar to what she experienced. 

Besides, he should probably have some vague idea of having half of his nerves fried off like sizzling bacon on a greasy pan with his experience on a battlefield. 

A cold, almost apologetic in a way of a kitten would move and choreographed its movements after biting the owner, carefully crawled specifically to the burns of her arms and then leading back to her chest where it swirled relucantly, a lazy pool wave; she blinked and the cold turned comfortably warm. 

Swallowing the last bite, she gathered the two plastic between her hands and stood up from the chair, blankets still on shoulders, and minding how her bruised legs should worked—limped a little, "thanks for the treat and company, can I go see the boy I took here?"

Her question, she was finding a pattern, throwing him off balance. Lennox faltering for the fleeting moments and then regaining his standing; he looked back inside the tent with his expression morphing into careful consideration. His hands slightly tightening as his veins showed itself—she was a little distracted on trying to see if it was green or blue or a mix, honestly, "I don't see why not. The boy's awake?"

"I'm not sure. I'll just pop by and see his condition if he isn't." 

Lennox hummed, "sure, see you around then."

She wasn't surprised he let her go. If he wanted someone of interest to lower their guard, it was to make them assume you'll agree to their wants and needs. He was playing the long game, a nice strategy. It won't work with her though. 

However, she's relieved he was playing the long game and if that's what he picked; she'll play along. Anything to make his suspicions on her eventually decrease because as he's working on her, she's working on him too. Working on to get him to trust her mildly to not interrogate her and consider her an enemy. She was already, by proxy alone from her clients, considered an enemy to some; it was ridiculous really.

Raising a hand to the air with her back on him, she briskly re-entered the tent; glancing at any occupied bed for curly hair, throwing her trash after passing by a trashcan, mentally tracing where she last saw him. On the other side of the room from her, and she was right. He was awake and peacefully eating a soup. 

Without pausing in her steps, she approached him and noticing Mikaela napping on his side still sitting on the chair. She frowned at the sight. Why would she risk back pain for him? 

Wincing for how much Mikaela would be in for a world of pain when she awoke; lips pursing, cocking her head out of confusion, perhaps he was a close friend? Studying the boy—still not aware of her presence as he blankly eat his soup with a glazed glint in his eyes, head on the clouds—with one eyebrow discreetly raised, she hummed; to each on their own. The thought was cute but didn't lessen the reality of a painful fate on her back unfortunately.

Spotting a, fortunately, empty bed beside her; she looked down to her arms. If a person with a severe burn marks and bruised, fractured legs lifted a fully grown person, wouldn't it rise some questions?

Turning to the boy who had noticed her, watching with a gaping mouth and with an open mouth of previously eating, soup dribble down from his chin.

She, with a years worth of seeing far more outrageous and unpleasant sight, kept her face natural despite the urge to wince at the less than pleasing sight of the soup inside his mouth plop down on the bowl again; pulling one hand to her mouth, she made an effort to make a shush sign, no one but them being inside the tent. She checked.

"You don't want her to have a back pain after waking up, right?" With her eyes gesturing at Mikaela still sleeping, the boy simultaneously whipped his head strongly side-to-side; mouth closed which she was thankful of. At least he kept quiet and didn't splatter some of the soup still on his chin on anywhere close to Mikaela.

Circling on Mikaela's side, putting the three blankets on the edge then pulling back the blanket to the foot of the bed and swivelled to place one hand on her back and scooping under her legs; she easily lifted her up and put her on the bed. No one but the boy witnessing the show of strength. Pulling a blanket over her shoulder, she smiled when Mikaela snuggled to her pillow, turning her body to the side as she pulled the blanket higher to her body. 

Taking the three blankets, she gave one to drape over her own, to Mikaela's, and neatly folding the other to place beside the boy's bed in case he wanted the same too. The boy barely glancing at the blanket to simply stare at her in bewilderment.

Sitting just close to Mikaela, it provided her a full sight in directly facing the boy, she smiled politely, "a quick check up on your condition, how you holding up?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Eloise, who are you?"

The boy blinked; she continued with a smile, briefly glancing at the soup and thinking why wasn't she was served the same as him. A soup would've been nice, the biscuit was great and all but still—she let the subject drop in favor of shifting her awareness to the boy.

Hesitant, sending a fleeting glimpse to Mikaela behind her, the boy nervously gulped and licked his lips, "... Sam. Samuel James Witwicky."

Nodding, she purposely kept her mouth shut. The boy—Samuel looking around with no definitive point of sense other than to avoid her gaze, cleared his throat. Awkward as he was, decided without much of a choice, to continue the conversation.

"Um, you're the one that saved me back then, right?"

"What do you think?" She grinned at him cheekily, remembering she did save him with her mask on her face, "do you think I'm your savior?"

The boy scooped soup on his spoon, putting it to his mouth, swallowing it down; he squinted his eyes at her, "I'm not sure. Everything was a tad blurry, kinda hard to hear, and I was literally bleeding from my stomach. Can you please," she quietly laughed at his tone, him glaring at her in return, "tell me if you are?"

"Yeah, I took you out of that place."

"Great! Where's the cube?"

Inside of me. "... taken by the decepticons."

His eyes widening in size to the near point of comical, she frowned at the impending sense of intervening with emotional turmoil she was subjected to earlier, "what?"

Trying to cross her arms, the bandage didn't provide sufficient flexibility for that; instead, she leaned forward with a light glare fix on his slowly growing contorting face at the questionable close proximity, "the question should be anything but that. Are you not like, sixteen or something?"

"Eighteen actually."

"Actually or turning?"

"... turning eighteen," he paused, huffing a breath as he turned his head away from her and in a weak voice, added, "actually."

"Right. Anyway, why don't you worry about anything other than the cube? You were nearly—"

"I know." A scathing hiss, she recoiled back with her eyebrows shooting up.

His fists clenching around the blanket, wrinkling the pristine cloth as it gathered around his grasp. He snapped his head to stare at her with a disappointed expression; looking utterly lost and confused about something he was having an internal conflict on, something he would confide to her any minute. Averting his gaze, breaking the clear glass she was looking at; he bowed his head with a hiss.

"I know that. But it was my responsibility. I took the responsibility and for once, I wanted to succeed in doing something right. Just... once, alright?" He breathed, sharply hissing when he took more than the grave wound on his stomach can handle, "besides, I didn't even did it right. I never got it to Optimus, they were expecting me to. And—oh my god, the deaths, how many died while I was out there?"

"You aren't responsible for the deaths," putting a hand on his shoulder, she changed her place to sit beside him instead, her hand sliding down to his back and rubbing it soothingly, "it was your responsibility to get the cube to Optimus and you did what you can and I know you would've do more if you weren't literally bleeding with your organs spilling out. Even when you were on the brink of tapping out, you actually asked the cube to be taken back." 

He wasn't so easily deterred, however, he tried to shrug off her hold on him and she back down; putting her hand to her side and putting a tiny distance between them, he added. "I was a chicken. Always a chicken. I took too long to move, get my shit together."

Scoffing, the boy turned to her with his eyebrows furrowed together, tears glistening from the edges of his eyes; he stared at her, hurt. "Chickens have its bad and good qualities, do you know what you showed back there?"

"Let me guess," he said, deadpan and glaring at his untouched soup, "stupidity." The fact it wasn't a question alarmed her, who made his self-esteem that low?

"No self-preservation."

This time, he was the one that scoffed even if that very action hurt him as he relaxed back to his pillow with his back on it, "wow, that's supposed to make me feel better?"

"I hope so," nudging her shoulder with him as she leaned back to the pillow, "because what you did is no man would be willing to do. It's stupid. Why risk your literal life for a rubiks cube?"

He, with care on his wound, lightly chuckle at the name she used with the artifact, "because it is stupid."

"Yet you did it anyway. Something a chicken would do. Like the saying, why did the chicken cross the road despite the visible danger to it's life? With it not having awareness of the danger? And even if it had, why disregard it completely for the sake of crossing the road? It's stupid."

Smothering his giggle, he thoughtfully hummed, looking at the roof of the tent, his soup laying abandoned by the table, "it is. Why are you making this into a philosophy class?"

"I'm trying to make a point, stick with me, Sam," another weak chuckle, she continued, "a chicken, once it set its mind on something, would do anything to achieve it. And hey, if a bag of corn was on the other side of the road, why won't the chicken risk its life for something it believes is more important than the dangers of the road? You did what your mind told you, so answer me this. Why did you went so far?"

"Because... it was the right thing." He paused, choking on his words as she pulled the side of his head to lean on her shoulder. There it is, bullseye, "if the decepticons had the cube, they would destroy everything. I can't have them do that. I just—just can't."

"Just like a chicken who thought the corn is more important than the road. You prioritize the lives of the people initially unaware of this over your own life. You saved more than you think, Sam. Take credit when it's due," pointing at his stomach, he followed her hand with a frown, "you got the wound to prove that."

As if enlightened, Sam stared at her with wide glistening eyes then shimmering, a watery laugh from him, he let his head rest to her shoulder, covering his face by snuggling by the crook of her nape—a little too much close than she wanted it to be, her arms tingled, "just like a chicken."

Her arm rising to stroke his head, she leaned her cheek above his head; feeling the tears as it rapidly soak the uniform, she closed her eyes and continued to stroke his head. Not bothering with the presence finally making his appearance known.

"That was a nice analogy." A voice before her, she looked straight ahead to see the thoughtful glow of his visors shining on her, wholly focused on them as his lips formed into a faint outline of a small smirk. "Very nice, babygirl."

Smiling at Jazz, she watched him sit criss-cross in front of them, leaning his cheek on his hand as his back slouched forward. "I aim to please and apparently, comfort." And if Jazz had eyes behind his visor, he definitely rolled his eyes at her words whilst his smile helplessly grew, it was a little embarrassing to be the center of his attention as she previously learned he had a short attention span. "So, Witwicky, huh? Sweet name."

She heard this surname before, it sounded so familiar. With how ancient sounding and different from the millions she listed off. It definitely came from some source; a client most likely.

Sam smiled at her weakly, looking up from his perch on her nape, "congrats, you're one of the not-family members to pronounce my last name right."

Witwicky. Witwicky. Where did she heard this surname?

Looking ahead, subduing the crawling of a thousand ants where his breaths continously brushed against her skin; she focused all sensations towards Jazz, finding herself pretty distracted by the shifting hues within his visor, her smile turned a little genuine, "honored. Any family trivia for a reward?"

"Unless you wanna hear about my great great grandfather going nuts over a pair of glasses. Be my guest."

Oh.

He was the descendant of the great Archibald Witwicky, the one who discovered NBE-1, or known as Megatron. Or so they say. She wasn't sure if their name was actually Megatron or something but if it was, it sounds cool but at the same time, kinda scary. Megatronous would sound better, ancient sounding and especially pleasant to the ears. 

She had only heard from her client about it, occasionally from her mother's co-workers that would slipped in providing information she was intentionally prying for. They did never regard her anything more than just an artist.

Sam sneaking to stare at Jazz from his spot, her body heat welcoming and making him want to stay unnecessarily longer than he should be; Jazz turned to him and with a tilt of his head and an air of innocence, waved at him. 

"Why does he call you babygirl?" He whispered, curiosity getting the best of him.

"If it makes you feel better, I call him babyboy." Laughing under her breath, she playfully added, "you can too—if you wanted, I mean."

Sam openly stared at her in horror and she was just glad that the warmth on her nape was gone. She winked at him, standing from the bed and the blanket still on her shoulders, casually walked outside since, apparently, she had rendered him speechless and won't comprehend her next words with his brain wrapped around the thought of calling a more-than-a-million year old mechanical beings from outer space, babyboy.

Putting it that way, it does seem strange. "You think he's going to be okay?"

"Dandy." Jazz make out with a snort, walking beside her.

The sounds of several mechanical transformations of gears and metal moving. The hissing of joints and clinks; she looked up to see Ironhide in front of her with his expression set on a poker face, cannons nearly pointed at her vague direction and Jazz leave her to it with a smooth exit, swerving to head where Bumblebee was sitting next to Ratchet. 

Her eyes pointed at the cannons with an awed glow of her eyes which made him raise an eyebrow at her in interest mixed with confusion, "are your cannons stronger than anyone else?"

Ironhide rolled his eyes and scoffed at her in offense, "I'm the weapons specialist, what do you think?" With a smirk, he fully set his cannons low enough for her to touch and he was right to assume she was going to touch it because the moment it was within reach, she did touch it with small noises of awe, "wanna see things explode?"

"Won't you be scolded?"

"I won't if no one else knows. Just between you and me." He murmured as if speaking to a child.

Someone producing a low growl from their engine. If she knew any better, it sounded disapproving; their attention spanning towards the figure standing beside them, gaze locked on the ground with a pair of metal feet painted in bright neon green she had yet to distinguish the exact shade of; entirely unimpressed with their antics, Ratchet stood with his arms crossed and scowling at them both, he glared specifically at Ironhide who tried not to shrink down under his gaze. 

"Can you confirm that you were going to make something explode with a patient that indirectly suffered from the same type of weapon?" Ratchet asked sweetly, and at this point, Ironhide looked more than ready to sprint at a command than to answer him, he nudged Eloise forward with the front of his cannons to answer him. "Ironhide, knock it off. Answer me."

"It's not what you think it is—okay, it is what you think it is but for demonstration purposes only! I wasn't even going to set it on full, just a tiny explosion, that's it." She tried not to laugh at how desperate Ironhide went under seconds. At his fleeting glare aimed at her, she remembered that smiling was also considered to be having fun at someone being scolded. She pursed her mouth together to keep it from spreading wider.

Humming, Ratchet cocked his head to the side, looking at something behind them with a glint in his eyes, "you wanted to burn off yourself so badly? How about you help with packing things for the departure?"

Opening his mouth, she can actually see the thought process as Ironhide visibly weighted which consequences was better to face, he closed his mouth before standing up to his full height and opening his mouth with a nod, "yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Absolutely."

Watching Ironhide walked away with nothing more than a glance at her and wincing, poor lad. He just wanted to show off his cannons to her; yet, he probably had his share of show when he fought with the decepticons. Surely a decent amount of soldiers saw him in action? She turned to Ratchet with a soothing smile, "it's not really that bad—"

And as her words were rudely cut off by yours truly, Ratchet crouched down to present her bag nestled on his servo, was he holding onto this the whole time? Her mouth gaping, she alternated her stare at—dare she say it, embarrassed face as he stubbornly met her gaze with his engines the one actually giving it away, and then staring back at the awaiting servo holding her bag.

"... Ratchet, oh." He was officially the second in her favorites. Mikaela tops it with Jazz at third. "Thank you. Thank you so much!" Taking the bag between her arms, she laughed at the familiar weight of her materials inside it; sitting down on the ground and putting the bag between her thighs, she patted around the bag to somewhat feel the figures of materials messily compiled together, haphazardly thrown. But nothing was damaged, miraculously. "This is great!"

Beaming at him, immediately slinging the bag over to her chest; she raised her arms with unrestrained enthusiasm, "how do you want yourself to be made? Painting? Sculpture? Any preferences?"

Ratchet frowned, eyebrows coming down together in a tight furrow, "what for?"

Wordlessly, she hold up her materials and Ratchet grimaced at the sight of blood still coating the bag. Already dried and dark.

"It's nothing to thank me for."

Smiling, she fondly run her hand to the material her bag was made, "regardless, you exerted effort and I appreciate effort."

Climbing on the offered hand place to the ground. She rubbed the side of her bag—she can't wait to draw, so many references to be taken and just waiting to be placed on the paper. Happily sitting on his hand, the wind shifting as he pulled her close to his chest; the rumble of engines welcoming her and the warmth enveloping the side of her body, she quietly leaned her head to the metal and didn't look down on the ground.

Fumbling and taking a pencil and her chosen sketchpad amongst the others she packed. She kept her legs stretched and putting her bag to her lap as a makeshift table for the sketchpad, her fingers opened a page and not moving as much, prepared to draw the forest where she knew where the decepticon was; looking specifically at the one area of it occasionally to get an accurate imagery of the background. 

Seeing her on the edge of his vision, he saw what she was drawing and was terribly tempted to ask why she kept glancing on the spot where they heard the decepticon—a decepticon they still can't identify other than giving hypothesis between Laserbeak or Ravage. Jazz tuned back to the conversation he had with Bumblebee. Ratchet, he knew, was listening after finishing his thorough scan on her and assisting with any of her needs. 

"I think it's Ravage." Said Bumblebee. 

Ratchet kept silent, he took it as his cue to continue their one-on-one conversation just as before, "Ravage? Beaky could do as well in this kind of environment, right? With the branches and all."

Bumblebee shook his helm side by side, "Laserbeak tires more easily. With a frame like the seekers, she consumes more energon than the rest. Soundwave wouldn't be dumb to send her out."

"Dumb, no. Desperate?" Bumblebee scoffed, shaking his helm in disagreement. He clicked his glossa and hummed, "so that's a no either. Why send the kitty out?"

Bumblebee looked over to the forest, doorwings lowered pointedly as he took a few moments to answer, shrugging, "you're guess is as good as mine."

A tug on his spark and he looked back at her, putting the final touches of her sketch. The tugging grew harder each time until it settled as a firm fist clenching around his spark and he can't help but to think Eloise knew something they don't. Something that she kept to herself and he can't simply ignore that feeling the way he knew he liked her enough to be vulnerable. He frowned and resist the urge to rub the space between his optics in frustration.

If the decepticons weren't dumb and desperate enough, why send one of their valuable assets to die? He knew Soundwave wouldn't waste his companions to their death for something useless; Soundwave is smarter than that. A whole lot smarter than whatever game he was playing with this time. 

"Bumblebee, I want you to change roles with Ironhide. You're on scouting duty, Ironhide is guarding this base."

"And the communications?"

"Going blind. We can't take any risks with Ravage on the loose. You report directly after each shift, understood? We only use communications for code red. Only the highest priority gets through."

Sending the change of roles to the involved parties, he cut off his commlink; blocking any signals and interferences as he looked beside him to see Ratchet frown, he raised a questioning orbital ridge.

"What if they knew about her?" Ratchet asked the very possibility he had considered the first thing he thought of the moment they discovered Ravage. 

That would make a lot more sense but he made sure everything was secure. Up to date by their reports and observation, he covered any holes that would've been left in his absence.

Still, they were called decepticons for a reason. He clenched his jaw, recounting how many the decepticons forces should be whilst taking in account of how disorganized they would be without Megatron as their leader and having the rest—namely Starscream take the role as leader against everyone else hungry for that spot. They would've been busy to put everything back in place, they should've been unless...

Unless, everyone had the same goals. Or, were united for some reason.

In that case, shit.

"Well, that's not very reassuring." Ratchet flatly said, giving him a glance from the corner of his optic as he tsked. 

Chapter Text

Jazz called a meeting. Optimus agreed as did Ratchet and Bumblebee backing his notion; Ironhide sat beside Ratchet from the circle they formed.

"What's the occasion?" Ironhide asked, the silence being unbearable and after Jazz placed the newly implemented strategy, the second highest in command that Optimus Prime rightfully trusted, he knew they wouldn't be talking through their commlink. Jazz restricted them, he wouldn't break regulations.

Looking around of how far away they were from the camp, precisely from the forest. He rubbed the cannons permanently part of his arm. This must be pretty serious but he wasn't known for patience as he was as well-known for his strength. He looked from his staring to the ground and to the still cracked visor, trying to get a read of Jazz's intentions; he growled to himself.

"It's about the decepticons." Jazz started, "and they're not here to get buddy-buddy. They're here for a reason, did you notice anything off during the battle?"

He thought back on the battle. The many decepticons drones he had to kill and protect the humans from; he didn't get anything strange from thr usual gimmick. It was just a battle, aside from the killing and fighting, what else is there to observe?

"I saw a raptor F-22 shot Megatron." Optimus Prime mindfully said, thoughtful in a way his optics squint in heavy thoughts muddling his processors at the moment. "If I heard Sergeant Epps correctly, F-22, no matter the circumstances, don't fly below the buildings."

"So?" He find himself prompting the leader, Ratchet harshly nudged him with his elbow.

"The two F-22 flew more than below the building and then dispersed as quick as they arrived. The humans... aren't as experienced yet with that level of skill."

Bumblebee spoke before he could voice the question outloud of who it could be; somehow not making any sense even if Optimus was dropping hints or at least he thinks so, "two raptors, skilled flyers, you say? Could it be—?" Bumblebee immediately shared a look to his superior officer, Jazz schooling a neutral expression he was so good at.

"Starscream and Skywarp. That would explain the heavy damage he took. Human weaponry against ours, we're more heavy loaded." Jazz agreed.

Ratchet scoffed, crossing his arms over to his chassis, "and what? Soundwave wouldn't let that matter of crossing Megatron so easily. He wouldn't cooperate with Starscream after what he'd done."

"Except, what if he did?"

"Where are you getting this as basis, Jazz?"

"Assumptions, Ratchet. Probabilities, we need to keep our processors open to everything."

Ratchet narrowed his optics, engines lowly releasing a growl, "open to delusions, you mean?"

Jazz cocked his helm to the side, a small upturn to one corner of his lips and he retorted, "you saying the thing with the Allspark is all delusion?"

"That and this is different. The Allspark is an unexplored entity while Starscream and Soundwave's dislike of eachother is known, a fact." Ratchet tiredly rubbed his servos up to his fsceplates, "get to the point, Jazz. Everyone is tense as it is."

Jazz chuckled, "you got me. Keeping you on your toes is good, keep the senses alert."

"And when you overheat from making your so-called senses alert, I'm not fixing you up." 

Bumblebee firmly nudged Jazz, making eye contact with his superior until Jazz threw his helm to the side in resignation, understanding whatever Bumblebee uttered through his optics; it was special operation thing, trust being the fundamental and foundation of everything they do. He didn't linger at the thought no more than letting it pass by.

"The decepticons are united, for some reason. Their forces outnumber us here on Earth. Whatever we do, we gotta do smart. As knowing Starscream, he would be the face of their faction until Megatron stays dead," Jazz paused, sighing, "Soundwave would be mostly work behind the scenes. With Starscream this time helping him out. They're here for a reason." He repeated, with tension and more intense than before, a heavy weight on his last words whilst looking at them one by one.

And what could be that reason? This planet doesn't serve any use besides being their battleground. There's nothing they could scour here without throwing it away the moment they touched it; low quality materials, muddy ground, no energon—he sharply paused as his engines stalled.

The reality of this being an organic planet. It was an established fact that this planet also produces an abundant of minerals naturally. And if their energon could be considered as a mineral, what if it was also found here? 

As far as he heard from a couple of soldiers, their planet hadn't even been explored for it's full potential. Many things should still remain as undiscovered and basing their resources on the internet wasn't as reliable as he formerly thought. 

Not every human would document their discovery on the internet or simply fail to detail their discovery as nothing. Jazz's words repeated inside of him, Starscream has the brains and Soundwave the ear for everything. A deadly combo.

"Energon. What if they're looking for energon?" Meeting each of their optics carefully, he continued with a barely concealed unease, "what if they knew there's an energon deposit here but simply fail to pinpoint where?" 

Eating her third meal of the day, she finally got a soup served piping hot and soft, munchy pasta with little add-ons; she didn't mind the lack of ingredients that much as long as it's still a soup. Taking another scoop and smiling as she hummed, she swallowed and about to lift the moderately warm soup up to the tip of her lips, she stopped.

Jazz plopped to her side in their spot.

Hiding her amused smile, she finished her soup by doing what she was initially planning to do; putting it down her lap after with a satisfied sigh.

And then she frowned, taking a peek from her peripheral vision. She fully turned her body towards him, taking the time to quietly observe the shifting hues of values within his visor, she determined the cause with every wave, shake, and darkening of it in some areas. 

"You're troubled, what's the matter, Jazz?" She asked softly, meant to only be heard by him and no other else. She tentatively lay her hand on his thigh, squeezing with reassurance coated in every caress, she asked in the same volume as she asked, only lower, "can you tell me, pretty mech?"

As his visor snapped against to really look at her. She saw surprise then confusion and lastly, unease. She knew the feeling too well. 

He was uncomfortable someone read him that easily.

He stared unabashedly, "how did you...?"

"Ever heard the human saying that the eye is the window to a person's soul?"

"Yeah, but—" she smiled, holding out her outstretched arm for him, he leaned until his cheek touched and rest on her palm; she stroke it while having the time of her life to see multitude of emotions flash in front of her very eyes, "—I'm not human like you."

"Just because it's a human saying, it would only apply to us. It would apply to anyone meant to receive it." Tilting her head, her hand finding a place to stop as she merely took in the details of his face; she felt her own twist into a teasing smile, "why? You thought just because you're wearing a visor, you're an exemption?"

"I'd like to think so." He joked back, going to the direction of her hand as he fully lay more weight on it; she felt his gaze examining her thoroughly, feeling his gaze directly matching her eyes now that they were on eye-level, "can't a mech hope?"

Laughing, she glanced back to her hand when another weight added to it. Finding his finger curling on top of her own, she became entranced on the sight of their differences. So different yet so perfectly fitting together, she carefully took her hand back as Jazz let his own fall back to his side while she returned to her spot.

A seconds of quietness under the stars; Jazz spoke without looking at her, continuing to stare above and towards the stars, "did Optimus introduced us as the autobots?"

Likewise as him, she admired the open sky littered with skies. Mentally counting and naming a few she could recognize, "yeah, he did."

"And the decepticons as our enemies?"

She hummed in agreement.

"This'll be easy then," without still turning, he asked, "what're you hiding from me, Eli?"

Her heart didn't drop, her palms didn't sweat, and her face didn't contort to show a change in her expression. She didn't do anything that gave her away, other than her eyebrows twitching. Her lips pulled into an easy smile, "huh, what would I hide from you?"

"Anything worth keepin' quiet for."

She pursed her lips, thinking back of seeing from the decepticon's perspective; their predatory presence, the blatant snooping, and the knowledge confirmed of being an enemy. She turned away from the skies only for her eyes to land on the brightly skies occupying her vision as her breath stilled.

"Babygirl," he whispered breathlessly, face inches away from hers. The same face she stroked only minutes ago, "it's you. I'm scared for you."

As if her mind plainly understood his words, it flashed back to the memory of her body identified and stashed to remember, someone worth remembering by their enemy isn't good. 

The tip of his finger tenderly stroked her cheek, an unparalleled coldness her body hasn't registered before; a coldness sweep within her body and spread out rapidly. Yet strangely, she didn't felt cold. She felt soothed.

Leaning her cheek towards it, she closed her eyes, "you know I'm weak to your voice. This is cheating."

Jazz spared a small smile, and as she opened her eyes. She looked straight ahead and into the visor, seeing only an insane amount of shifting hues; an emotion she didn't identify for how rare she make others worry for her. Her eyes widened slightly and she leaned back at the intensity of his worry, of his concern, of his fear.

"I... I," her eyebrows furrowing, she bit her lower lip; the coldness felt vividly by her cheeks remaining, her shoulders slouched, "I saw the decepticon."

"Yeah? Can you tell me where he is?" 

"I'll see if he changed position." Her eyes fluttering shut, she easily find the presence and inhabiting within him like something she was so used to, like something to wear and take off as clothing. She opened her eyes to see the bushes, a blaring of alarms making her internally wince; he changed position with a creak of his joints and grunting yet despite the obvious pain he was in, he still persevered. 

Crouching low, she was in the front seat of seeing herself and Jazz. 

The scent of forestry as the leaves under their feet, a reminiscence of her first time, didn't crunched nor made a noise. The smell of a sweet aroma of something, she caught a glimpse that he was actually limping, an angry patch of poorly weld metal on his wound.

A notification popped by his vision and she read that he was low in energon. 

Her eyes opened with a light groan pouring from her lips, hand caressing her knee where his wound was approximately was; still feeling the ghost sensations of throbbing pain. 

A grounding touch made her return with her awareness, a cold metal moving to lay feather touch on her ankle; Jazz hummed.

"Where is he?"

"He's injured, Jazz. He... he's low on energon."

Jazz lightly directed with his finger under chin, to make her look at him. He didn't offer sympathies or anything; he looked fit for the role as the second in command of Optimus Prime as he gazed at her. "Where is he?"

He waited for an answer, an indecipherable glow of his visor fluctuating between focusing on her and to their surroundings; his hand moving to the center of her back as it tightened noticeably, pulling her close. His engines sending little vibrations through the finger holding her chin, fast paced and continuous; he was preparing for battle.

Dragging her eyes, she couldn't find herself to speak as her throat went completely dry. She took his hand from her chin, flipping it so the palm was facing her, she tap in a rhythmic beat: left. Beside tent.

Just as she finished, Optimus bursted at a speed of bullet; his battle mask covering his face as he aimed his cannons towards the area with Ironhide flanking on his other side. She couldn't stand up to see what was happening when Jazz kept her down whereas Ratchet with his weapons, was inside the tent with the soldiers arming themselves. 

Bumblebee zoomed past them in his vehicle mode, making chase when the pair failed to corner the decepticon. She felt frozen in fear, seeing herself in his situation with the state of his leg and the others making chase with the intentions of killing him didn't made anything better. 

Jazz suddenly moved away with a hiss, his hands immediately on his sides as he looked at her with an open mouth and unmistakably, wide eyes, "Eli?"

The soup threatening to spill out any moment, she booked it out of there as fast she can with both hands holding her mouth shut. And relatively for a human bearing the height of six and six feet plus a former runner, she was fast.

Yet Jazz was faster, he caught up with her with the smallest gap between them.

Pumping her legs, she frantically looked around for a place to hide. Her chest feeling warm, her feet scrambling to right, she pushed a door open with her shoulder, hastily entering someone's former house as his shouts echoed the surroundings; she took cover under the kitchen counter.

Shakily controlling her breath, her stomach disagreed and with a sudden lurch, she only had a moment to turn to her side and release all her stomach contents. Wiping her mouth with the sleeve, she release a cry and weakly crawled out to find another spot.

Finding herself to another room, she pulled herself beside the door.

His voice a distant reminder as tears rolled down her cheeks she choked on, giving a weak cry as her knees pulled up until to her chest; she bowed down and even with no one to witness her breakdown, she shed her anguish quietly. 

No shaking of shoulders, no hiccuping, and no usual tell-tale signs to know a normal person crying.

The only tell someone can know was if they somehow made her lift her head and saw the continuous tears flowing her cheeks.

Her fists curling, a pressure on her palm as her fingers pressed hard on it, she continued to ignore his voice calling out to her in a city which became a ghost town in a matter of hours. 

The only comfort she had was the warmth within her chest accompanying her, the only one to witness her like this. The one to ever know she, even in the absence of anyone around her, chose to grieve quietly.

In a fleeting thought before she succumbed to reliving her fears, she thought of how sad this was.

He couldn't find her. Her heat signature completely erased yet he knew he was close in where she was but as if his scanners were malfunctioning, he couldn't receive an exact coordinate. He hissed, forcing doors to open and stuck his faceplate as close inside to personally conduct a scan; doing it to every signal house around the perimeter.

He didn't find her.

Almost as if the Allspark was siding with her, it erased his only way to track her down. With how quiet the inside of each houses, he couldn't hear a thing. 

Until he came to another house where his scanners finally detected a heat signature. 

He dropped low and peeked inside, smelling the foul smell of vomit as he strained his audials, hearing the sounds of crying. A crying that stopped.

And with the crying stopping, came with the unbearable heat flooding the house to be warm. It must be his imagination, glancing at the notably scorched mark by the palm of his servo, he clenched it close, gently calling out, "Eli?"

Silence.

Quickly checking in with the heat signature, he watched it literally fade in and out, flickering like a busted light bulb—the Allspark seemingly deciding if it wanted to make her visible or not. 

He decided not to depend with the scanners and focused on someone he should be directing his attention onto, "Eli? Can you hear me?"

"Eli? Please say something, anything. Are you okay?"

A shuffling noise of some sort, he picked out a darkened figure emerging from the corner of a room. Taking a sharp intake upon seeing her apperance, his optics blown wide as he revel the figure before him. 

"Oh, babygirl." His digits reflexively releasing the claws, he repressed the strong urge to scoop her from where she was and hold her with no one ever seeing her in such vulnerability, he crooned as he beckoned her closer with his voice, "my babygirl, oh."

Her expression carefully crafted to a clean slate of blankness, his spark for the briefest moment felt proud in seeing her concealed the turmoil of her emotions if not for the tear streaks and her blanched skintone. She walked until merely standing by the entrance, within reach for him to pull into his arms.

He didn't. 

He waited her to come out of her own as he leaned away from the door and resumed to sat down. All done with not a creak of his joints whereas his optics never once broke from her figure as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"You..." her eyes unnaturally glistening, she sharply turned her head away from him and his spark released a sharp twinge, "I'm sorry."

"Babygirl, for what?" He asked, softly. Barely audible to anyone and yet he knew she heard it. That's all that matters. He discreetly flexed his digits, willing for the claws to return as it did.

She drew her mouth in a thin, straight line. The moonlight barely shining above her head and feet, a faint shadow of their silhouettes on the road; he gingerly release a breath. 

Wiping the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand, the bandages by her hands stuck with all kinds of dirt she touched; he noticed a dark smudge by her palms he identified came from the debris and whatnot.

"I don't think I can handle seeing some of you, right now." She said, head still turned away but body still pointed towards him, he cocked his helm to the side, waiting. "I... see myself in him. Back in the alleyway. I—I'm scared." 

 "Did you think we're going to... do that?"

Eloise's hand came to hold her arm, she bit her lip and quietly laughed, a dry one filled with nothing but unease, of tentative trust placed on him. "They looked like it."

"We weren't gonna, not with an injured opponent."

Taking the few steps of bridging the unfathomable, unbearable space between them; he reached out. Brushing the tip of his sheathed digit to her arm, a silent plead that she turned her head to; her eyes looked into his own and he saw clearly as if staring in a mirror, himself in it. Brightly glowing amidst of the darkness around in her irises, he finally came to understand how she would find his visor pretty.

He smiled, "Ravage is his name."

Her own eyes flickered with something as she firmly took his digit with her less dirty hand and yet regardless of the dirt or bacteria, he find himself not caring much of it when all he find himself caring was the familiar heat pressing down on his own, "Ravage? Sounds dangerous."

"He is, he's what you call a jaguar. A descendant of the felines, you know?" Barely giving the time to looked at how her hand attempt to intertwined with his, he continued with a poorly hidden falter in his words as her fingers continued to play and press on his own, "wanna stay here?"

She shook her head, looking somewhere once more but this time, behind his back. Pointedly focusing her gaze to the point his routine scanners notified nothing other than an empty space was there. No any signature or hostile. 

"Ravage," she let the name run smoothly through her tongue; finding himself leaning more closely than he would've given himself for in an attempt to hear her more and if she noticed, she didn't speak of it. He let himself lean more, "is here to find energon, right?"

"We think he is."

"You're probably right."

She gently tugged his digit, walking ahead to look over her shoulder, "let's head back, we'll discuss on the way."

Standing on one knee and pushing himself to fully; contemplating on whether he would carry her or not, Eloise made the decision by walking ahead. Jerking her head back with a playful roll of her eyes, he grinned and followed after her.

Bounding by her side, close that they sometimes rubbed shoulder to the side of his ped, she took the silence in taking the ruined city with an unreadable expression, he looked to where they're walking and simmered in his own thoughts—learning human body language was easy to read and translate over to his evolving variety of languages but at this very moment, he can't read hers. He was walking blind and he hated the idea of it at first yet, as the time he spent grew longer, he discovered it was entertaining to forget what he learned and start anew to her. She was fun to be with in other words.

"If Ravage is on Earth. They're low on food and if what Mikaela told me is true, then supplies as well. No matter how large they're in numbers, they're left with two options. Team up or die together, either way, it'll end up with all of them dead."

"What did Mikaela told you?"

She glanced beside her, "that the decepticons had a shipping container leaving Earth. Half of the corpse were gone, right? They took some of it back."

What? Rapidly rummaging through the compilation of memories in his cores for recalling if he had forgotten about such information. He found none. Did the autobots not notice it? They did a head count of the dead for the preservation of materials, his jaw clenched as he found the problem of their mistake. The decepticons were too many they thought that was all of it. He growled, "slag..."

"By sending Ravage, an injured opponent, one you wouldn't kill for now. They're risking losing one of their possible valuable asset."

"It still don't explain if they knew an energon deposit is here, why don't they find it instead of sticking to us?"

She barked a tiny laugh, pausing in her steps and turning to him with an amused grin, "pretty mech, can't you see?"

"See what?"

"You're their last resort. They're sticking to you because you have the humans, the natives of Earth, potentially help you discover energon. You have the higher chance to discover it before them because even if you're weak, you have us to help. The last pieces you can connect, now?" 

He stopped completely. 

Then he looked down at her, the decepticons remain in the dark about the Allspark infused with her; rather they were relying on the collective humans, not an individual. An individual proving to wield the Allspark by her will or whether it chose to be wielded by her, was capable of having a level of control over the Allspark, doing things they never thought it to be capable of.

It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when. When they found an energon deposit, the decepticons will attempt to steal it and create chaos and when they find Eloise being an Allspark bearer, they will also steal her.

Like an open book, a small weight of warm made him look down. She gestured with her eyes to continue walking, "let's go back, babyboy."

With a tight purse of his lips, he continued walking beside her. The few minutes of leisure somehow serving to sooth him when the small pressure never left by the side of his ankle.

The small pressure never left even as they stood in front of the tent, Ratchet immediately spotting Eloise and ushering them inside, mainly her. She flashed him a smile and eyed Optimus Prime stationed on the other side of the room, at the entrance of the tent.

Ratchet, in front of Eloise, also diverted part of his attention to simply eyed him, "time is ticking, get moving, Jazz."

With the two of them basically kicking him out from staying around them; he resigned himself to his fate as the responsible second in command and walked out with a two finger mock salute aimed at the pair.

Walking them to where he formerly took back then, he illuminated himself with the help of his headlight as he sat down and mindfully putting her on his lap. Eloise taking off the jacket, easily shrugging it off her shoulders and waiting for him with a glint in her eyes—the type of glint in Jazz's whenever he learned something he shouldn't have.

Ratchet, not wanting to make eye contact when he felt himself under heavy scrutinize putting him back on his early days of a beginner medic, unfurled the bandages on her arms with a low hum, "you're feeling better now?" He asked, disposing the unsterilized bandages to a nearby trashcan he pulled towards his direction earlier, taking a fresh roll of bandages; he adjusted his optic sensors to zoom closer and stare at the scars, beginning to wrap the fresh bandages on one arm.

"Yeah. It was a waste of food though, that was good soup."

He snorted, "how you care more of food over yourself is amusing itself, Eloise." Halfway of his wrapping, he risked looking up to catch her exhaustion practically enveloping her facial features before she smoothed it with a smile. He didn't stopped in his actions, "I talked to them. I apologize I hadn't let them know prior, Eloise. It was in my best intentions to treat you yet," lips pursing, he released a deep sigh; engines whining from how deep he took his intake and briefly letting his digits hover over her arm, he opened his mouth to continue when she beat him to it.

"It's no one's fault. Let's leave it at that, Ratchet." She decided with finality he actually stopped to gape at her.

"I triggered your fight and flight response. Do you not understand how great the fear and stress must be for your body to engage in automatic motor movements?"

"Do you want to blame yourself even for other's people decisions?"

"If I'm directly or indirectly involved—"

"If we're going to play the blaming game then should I blame," slowly holding out her still exposed arm for him to see, continued, "them for driving me in this path? Or myself for distracting the decepticon back then? What do you prefer?"

"You're being ridiculous. You can't help saving Jazz back then, and so was them for choosing you..." gradually fading in his words, he aimed a perfectly sculptured glare at the happily smiling Eloise. 

"See? You do get it." Patting the top of digit, she flashed a small smile, "stop being hard on yourself. You suffered as much as everyone here. Even more, give credit when it's due, yeah?"

Rolling his optics, he wouldn't deny the deep weight in his spark lightening as he lessened his glare to a resigned gaze; it was him that was supposed to comfort her. Not the other way around. She was the patient, he was the professional here for pits sake. His mouth on a straight line, he finished the wrapping of bandage in silence. 

"Did you see Ravage's condition?" She asked suddenly, hesitant and quiet; very unlike of her usual confident and casual remarks. Wearing the jacket back on as he curled his servos around her to act as a barrier against the coldness of the night, he watched her brushed her hair back.

He perked up, optics brightening slightly, "Jazz told you of the situation?"

"We had a discussion, is why I want him to plan out things with Prime. Preferably with the rest of you giving your opinions too. So, Ravage?"

"He had outrun us, we couldn't get him."

Eloise nodded, patting his thigh for a few times, "come on, they'll need the chief medical officer there."

It must've been the wrong glint of his headlights that he saw her looking relieved after his answer. And even if it wasn't, he wouldn't blame her if she saw herself so much in Ravage's current circumstances.

He would, however, find a way to prevent meeting any of the decepticons. Protect her from them.

Entering the tent without an autobot by her side is weird. She hadn't actually took a pause to register how often she was either accompanied by Ratchet or Jazz, and soaking in the absence of their presence. She took a calming breath and shook away the thoughts, living a life where standing alone on her chosen path is expected. This shouldn't make anything different than those times.

Rolling back her shoulders, she smiled and exchanged a few greetings majority of the people occupying the tent; making more than a few friendly acquaintances during her stay as per orders of Lennox. 

Picking out Lennox and his group amongst the others, weaving smoothly past the crowd bustling so lively in the night with as much as grace as an fatally injured person; her head inclining towards the people on their circle, her motions returned with all of them with courtesy or friendliness; she grabbed either option in a tight fist. 

"Great timing, Loi. You're phone's been ringing non-stop," words not even getting a chance of exiting her mouth, her cellphone—true to his words, ringing—was thrusted towards her with a mindful care of her injuries; Epps playfully rubbed his ear, "been driving us crazy. Just answer it, will you?"

"Gee, could've said you just miss me instead of making a lame excuse." Eyes gliding to skim the caller's name. Her eyes narrowed, slipping on Epps side and therefore standing between Lennox and him, she looked at the time next: three thirty in the morning. 

Buzzing within the confines of her grasp, she frowned. 

"Mami? Why are you calling so late?"

"Eloise!" Wincing, she moved away the phone from her ear, glimpsing the same reaction as Lennox, she kept her eyes narrowed. This was unusual of her to call in late, she should be sleeping affer getting off work. What kept her up in spite of nearly spending her morning until the late night, to call her? "Where were you? I couldn't reach you and I called so many times!"

"I'm at my house, mami. What's going on?"

"Okay, okay. That's good." A speck of unease slipping on her words; Eloise reevaluated her perception towards her parent. "You stay put, okay? Me and my co-workers are heading out, I had those acrylic painting you've been wanting."

The puzzle clicked inside her head.

She looked at Epps then at Lennox, figuring it was the latter that control mostly the platoon. She took his hand, palm open, and holding it firmly with her other. She tapped with her finger, responding, "really? When are you going to arrive, mami? I'll meet you at the terminal."

Jerking her head to where the autobots were gathered, Lennox nodded and sprinted. Epps about to shortly follow before he looked back; she gave the go sign—he followed Lennox, gaining up and reaching the autobots in record's time and exchanging gazes with the rest of what remains, her eyes turned towards the carts and they dispersed. 

"We're arriving in the early morning. It'll take about five hours so we're going out before it turned into afternoon, I suppose."

"That's good, perfect for a dine out! I'll see you later, mami. I'll be finishing this piece first before sleeping."

"Yes, see you soon!"

She cut off the call and sharply hiss under her breath, fuck. Spinning on her heel, a moderately heavy pressure settled on her shoulders and she heard them hiss and take their hand away. She looked up to meet Jazz's uncertain yet solemn expression and handed the phone to him. "Show them hell."

He smirked, visor darkening as he stood up from one knee, "already was planning on it."

Marching where Lennox was, she was already eyeing the radio hanging from one of his pockets and snatched it smoothly; weighting the gadget on her palm and adjusting the buttons, "how long are your cargos arriving?"

"The earliest is the afternoon."

"Be prepared to set out within five minutes."

Lennox watched her control the frequency with an expertise of a veteran handling a military gadget, watching her expression morph into an easy-going smile as she laughed and settled to a deal within a minute; she turned to him.

"I called for four cargo planes. They'll be arriving before the sun rise. Captain Lennox, the ETA is fifteen minutes." She said, giving the radio to the awaiting hand. Narrowly avoiding a hand from touching her shoulder, she lifted her gaze with an upper lip curling, "ready your men."

Lennox raise both arms in surrender, backing away from her glare; his Adam's apple bobbing once, "you're angry."

She choked a harsh laugh, the earlier breakdown surging forward like tidal waves and crashing to shore as it only added fuel to her simmering disappointment, "you're wrong. I'm disappointed I couldn't trust the closest relationship I had with someone, won't you?" Not waiting for a reply, she pushed past everyone and only had the fleeting thought to take her bag with her outside.

Her body taking herself to the forest. A reckless, out of her mind decision; she collapsed under the soft patch of grass and leaned at the nearest tree she could have on her back. Her hand going to the side of her head and pulling on her hair to release tension; she took breathing exercises and closed her eyes.

The times her parent called was the time she was involved with something. The first time was Ratchet and Lennox talking about her burn marks. The second time was this—all with a consistent question of where she was and if she was hurt. 

If her parent knew she was safe and not outside, why ask if she was okay? The asking of her location was understandable, parents, no matter the type, would want to know their children's whereabouts. It was, however, how perfectly timed the calls was during the discussion of her injuries, as if she knew.

(How did she manage to let her guard down this deep?)

A certain type of hotness brimming to the corners of her eyes, she let her head hang when small sobs ripped itself from her throat. The amount of inside consoling she readily received and drown on from them was forgotten. 

Her parent knew she was going to die back at the alleyway. Why didn't she call then? If that was her last moments to live, why didn't her phone ringing with the caller's name being her own mother the last thing she heard and saw? Why only now was her mother caring where she was fine?

Somehow pulling herself from another state of moment's away of breakdown yet again, she pondered of how much information her mother came to heard.

And reached to a conclusion of almost everything.

Her eyes flickered upwards, trained on a dark spot of the area where the trees are mostly concentrated, providing nothing of light to pour out; she spotted two dots of red, glowing.

Unmoving, she laid her chin on top of her arm; studying the decepticon as he had with her multiple times already. She closed her eyes, the imagery of his low energon status and wounded leg, she redirected the pathway of reminiscing of her and Jazz's conversation. If she could locate one or two energon deposits, the decepticons would be placated for the meantime and give the autobots the time to recover. To plan and prepare.

She calmly let the places in multiple locations of snippets showing the blue or rather, mostly purple crystallize rocks of glowing minerals—it is pretty, Ratchet was right. Similar in the locating of resources, finding energon was surprisingly the same process; jumping from place to place with several sources found at first sight, too fast for any normal human to comprehend yet, she kept up in a pace she felt familiar with. It was like looking at flashing baby pictures with no pauses in between created by one who doesn't use technology. Or a first time user.

It was, in a way, strangely comforting and a great distraction making her focus intensely on the task. 

Her eyes still closed, she relished the information naturally loading to her thoughts; movements delicately choreographed to unlock her bag and taking out a pencil and a sketchpad to an open page. Jotting down the coordinates to her sketchbook with her hand dancing in a fast pace with the pencil as it moved quickly. Numbers, decimal, and acronyms she didn't have prior knowledge of even with the random extensive knowledge she have about various things.

Tearing it off of it's page, the sole noise of ripping paper intruding the quietness of the forest; she looked straight at the low glowing red eyes staring at her within the darkness. It was unnerving. She didn't like horror movies and her being alone with a possibly cyrptid creature or something was, reasonably, setting her nerves on the edge.

Wordlessly, she sent the paper across a decent distance by folding it into a paperplane and throwing it. 

They didn't move, the wind deciding it wants to further make things scary—take it up to par of making it feel like a horror movie, blew a cold wind that made the hairs behind her neck rise. The rustle of trees normally a natural sound was grating to her ears, it made her look around with her peripheral vision to ensure no one but them was around.

Finally, after the wind calmed down and the rustling of trees quieten down, they moved forward into the dim lightning, at the shallow area where the forest and open space met.

He truly share an abundance of similarities of a feline. With his facial structure alone, she wouldn't ever consider him a canine, this was Ravage? His tail swishing low behind him, it was spiked with thorns as was his spine; looking like a porcupine, he wasn't supposed to look adorable and he wasn't. He was terrifying, judging by the gleam of his eyes, he took pride in basking of her fear to him.

Breathing through her mouth as her eyes took in his appearance, she mentally questioned herself when the artist threw itself to marvel on the figure before them; what would he look like in proper lighting? 

Every move quiet, silent despite to the crunching of ground underneath his feet and hands, he didn't looked away from her and she pursed her lips to not coo. She likes felines, Ravage looking like one doesn't help her case.

Bending his neck, his body following to lean down. He bit the edge of the paper with his razor sharp teeth momentarily gleaming from a stray light. Tilting his head at her, he cautiously approached her and she slowly hold out her hand with her palm exposed.

His eyes landing onto hers, she appreciated the color of his eyes. A beautiful shade of red, elegant and regal looking yet capable of cruelty. (Seeing the same exact shape of eyes on the one who dropped her to die,) she roamed her eyes. He wasn't only wounded on the leg, he was badly dented; the metal armour sunken down in different areas where it varies on the depth.

His nose sniffing her hand, he pulled away crouching when a noise amongst the trees spooked him. Glancing at her with narrowed eyes, he went closer and barely touched his nose to her hand before hissing, boldly meeting her eyes as the spikes on his spine stood.

She closed her eyes, bowing her head but keeping her hand stretched out. It was stupid. It didn't sound so stupid when he rested his nose? Head? Some part of him on it, she let him get used to it before willing the heat gathering on her chest to flow on her outstretched arm.

His armor was deterioting, energon reserves were burning itself as time passed by; it was too little. 

Just what she did to the gathered resources, to Jazz—it was all the same process, she maneuvered around the pieces critically needed to be repaired. She couldn't do anything about the internal wounds but she can make the flow better. By this time, her hand was unknowingly stroking Ravage and him letting her as he turned and basically presented himself to her—too focused on strengthening the armour to notice anything at the physical reality.

As soon as she was done, she didn't do unneeded strokes and let her arm retract to her side; not opening her eyes until the presence was gone. She opened her eyes to looked at the empty space.

Chapter Text

Either she was a decepticon sympathizer, a fool or worst, a neutral.

Ravage shook his helm, such a fool she was. To trust in showing that level of vulnerability. He growled, not stopping from sprinting in one point to another with the edge of the paper firmly held inside his mouth; how was Starscream impressed with her? She didn't have a lick of self-preservation. It was ridiculous for a species that mutated to survive and adapt at any circumstances.

Personally more offensive for him.

He was a predator and humans, an organic species, by default is the prey. She should've known to fear him and she was but even with the existing knowledge, she ignored the basic rules of survival. It was annoying.

It was even worse when she couldn't seem to decide which side she's on after letting him stay then confessing where he was to Jazz of all mechs, and then giving him the coordinates of an energon deposit while strengthening his armour? All he learned was mixed signals, someone who knew nothing of the war beforehand.

At least, the boy and the feisty girl knew which side the stand on. And it wasn't at their faction, that he was sure of.

The screeching of graphite against the smooth paper with a hand skillfully leading the pencil was hyponothesing. Like how it was for Soundwave to be with technology, she was meant for crafts. She does the same as what Soundwave's does, acknowledging the fact he have no absolute knowledge in her area of expertise in the way he thoroughly does with coding and programming that Soundwave does. 

Nonetheless, the movements were appealing to look at. He could see why Jazz, famously known in a better light for a lover in art culture of every kind, was attracted by her. To show vulnerability under her presence, to be touched tenderly by the same organic, soft hands caressing his armour as if he wouldn't have killed her when she didn't have the coordinates to back her up; he backtracked, he like her touch and considered it would've been a shame—slightly, fleetingly—to have snuffed such raw tenderness from the living. It would be a shame and not as entertaining if he did have to proceed; she, after all, would be no match for him more so in his current state.

And despite showing a considerable amount of perceptive knowledge, she touched him like he was someone worth of value as an individual. Someone worth caring for without evaluating his abilities first to determine how high he would serve as an asset. She treated him in a way only Soundwave did to them.

Arriving at the rendezvous point, his armour withstanding more than the usual, faring better than a repair done by their medic; he easily stopped in front of a run-down building outside of mission city, just out of its border. Skywarp pushed himself off from the wall with a lazy smirk, "killed anyone?"

He growled in response.

"I'll take that as a no, then. Too bad." Skywarp knowing better than to pick him up by experience, offered his arm for him to climb on and he leap; moving to his shoulder and at the back of his helm. He bent down and tapping his sheathed tail on his armour, the former teleported in a flash of light.

His receptors detecting the change in atmosphere as it stabilized around them, he opened his optics and jumping off from his perch; he briskly went towards Soundwave. 

The grains of dirt under his pedes not making a single sound at the vacuum of space; he sat down and tilt his chin upwards, handing the folded paper for him to take. Watching with subtle curiosity as Soundwave delicately unfolded the small object on his servo, he hummed.

Turning to him, Soundwave kept the small piece of paper between two clawed digits; bending on one knee to pet his helm with the other arm, gentle and soft as usual. He didn't try to contain the purr emerging from his vocalizers, "inquiry: Ravage's status?"

He wordlessly opened the bond, letting the rest of his group see in his perspective all the way back to what he documented up to how she treated him; he forwarded an information pack after, observing for a reaction. Soundwave tilted his helm to the side.

"Observation: Eloise help Ravage. Inquiry: not autobot pet? Decepticon sympathizer?"

"She doesn't know anything." He answered, moving to stand on his side when his scanners detected approaching multiple presences, "she's a fool and a neutral."

That was to say, he also ignored the rotting corpses weakly reaching out for them—alive for when Starscream experimented a portion of the Allspark in his grasp to resurrect the former; grating vocalizers imitating some form of garbled noises as a few produced a shrill chirr. Their decaying scent of rusted armour attempting to function making his sensitive olfactory twitch—he turned his snout away from the direction as a sniff of that coal and sterilized scent of alcohol swarmed once more, he growled lowly. Soundwave urgently needed to exchange a few words with Starscream on how they'll proceed with these decepticons that Starscream stubbornly still took from that battlefield. Something about honor and using for resources after. More like gaining as laboratory test subjects. 

Again, his olfactory twitched in distaste. To consider this as resources was disgusting. To put that rapidly deterioting corpses armour anywhere near on them, he scowled; armour bristling at the mere thought. 

Soundwave didn't said anything at that, merely stopping from petting the top of his helm; pushing himself to stand up and stood at attention. His thoughts went back to her touch, so gentle and mindful; thinking back at it, not only was she foolish—she clearly expected him to simply not bite her arm off clean. Ridiculous. 

(When put that way, he hadn't happened to also sink his fangs deep on her... bandaged arms.)

Her arms are bandaged. 

If what Starscream proclaims as him dropping an organic from a four story height, straight down, true. Any organic wouldn't survive in the aftermath, optics blinking. He paused, she shouldn't be walking, running, and her burned entirety of the arms shouldn't be touching anything in the first place.

He had initially disregarded of her potentially finding an energon deposit that even Soundwave, the greatest there is in finding anything he set his processors on, couldn't achieve. That it was an inside knowledge an organic she knew shared with her but he should know about it then. He made sure to keep an intense surveillance for an organic Jazz was fond of.

However, another biggest flaw he overlooked was, organics don't have an ability to rearrange the making of their armour, of the quality of it. 

Soundwave glanced down, "inquiry: thoughts?"

"She's not an organic. She's one of us." She was a neutral of their war, he was right.

Yet for some reason, Soundwave looked to be in a disagreement with him. That rarely happens, their ideas and logic usually click so well together, what did he missed? 

"Statement: Eloise is Allspark's bearer." Soundwave stated. "Evidence." He send, through their bond, of how different her repair works in comparison of every cybertronian medic; unusual that she only needed to close her eyes and concentrate for something. How she knew his exact location despite not even the greatest of the autobot spy not being able to. And how she, as Soundwave noticed at the moment of Ravage struggling to survive against three autobot warriors making chase, notably created a scorched mark against Jazz; an unexplained scorch mark that had the latter retreating in surprise. 

How Soundwave noticed such a detail when the feedback was fast-paced and jerky, he wouldn't know. What he does know, however, is how his points also clicked inside his helm.

All wouldn't be accomplished if she was an ordinary organic.

The Allspark chose an organic as its vessel, bonded with her? It was capable of doing such a thing? Could the Allspark have some shape of sentience to actually choose a host or living vessel to reside in?

If so, why settle for weak and small organic? Why not choose one of the autobots instead? Or the actual cybertronian neutrals for that matter?

"My scanners detected her as cybertronian, initially... I had assumed she was a half of another as well. An experiment of the humans." He said, lowly. 

Soundwave hummed, a certain gleam from his visor as he turned his attention forward. He knew that expression, he was considering Eloise's potential; with her being undecided, he was thinking of how to sway her to join their faction. It was easy to tell with Soundwave's nonverbal motions once they had spent enough time together working with eachother, and granted that he permits to let them familiarize for his body language cues. 

He pointedly stared towards the direction of the command trine. The Elite Trine as they call themselves. 

:: shall we notify Starscream?::

:: no.::

The debriefing over, their bond bustle with life, his fellow casseticons were curious. Laserbeak sending a complaint on wanting to stretch her wings and also have their armour fix as same with Rumble pouting on being hungry, demanding to use the given coordinates immediately. Such was the attitude of younglings. 

They were nearly complete if not for one's absence. 

Frenzy.

Before he could dwell on the thought, Starscream demanded his attention once he stood before them with his optics concentrated at the small piece of paper Soundwave held between his own.

"Skywarp," Starscream roughly snatched the small paper gently hold by Soundwave with a snarl, glaring at it as if offended in its existence. His armour plating bristled, stepping forward to sit in front of Soundwave, glaring at Starscream with a scowl, "confirm this coordinates."

His upper lips curled as was his tail swaying harshly, whipping with a sharp flick each sway, so annoying.

"It's legit." Skywarp confirmed after popping back on the same place as he stood before, draping himself over to Thundercracker casually as the latter rolled his optics yet stabilized the other.

Starscream narrowed his optics, digits visibly tightening into the hold of the organic paper, "not a scheme from the autobots? Doubtious."

Starscream glared at nowhere, crossing his arms over to his chassis; he remained unconvinced—not even considering about it being the truth, he turned his glare at Skywarp still draped across Thundercracker. "Check it again. Return with an evidence."

"Primus, you couldn't have said that earlier?" Rolling his optics, he begrudingly removed himself from Thundercracker with a scowl, glaring at Starscream and disappearing. Shortly returning with a muted vwop, he was smirking this time, "hey, we can make high grade off of it and still have more."

Waving off a decent sized splinter held by his servo, it was a softly glimmering crystallized energon—purple in color, low fuel warnings flashed in his HUD; he swiped them to the side with his undivided attention following the unprocessed fuel.

Laserbeak and Rumble echoed his sentiment, having Soundwave to sooth them with an assurance they'll also eat a decent fuel no matter what. He swore with an ultimately solemn tone, and he knew Soundwave would just do anything to make true of his words. 

Placing sub-routines to lock his nearly empty tank warnings to refuel until further notice, he shifted his optics to watch the spectacle of the command trine with a neutral expression; tail swishing with a curious wave.

Skywarp stared unnervingly at the fuel; as if hypnotized, he moved his arm close to his mouth and wrapping his denta on the hard crystal. He bite off a small chunk with a contemplating glow from his optics, wings fluttering, "TC, you gotta try this!" Bouncing to his side, he shoved a portion to the taken-aback former whom had no choice other than to opened his mouth and bit down or risk the chance of choking on the solid mineral.

Thundercracker's optics brightened, a pleasant thrum from his specially supersonic engines. Like Skywarp, his wings weakly fluttered; evidently much controlled than Skywarp. 

He didn't avert his optics when Skywarp giddily went to Starscream and made him swallow the remains. Starscream liked it too. And he wondered what it tasted like, he clenched his dentas together. Biting down the urge to show a hint of vulnerability, a wash of comfort swarmed through their bond and he accepted it with a vice-like grip holding it to ground him down from acting out.

"What is the next step?" Thundercracker asked, licking the side of his mouth. He looked like he wanted more, he was acting eager to extract fuel and he also shared the sentiment; he turned to Starscream. 

Tail swishing behind him, Starscream looked like he wanted to ask questions, find ways to figure out if it was a trick. Uncover more of this... peculiar phenomenon. Starscream met his optics with a frown before moving his gaze to Soundwave. 

"Mobilize an extraction group. We will gather the energon today."

"Inquiry: filtration equipments?"

Starscream shook his helm thoughtfully, a servo holding his chin, he hummed, "we don't have resources to build a filtration machine. Consuming it as it is will do for now."

:: who do you have in mind, Soundwave?:: he asked out of curiosity on the pure need to just know, gather information.

:: the constructicons hiding on Earth, Skywarp, Deadlock, and drones.::

A good team. He mentally nodded his helm in agreement, their abilities matched nicely and united—hopefully enough of a reason if they wanted to survive, in unearthing energon.

He doubts they'll slack. Perhaps eat a few while working, yes, but that would be precisely why Deadlock was deployed. He would keep them all in line, that at least he knew he could depend on from the assasin's abilities. Deadlock may be anything but trustworthy, however he was deadly, efficient; highly useful of an asset to disregard.

Deadlock scowled, arms firmly crossed over to his chassis; he stood in line with the ecstatic Skywarp to his side and the rest of the drones to his other. What was Starscream planning? The platoon are too drained to even do whatever slag he was thinking in putting them on. Subtly glancing to Skywarp, he supposed if one of the member of his trine is with him; this was a reasonable plan.

He hoped it was reasonable. 

He heard the grunt before a frame touched the side of his arm, he pushed off the drone with a low hiss; glancing at where he was touched with his upper lip curling in disdain, he looked up with a glare, "touch me again, and you're dead."

If they weren't needed, he would've blasted their helm off. The drone skittered away, farther away from him as they cramped themselves with the rest. He squinted at them, olfactory twitching and he huffed; looking down to pick off the chipping paint from his frame, he glared at the greying armour underneath.

He hated this. He hated this so much.

This reminded him too much on why he joined the decepticons; swayed with not the cause was standing for initially but the offer of freedom, of fuel, and of protection. Then, only then, the cause grew to have some kind of importance with him. He clenched his fists, claws digging through the dented armour; he raised his chin to focus on Starscream's voice.

"Your mission is extraction. The constructicons will meet you at the rendezvous point," Starscream sent a burst of coordinates simultaneously to their commlink, he opened the coordinates to his GPS tracker and already detected five signals on it, "transport as many as energon in the Nemesis. The constructicons will be the ones to provide a container for the gathered fuel."

Energon? They found energon on Earth? His scowl deepening, he unfolded his arms and looked at Thundercracker then to Soundwave standing on each sides of Starscream. Last he checked, energon wasn't available to Earth. It just didn't have the same production Cybertron formerly did; nonetheless, he let it go simply because Soundwave didn't confirm nor disagree with Starscream. Their tentative alliance in a verge of snapping at any given moment, he figured Soundwave would've gladly proved Starscream wrong if that was the case and let go of the thought. Too much thinking of matters that don't directly affect him is stressful and it includes whatever internal conflict of Soundwave and Starscream staying as their problem, not his to stress or resolve.

A servo sneaking to his waist, he glared at Skywarp smirking at him and winking playfully, "c'mon, don't be like that, Deadlock. Aren't we best buds?" His servo tugging him closer, his glare merely hardened.

"What about the autobots? Where did you get the coordinates?" He asked, roughly shrugging off Skywarp's hold on him with a swift glare aimed at the nonchalant former; the flock of drones about to transform in their planetary forms abruptly paused, sharing a look at eachother then looking at Starscream also with a questioning silence palpable enough as much as it went unsaid. Starscream frowned at his questions.

"If you're so inclined to know," of course he would, he's one of the one doing the dirty work and part of high command, he narrowed his optics as Starscream shrugged a servo off the air, "Ravage found the coordinates. And the coordinates is secured, the autobots wouldn't know anything so long you lot don't make any messes."

"Am I leading the team? Or, is there anyone I'm getting order from?"

Starscream rolled his optics at him, "so insistent, yes. You're leading the team, Deadlock. There, satisfied?"

He didn't give the satisfaction of answering their supposed to be leader, merely grunting and glaring at Skywarp who raised both arms to the air with an innocuous glint in his optics. He growled, unclenching his servos and moving to stand beside him; he didn't close his optics nor reacted when his arm teasingly slithered to his waist—lower than before, nearly touching the side of his pelvic. 

Disgusting. 

"Off we go then, see you later!" Skywarp happily bid farewell, more so towards Thundercracker as he fluttered his wings sweetly at him. Revolting. Tugging him unnecessarily close to his side, he kept his arms to his sides and shuttered his optics when the particles of space opened and took them with; Skywarp giggling throughout when he unknowingly clung at the former.

"Aren't we so sweet?" Skywarp purred, steadying him once his peds touched solid ground again, he smirked at him.

Sensors calibrating at the sudden change of environment. His vents took in the atmosphere, a breath of organic air. Oxygen. Surveying where they stood, nothing appeared on the empty horizon. No buildings, no nature, and nothing to kill. It was simply a mass of emptiness other than the noticeable figures of the drones around them scouting the perimeter as the wind picked up again, carrying debris and dirt. And at the far distance, a vague shape of something—perhaps the location where they would take energon, his peds crunching at the dry ground; he hummed. This was pretty isolated. That was a start.

"Focus on the more important things, Skywarp." Blinking his optics and resetting his setting as another vwop and he appeared to his side; holding a... rock? A glowing purple rock, his optics zeroed on it as it tried to identify its composition. 

Crystallized energon.

"Oh, but you're pretty important yourself, Deadlock," winking at him; he, without anything to alert him, popped the crystal to his mouth and nearly choking on it. His dentas bit on the glorified rock, if this was another one of his crudely ill-timed pranks, Skywarp was going to have it—his optics widened, brightening. "See? Sweet just like you."

A burst of sweetness he had gone so long for in favor for the sake of the survival to siphoning energon from dead comrades or the definitely not well-maintained sour and puke-inducing energon; this sent a familar tinge of what an energon should taste like, and sending those tingling sensations to the dormant receptors saving itself on conserving fuel, were reactivated one by one. The little pings as more non-essential systems came online. His engines thrummed, purring all the while Skywarp was staring at him with an all too knowing smirk. 

He wanted more.

He quickly licked the top of his lips, Skywarp standing before him with his paint annoyingly bright and polished; he surveyed at the cave where five approaching figures were walking towards them.

"How long will this cave last for the army?" He asked, craving more of the sweet taste the longer he went on without it. He promptly turned off receptors responsible for taste.

"For us? Four to six years, give or take. To give more than half to that scum? Well," Skywarp carelessly shrugged his shoulder plates with a light frown, "whatevers left for us, I guess."

Right. He forgot that decepticon. He turned his helm to the front, angling his whole frame with scanners running a routine background check on their environment. No sight of the autobots yet. Soundwave must be keeping their presence tight, invisible to the primitive technology. 

Scrapper calmly stood in front of the group, "we apologize for the hold-up. Scavenger was a little..." glancing to his side, said Scavenger bristled at the mere mention of his name, "eager for the resources."

"It's great quality!" Scavenger defended himself.

"And no one disagrees with your observation, Scavenger." Hook firmly rest a servo on his shoulder plate, easing the former who huffed and crossed his arms over to his chassis. Glancing at him, Hook frowned at his physical appearance; scowling more when his system detected an unauthorized scan, "and I see you've seen better days, Deadlock. But no matter, this cave is full of energon which will surely rejuvenate you to your original state."

And he was supposed to take that with a stride? Though, he said nothing; he knew he could solo all of them at once even at his current predicament. Yet, as the saying goes, you don't get on the medic's bad side. 

In the end, he did said nothing.

"I take Starscream said his orders for your group?" He asked instead, looking at each one of them with a subtle orbital ridge raised; they were surprisingly in better quality than him or the high command stuck at the Nemesis on that matter. The bright green paintjob was easily a tell-tale sign of one's status and theirs was shining. And against the sun and their neon green paint, it was literally blinding for anyone to directly look at, he looked to the side.

"Yeah, we received orders. So, are we going to work or what?" Long Haul snapped at the group, arms loosely crossed with his visor briefly flashing. Scrapper released an exhausted sigh, he mentally scoffed at them. Pathetic lot.

He turned to the general direction of the drones; one stare from him, they scrambled to fall in line, accidentally pushing and making more of a mess than an attempt of being organized. He waited until all of them were at attention before turning his back and marching to where the cave was; hearing snickering from his side as the air shifted and Skywarp's presence was confirmed by his proximity scanner. The constructicons shortly followed behind at his set pace with a quiet chatter between their little tight knit group.

As the air gradually turned cooler once he, the first to enter the cave, was inside; he turned on his headlights and held his ventilations. It was beautiful. All around them was the soft shimmering of buried energon through the ground, only peeking with half the parts glittering alluringly, beckoning him to take the risk of breaking the implemented regulations for a taste of sweetness once more. Rotating his body slowly to get the full glimpse of the mesmerizing sight, it was like Crystal City, it was just like Crystal City and the gardens on Praxus before the—he mentally winced, bombing; noticing from the peripheral vision of the shipping container dragged by Bonecrusher and Mixmaster, they left it close by the entrance and stood beside their respective group.

"Skywarp, since you'll be doing most of the transporting back and forth. You'll receive more fuel while the rest of us would consume half." He said.

From experience, aside from bigger frames such as a city cybertronian or a tank like Megatron; seeker frames come first in the ranks of burning more energon than any other frames. Nearly on par with heavy duty frames like those in the autobots specializing in ground mode whilst majority of them had seekers to terrorize the skies. Thus with the presented knowledge, decepticons consume energon as twice—even thrice the amount than the autobots do. And taking in account of his outlier abilities repeatedly used frequently, it was a wonder how Skywarp didn't eat half of the crystals inside.

Skywarp beamed at him, wings fluttering as he watched the drones work in delicately pulling out the crystals from the ground. He leaned at the wall behind him with a smug grin intentionally aimed at Bonecrusher already glaring daggers at him.

"Seeker scum." Bonecrusher mumbled under his breath, visor darkening. He transformed his arms into a drilling equipment, turning to a spot occupied by his gestalt.

Perking up, Skywarp's smile turned sinister, wings canting to lower and his optics silently followed him as he took a few strides to put a servo on Bonecrusher's shoulder—putting pressure around it, he leaned closer to his audials with narrowed optics, hissing, fangs evidently gleaming against the visor reflecting the sight, "any mess, I'll personally have your own gestalt clean after your corpse."

Suffice to say, he did still have his skills and infamous reputation to back him up. And if it didn't? He could always prove it again and again until to the day it's ingrained in their sparks—a concrete fact rather than a mere acknowledgement of himself. 

Bonecrusher roughly pulled himself away from his grasp, shouldering past him. He let him be, following the outline of his back like a predator, he smirked at the large paces he took as he tried not to make it look like he was in a hurry to get away from him.

Slipping to his side, Skywarp cooed at him, "awe, see? You do love me!"

Rolling his optics, he jerked off the hold from his shoulder. He just didn't want Starscream giving him more slag when something like this happen to his trine member under his leadership; knowing Starscream is more prone to getting violently defensive over his trine mates isn't something he want the knowledge applied to him.

Sticking by his side, Skywarp sneakily pulled him outside and to the side where no one was around. The sunlight dipping into the horizon as it colored the sky in an orange tinge he find himself openly staring at; remembering a specific someone in the same shade of orange painting the sky, his optics took in the details with a discreet thrum of his engines. 

Pivoting his finnials when he heard a clicking of something, he turned his helm when Skywarp was pulling a couple of energon from his subspace—he wasn't surprised anymore. Rather, something like this was expected with Skywarp. A poor underestimation from judging early when he pulled a couple of energon more than he thought about the limits of a subspace can have.

He supposes it has something to do with Skywarp's outlier abilities of literally warping the particles of space and having multiple storage units than a normal frame can store or some science slag. However way, either works. 

"A small treat for ourselves. Don't worry, I saved a portion for Screamer and TC. This is yours." Handing a decent portion of crystals to his arms; he cradled the precariously stacked energon and throwing dignity out of the window, plopped down to the ground to start biting at a few.

He tried to restrain and keep a tight watch over his reserves, internally astonished of his rapidly rising levels at seventy-five percent. Chewing slowly, cherishing the sweet liquid going down to his throat and then to his tanks, he closed his optics; it's been so long when he was this nearly full. He, in his haze, couldn't almost remember functioning at just twenty-five percent, the days of powering down if nothing important was happening and resorting at the filthiest methods to acquire some form of fuel to fill him seemed so far away.

Before he knew it, he had eaten all of what Skywarp gave to him and his optics flashed opened brightly to see Skywarp's optics already staring with an amused smirk planted on his lips. He blinked and adjust the settings of his optical sensors.

It must be the high of consuming a more than decent fuel that he actually let himself go and ask the last con with servos he can't keep to himself, to show vulnerability, "you have more?"

He blinked as he snapped back to reality. The words having slipped out already when his main and sub routines all flared warning sirens. It was too late, he properly turned to look at Skywarp; the latter's smirk becoming wider, he felt his circuits grew warm and battle protocols to begun initiating itself one by one.

He held the staring contest with the seeker. He couldn't attack Skywarp because he's an outlier, trinemate of Starscream, and capable of matching his strength. His optics, done discreetly, darted wildly to pinpoint any sudden movements his systems prepped itself for.

However, Skywarp had different ideas as he quietly shuffled around his subspace and plopped down next to him with a small smirk—no, a smile. His flinching apparently not going unnoticed from Skywarp. Skywarp's smile softened, when did he smile sweetly? Was this the smile he had mistaken as the latter whenever he talks with his trine? He was actually capable of smiling? 

Skywarp, with a dramatic flourish, showed the crystals on his lap, "it doesn't harm to eat my share with you. I can just always take more, right?" He teased, and this time, it was welcomed. He let a small tug of his lips show, remaining unsure if Skywarp's intentions was as pure as he let himself throught it to be.

The tips of his claw hover over Skywarp's thigh.

"Are you sure?" He asked, lowly.

Skywarp scoffed, "don't think too much of it, Deadlock. Thinking complicates everything. Live in the moment, do you want more or nah?"

Scoffing in amusement, he let the tips of his claw brush across his armour as he took an energon, holding the small fuel delicately between his digits, putting it to his mouth then biting it with his denta; he chew slowly. Cherishing the taste and texture, he never considered biting and chewing their fuel but it was an experience. He liked it more better at this. 

But energon was energon. Regardless of how it was produced, he would've consumed it either way. It was still fuel nonetheless and fuel is precious.

He leaned back to the rough wall behind his back, the rock rubbing his peeling paintjob away; he briefly wondered if he should scan a new model. Then polish and wax, which he had more than enough shanix for to purchase. Only problem is, this wasn't Cybertron nor an intergalactic planet that accepts foreign currency.

"Good fuel, huh? Wonder how Scavenger is doing. Must be going nuts by now."

Chuckling, he took another crystal and threw it to his mouth, thoughtfully chewing it, he hummed, "will you be taking Hook with us?"

"Not sure. Screamer didn't get injured—" his optics flickered and roamed across his frame then shifting his attention to the distant in a blink, "scratch that. We're here now, let's just get him to look at you."

He furrowed his orbital ridges, "me?"

Skywarp huffed, taking a few energon and throwing it all at once inside his mouth as he loudly chew for all to hear, "of course, we'll take you out for a spin after the doctor's checkup. Find you a new altmode. Steal wax and polish from one of those, you know, little human shops. They sell great qualities."

Huh. That's good to know.

He ran another routine scan in their environment, taking in account of the drones and five signatures. He hummed, so far, no one pinged him yet on the progress.

"That'll be great." Pushing himself up, saving himself the mercy of not looking at the amount of chipping paint he left; his finnials shifted a little on the side. "Would you stay here for a moment longer?"

Playing with a crystal on his digits, Skywarp looked up with a casual smile, "depends, are you having yourself looked by Hook?"

"Yeah, I'll hold onto your deal."

"Mm, sweet. Meet you here later, then!"

Deadlock nodded, turning to walk back inside the cave and glimpsing the more than enough accumulating energon to the pile; he took it with a considering look, pausing in his steps. This would last them for a month, taking the medical treatment and consistent refueling and the army of trying to outdo eachother on who consume the more energon. A month.

Swiveling his helm to the side, he briefly saw the figure of something green flash by to his side. 

The air shifting, proximity scanners having already identified the signature, he remained as relaxed as he is, as that someone stood by his side; he fully turned his helm to gaze at them with a tiny quirk of orbital ridge, "anything the matter?"

Scrapper, for all that he is modest was also incredibly honest—too honest, looked at him up and down; visor and facemask revealing supposedly nothing but he emanated visible concern, uncharacteristic from a decepticon but slightly appreciated nevertheless. "How are the situation at the Nemesis?"

"Starscream's the new leader from the outside. The fallen," Scrapper's engine stalled, he could somehow relate at the shock; who knew a legend actually and still exists? "Is pulling the strings behind the curtains, we're... dying over there."

He said the last part as if a sin and it was. It was treason. To even utter that to a fellow decepticon, to vocally express disdain and distrust on the cause and the currently leading figure to it. His shoulder plates slumped over as his battle protocols stood in standby.

Scrapper grunted, taking a piece of crystal to his digit and observing the fuel, turning it on and about as he kept the silence far longer than it should have, "I see your concerns. Though understandable, the fallen now leads the decepticons. The actual figurehead of our—"

"He's dying without energon. His condition is worse for wear, he's rusting."

Scrapper paused before putting back the crystal back to the container, "rusting? Dying?" He slowly asked the words as if entirely foreign, unknown and not considered by his own processors; he fully turned to him with his helm tilted to the side, " what are the actual conditions of our army, Deadlock?"

Deadlock released a deep vent, "would've been better off to die at the battle."

"If that's so, Hook and the rest of us—"

"No. You're better off here than there. The fallen is," he turned away to face the entrance of the cave, pursing his lips; digits removing the flakes of paints and watching it drift by the air, he blinked his optics, "not what you think he is."

Scrapper scoffed a laugh, "kinda ironic that's our motto."

It was. 

Still didn't make his words less truer than it was.

He shrugged, watching as the rest of his gestalt team emerged out with the rest of the drones following behind quietly, almost skittering together like a group of insecticons. He took a decent sized of crystals to hand the constructicons; briefly estimating their fuel levels and giving what he thinks is half of it—he was, frankly, great at rationing fuel or anything else resembling any of it actually. And the constructicons could complain all they want, a really vocal group even more with Bonecrusher around, he expected nothing less with a survivalist like him.

He must've scared him off more than he initially thought because Bonecrusher, still ruthless as ever, took the offered crystal with a scowl but didn't utter a single complain. He considered that as a win.

Hook was the first to finish in their group, patiently waiting on the side as he evenly distributed the rations amongst the drones. After ensuring every drone was accounted for, he was beckoned by Hook to his side and with a subtle roll of his optics; he walked over on his direction.

"What's your diagnose?" No need to beat around the bush, knowing Hook for all his perfectionism; he was sure the medic has something to already advice to him.

And he was slagging right, Hook noticeably frowned at his dismissive attitude. "Your rusting. You need to get decent—not that kind of energon, the actual purified energon as soon as possible. Your filtration system can only take so much damage in your current state."

He shrugged, wincing as the medic proved himself, for the second time, to be right—he sometimes wishes Hook was a quack, just to have himself be proven wrong occasionally; humble him a little. Joints hissing, he rolled his shoulder back to its placement and cracked the kink wires from his neck as it snapped satisfyingly which made the former deepened his frown to a scowl. 

He smirked at him, "never stopped me in being the best there is, doc."

"You're best won't stop the spread of rust. I'll have Scrapper make an outline for a systematic filtration system put there." Putting a servo under his chin, he thoughtfully hummed and murmured in a low tone indicating he was already lost in his thoughts, "perhaps have it already built for transfer. Have Scavenger look for materials."

He shrugged despite Hook not really seeing him do it, whatever makes him sleep at night.

For now, he was so going to scan a new vehicle. Hopefully, this planet would have some more updated vehicles than the one he scanned back in, what, nineteen forty-five? Humans would've made a decent process by now, right?

Chapter Text

Jazz after deleting any information Sector Seven recorded via cellphone, took their systems and installing it to a file to store away by his processors to later test on whatever technology available to the base; he considered turning their systems against them—it'll take more than five minutes to do and so within the given short time frame, he changed his approach, he decided to delete and mess the codes of some on their major projects, including the one under the works of figuring the relationship between the Allspark and a human; to know the limitations of Allspark encased inside a human. 

Tempted to crush the small cellphone, he looked to where he's detecting the steady heat signature amongst the other which surrounds him—his sensors centered all on one singular individual. Blankly staring at nowhere for a moment, he released the tension of his hold onto the cellphone and looked down; the humans were this willing to do this towards their own? 

Somehow, the knowledge itself was applicable. It was plausible. Every species if no foreign test subject is available nor in arm's reach would always, six out of ten, turn to their own for scientific research. 

He should know, he was a witness to every one of those occurrences and to be the first to witness, to know once more in a species he had thought of to be different, made his tank churn and spark to clench tightly within as if folding on it's own for comfort but wanting to leap out from the mere thought of how humans weren't spared of this innate need of cruelty for their advancement as a species.

And Eloise, sweet little organic with a spirit of an artist, was caught in the middle. The first human experiment since Sector Seven came to know the merging of the Allspark, the sacred artifact they have been tinkering without an inch of respect for years, and the human who could wield such prowess with in-built notion as if meant for the very position of an Allspark vessel, garnered their interests. Sector Seven wanted to take Eloise from them. 

It wasn't only the decepticons they should have a problem with but also the rest of humankind. Her own whom should've been the ones to protect her.

A servo rested itself on his shoulder, it was Ratchet his scans stated immediately as his claws retracted with a shilck, "what did you find?"

"It was Sector Seven, her mother works for them. They know everything, all that is to hear." Pausing, he took a deep intake, opening all vents to dispel the hot air rapidly accumulating inside of him, "they're planning to take her and experiment what diffentiates the cube to a human body as the vessel of the Allspark. At least that's the first step, the rest? They said they'll plan along the way." 

"Her own mother let it all happen?"

He browse within his memories and what he could formulate with what gathered information he have on the mother, as well as her own personal profile and records. "At that point, might as well." He turned to Ratchet with a frown, "we're not leaving without her."

Ratchet nodded and wordlessly jerked his helm to where the rest of the team was assisting the soldiers in preparing for the cargo planes to arrive at any moment.

He looked over to his shoulder and where he swore he last saw her run off; clenching his scorched area of the servo, he swivelled his helm forward with a deep, slow intake. 

Taking a deep breath and releasing the hold delicately, she knelt on both knees and collected her bag to put over her shoulder. Rechecking by patting the nearby areas in arm's reach to see if anything was left and finding nothing except for her footsteps ingrained on the slightly soft yet not moist ground, she stood and left the forest.

The light inside the tent gradually growing brighter and brighter until she stood before tje entrance. Peeking from the corner, the soldiers were still too busy moving things around and with a quick survey of spotting the autobots, she couldn't find them; stepping back and continuing to travel by foot around the tent, she stopped at the murmurs of multiple voices speaking.

They were talking about something. Something important. 

She had a vague idea of what it could be; still, her feet took her to make herself visible. The on-going and if judging by their current posture and sharp clicks, heating conversation stopped abruptly. 

They turned towards her with varying sizes of their eyes widening and brightening—a thing which was easier to determine from how dark it still was. They acted as if they don't have literal GPS trackers and advanced scanners installed within their hundreds of coordinated, interconnected systems each serving a purpose. They acted as if they didn't sense her presence.

Her eyes bouncing to every member of the team, she made eye contact with Jazz; the latter immediately, like a magnet, heading where she was and bending on one knee. He didn't offer a smile, instead stroking her head with the tip of his finger and making this... strange noise with his engines.

All she knew is, it wasn't a purr and yet it wasn't exactly a growl. The sound was nearly jumbled, as if a mix of every little thing thrown together as he continued to stroke her cheek.

And she let him, "what were they planning to do with me?"

"We aren't gonna let them do anything, babygirl."

Holding her gaze to him, she softly shook her head side by side, sharply stopping him in his movements when she rested her own hand on top of his. She grasp the cold metal and sighed, "okay, let's say you won't let them. How are you going to proceed with that? Take me away? Hide me?"

"If we must." Optimus Prime said.

"But you can't." Pulling away from the finger as she put it away from her, she took a step back to carefully examine the blank faces of diverse expressions showcasing each of their confusion and anger. "Sector Seven, right? That's where my mami works."

"And also the same organization to hold the Allspark and harm one of our own." Ratchet said, gesturing with his eyes as he stepped back a little to show who he was portraying to and her eyes landed on Bumblebee. "They won't let you go we know, however we are determined to keep you away from them by any means."

She perfectly kept her surprise under cover, maintaining a calm posture from the tense and aggravated group, Sector Seven harmed one of the autobots? The good guys? "See, that would work if you're against any ordinary government sector. This is Sector Seven, they fear nothing if they can get away with it and they had, from the start of it's time. They need to be dealt with first and foremost."

"And how will you do that?" Ironhide asked, bending down to scrutinize her small structure with a gaze she understood well for a human judging an ant capable doing the same thing as the human. Ironhide was rightfully wary of what she can do. 

"Let me deal with them."

"Isn't that what I asked?"

She grinned, "yeah, and I delivered. I'll deal with Sector Seven. If they wanted me, they'll deal with the real thing. It also should provide enough distraction to have you depart."

"Eloise, how are you sure you won't be taken away? If Sector Seven had managed to hold one of their own, what of you?" Ratchet asked, also getting on one knee to scowl at her, clear disagreement against her plans, "I will not let them do the same as they did to Bumblebee. If you are to stay, I will stay."

"Ratchet, relax. They can't do anything with me. I have the upper hand here."

His eyebrows furrowed tightly, glaring at her as his eyes flashed once with a growl of his engines, "how?"

"I'm an artist and my clients only consist of people with power. High-end clients. If Sector Seven touch an inch of my hair, my clients would turn the world inside out just to get back at them." And also, she could always threaten them with herself as the hostage but they won't need to know that. No need to add on their growing list of what they should worry about, she can handle herself just fine. "I'll be fine."

"What about your mother?" 

She stared at Ratchet, hoping the surprise wasn't that evident on her face as she schooled it to a wince. Turning away from the heavy attention poured all over her, she focused her attention to the skies and ignoring how her awareness had consistently bugged how much attention was beginning to unsettle her.

"Mami..." whispering under her breath, she let the name roll a few more times, "what about her? If she will arrive with the Sector Seven?"

Ratchet's silence bore enough of what he actually meant, an intention she purposely misunderstood in favor of not showing a hint of vulnerability—deciding three mental breakdowns won't be good if done within the time frame of only hours away on eachother.

"If she arrives with them then she arrives. If not then she's not." Shrugging dismissively, her hand finding a way to clutch her bag as it tightened around the fabric, "it's that simple."

Ratchet who was about to speak was stopped by Bumblebee, the latter staring directly to Ratchet and speaking in soft, indistinguishable bleeps and chips as his doorwings slanted low. Bumblebee turned to her with a knowing glint in his eyes and her own narrowed defensively upon recognizing it.

Optimus Prime, a mere spectator watching the event unfold, turned to her as his facemask folded and put itself away to make his lower half of his face visible; she felt warmth within her chest and a sense of comfort. 

However, her own weren't so easily swayed by the Allspark, her hand tightened further on its hold as her guarded gaze followed every of everyone's movement—focusing mostly on Optimus Prime as the Allspark, when the Prime grew closer, reacted positively and sent buzzing, tingling sensations throughout her body.

Until a soft breeze caressed her entire being as Optimus Prime knelt on one knee and leaned forward as if to get a closer look of her; his expression one of concern yet puzzled and all a mixture of emotions she could appropriately described as being concerned over her well-being. Her own eyes narrowed and she held her ground.

"We understand you, Eloise. Your feelings and emotions are seen and heard of, whatever you may thought. I only ask of you this: we are not your enemy." He gently held out his hand before her, leaving a space for her to take a leap of faith; she traced it all back to his eyes, keeping her silence, "just as you had save and trust our own, we will lay our trust on the decision you have made. Whatever it may be, we will respect and honor it."

"Then, will you leave me on my own if I ask for it? Will you trust me enough that I will return to you?" She asked, an underlining double-meaning woven in her question as she cocked her head to the side, still not taking the hand offered; waiting for the ultimate decision of whether she would have to brute force her way or trusted enough to do whatever she wants. She ignored the gaze boring a hole to the sides of her head 

Optimus Prime met her gaze, he briefly shared a look to each of the member before pivoting his attention upon her and with a slow blink, answered, "we will."

Somehow, the certainty in his tone made her throat painfully clench as if a huge rock lunged itself inside and with a shaky breath; she took, as gentle as he had been to everyone else, his hand and firmly hold it. Answering with a nod whilst gazing down and feeling her insides—the Allspark settling down once she made physical contact with Optimus, he is an overwhelming presence to be around with.

She didn't spare any of them any glance as she spun on her heel and walked away, heading to the tent and taking care of whatever matters direct itself to her.

And not fully inside of the tent, the first matter showed itself as a singular individual of a man: Captain William Lennox, who pushed himself off the crate he was leaning in to rotate his body to her and survey her from head to toe, lingering from her bandaged hands longer than he should be.

"How did you know?"

Walking close, she took the offered arm and with Lennox's assistance, sat on top of the crate, "mami never almost visits on the go. She likes to plan, tell me ahead of time." 

"She's your mother?"

"Captain," she breathed a low chuckle, amused. "If you had been involved in the politics as long as me. You'll learn the first rule: never trust anyone. Everyone is always a potential enemy." 

Lennox glanced in his peripheral vision to see her glazed away expression in her eyes, darkened and etched with the kind of knowledge an artist shouldn't have to be equipped with, he frowned, "a one-man show, huh?"

She shrugged, flashing a smirk on his way. "You're not asking the important questions, Captain. Is that really all the questions you have for me?"

His eyes slide down to her legs, "I heard you talk with the big guys. You're staying?"

"Yeah."

"Why? You aren't what they want. They'll just shoot you down if you stand to their way!"

If Lennox only knew, she shrugged, "they can try. Let's see if their organization survives to see the nexg light of day within twenty four hours."

Lennox, speechless at the absurd, unexpected amount of confidence kept inside her, gaped at her, "we are talking about guns, armored people. Are you—well, ma'am?"

"As well as I can be."

He narrowed his eyes, "I had orders to have you return with us. You can't engage once the cargo planes arrive." Pushing himself off the crates with an audible hiss, "I will drag you with me if I have to."

Raising one eyebrow, she watched Lennox harshly turned around and marched away. What was that about? Watching Epps meet Lennox halfway, he seemed to have asked the latter what's wrong and whatever that was bugging Lennox, he confessed as easy as breathing to his comrade; vaguely gesturing towards her general direction.

Ah, he was peeved from being concerned over her. Her smile broadened, so it wasn't just the sense of duty urging him on, it was also his personal trait recognizing her as somewhat between an acquaintance and a friend.

The air shifted and she looked beside her, smiling like she hadn't aggravated Lennox on purpose—that man is just so fun to tease, "hi, Ela."

"I heard from Lennox, you're staying?"

Wow, what's with everyone suddenly hearing people's private conversations?

"Yup." Anticipating the next words to cascade the moment the words left her mouth, she continued, "and don't worry, I'll be alright. I'll follow after I take care of my business here."

Mikaela pursed her lips, uneasy as her hands tentatively found itself to hover and then lay on top of her own placed on her side, "Eloise, I can't bear to see you hurt like that. Sector Seven... they don't know their limits."

Catching a whiff of a deeper meaning woven under her words, her hands turned itself over and she lightly hold Mikaela's hands on her own, the weight foreign from it's squishy and calloused texture than the giant ones she had rapidly grown accustomed to, "what did they do to you?"

Gently pulling Mikaela to sit close to her, the latter followed without a fight. Her thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of her hand, she took note of how Mikaela's hand trembling slightly; tremors overtaking in little shakes. Mikaela clenched her hands into a tight fist.

"They blackmailed me with my criminal record, wanted to hasten the process of getting my dad stuck to rot in jail without getting a proper hearing."

"They wanted your cooperation."

Mikaela nodded, continuing, "we're poor. We had to do what we can to survive," looking away, eventually unclenching her hand and staring at the imprinted, red marks her nails had left, "I don't regret what I did to help my dad but I sometimes... just wish we never had to lead a life like this."

She pulled her into a side hug, Mikaela putting her cheek on her shoulder blade as she scooted closer.

Leaning her cheek on top of Mikaela, she moved her hand to reappear and place itself on the back, drawing small and big circles mindlessly without a thought and touching points behind her back to make it relax; success following in every of her fingertips, Mikaela fully rested her weight on her after drawing a long sigh.

"You'll follow us after, right?"

"You have my word, Ela."

She felt Mikaela's cheek to lift, indicating a smile and she knew hers emerged as well; a warmth spreading gently like a bonfire around the beach of the shore at a circle of friends goofing around and generally having a good time, she could nearly taste the salty air the ocean carries as was the grains of sand under he legs. "Until then, can you make sure they're gonna be okay?"

"Who? Jazz?" She said in a knowing and teasing tone, something she had laughed off quietly.

"Mm, and Ratchet too. They seem to be against the idea of leaving me here. I think they like me a little too much, don't you think so?" She asked the last question as if a secret only meant for Mikaela to hear; and whether how likely others can hear her or not, she wasn't taking any chances.

"The others are actually speculating if you and Jazz are a thing."

"Is it because of the pet name?"

"Especially, the pet name."

Fifteen minutes was up.

Mikaela had boarded the same cargo plane as Jazz and Ratchet, Optimus Prime with Bumblebee, and Ironhide with Lennox's team and the rest of the humans to occupy whatever aircraft hasn't been filled to the limit. Majority chose to ride with whatever nearest was and the most bearable autobot to ride with—which was with Optimus Prime and Bumblebee then Ironhide and surprisingly coming last, was Jazz and Ratchet. 

Apparently, Ratchet had made his name known throughout all the humans as someone to think twice of wrongly crossing a line against. Most of the medical team went to their cargo and a few of the soldiers not letting Ratchet stop them in embarking whatever left was available, it should be duly noted how the soldiers are mostly the veterans of the platoon.

Picking the sounds of boots scrunching against the pavement at the distance, she didn't avert her gaze from the still opened platform of the cargo each autobot resides in; looking longer where Jazz and Ratchet was with the pair also steadily holding their gazes with her. The distance remaining only a few paces for her to take and then be engulfed under their presence; her feet as if having a mind on it's own, stayed planted firmly to the ground. She looked away.

An arm clasping, although not as hard or as tight—instead, it was delicately firm, her forearm; she looked down on who's hand it was, tracing it to see Lennox's face in close proximity with her own as a frown clearly reflected on his features. 

"Let's go, we're not leaving you."

The wind blowing some of her hair to the back, the sun making a show to the first of it's rays to hit the ground they stood upon; ironic of how much beautiful their surroundings came to be, it wasn't simply the right atmosphere for the occasion. 

It was proven when the slaps of sharp blades whipped through the air, multiple helicopters coming from the horizon and seen flying over to the clear blue skies. Then multiple tyres sending tiny vibrations to the ground as it traveled throughout of every nerve in her body—it was impossible to not know when exactly the Sector Seven would arrive with this much of information gathered.

"I'll follow right after you. Get on the cargo." Lightly tugging her arm from him, Lennox resisted and didn't let go. "Captain, you will not risk your people for a single person, right?"

"Right, that's why you're coming with."

Eyes narrowing, she directly tore her gaze where the newly arrivals would appear to face Lennox, glaring and hissing the words under her breath; a warning and a threat if treated to be, "enter the cargo now."

"No—"

A sharp sound penetrating the air in a blinding speed and without any warning, she struck out her other hand, pulling him roughly to her side with her other hand shaking off Lennox's grip on it to simultaneously stretch it out to take Epps; feet skidding to the ground as she pulled two fully grown buff men to her side. Putting them behind her back and pushing them back as she stepped to the side once, forcing them to the side as a bullet barely grazed past her ears and also at Lennox's side of the head, a clean line through the side of his hairline—it was shot at where Lennox was just standing before her. 

Hearing a faint shout from behind, she ignored it in favor of examining the hostiles before her.

Her ears ringing, she winced and let go of their arms to rub on her ears; putting her arms to her side as the white noise gradually washed itself out, she heard nothing behind her. The four carriers were still on land.

Quickly while the opposing side wasn't organized, she twisted her body and swiftly snatched the same walkie talkie she used from Lennox's pocket. She adjusted the notches and briefly glared over to her shoulder, she warned them. Sector Seven would want to keep her alive but them? They couldn't careless about their life. "Stay behind me, don't speak."

The four carrier were still on land. She put the radio to her mouth and firmly pressed the button, nearly growling her words; she wasn't going to put any of them to danger, more so towards the autobots and Mikaela and Sam on the carrier, "alpha, prepare for takeoff. Now."

 The hundred thoughts racing through her head like the race cars she took herself multiple times to witness and bet on, was active. Actively causing her a headache, that is.

If she let the two stay with her, the soldiers would be left with no one to lead and if she push them at the last possible minute, she risked having Ratchet turned his anger at them for leaving her be, possibly straining the relationship between humans and mechanicals. However, if they did stay; she could protect them but the question is, could she protect herself from them on the aftermath?

The hissing audible behind her, the platforms gradually lift until it shut with a firm click and the palpation of the propellers picked up then with the propellers gaining speed; the wind, with all the small rocks and dust particles, pooled beneath the ground, making her hair fly wildly in all directions and hitting her back, she clenched at the walkie talkie on her hand.

Raising her chin, arms returning to her side; she redirected her glare at the organized rows of people in front of her, slowly closing in as they marched forward.

"Simmons? What the fuck is he doing out here?" She heard Lennox whisper, to most probably, Epps. Regardless, she still heard it all the same anyways.

Like a cat with its claws out, said Simmons was arrogantly staring at them with a neutral expression she knew better than anyone was hiding a smirk yet under the guise of professionalism, he managed to keep it in check. 

Despite his tattered, hurriedly fixed apperance in an attempt to be presentable. It irked her. Something about him made her chest uncontrollably warmed, heating like not a bonfire but a forest fire, destructive and contagious; something in her wanted to burn him and it wasn't just her entirely.

The Allspark was reacting in his presence. They are aware of him and based to what they're channeling; they are not, in any way, amused.

"What is a private government sector, not meant for the public to see, doing outside?"

"Nothing much," his eyes casually roamed all over her body, lasting on the bandages of her hands; he lift his eyes and looked up, "Eloise Morgan Parker, a famed artist since the day you debuted in this big bad world. What would be your involvement with the military?" Simmons took a step closer and her chest burned more—roaring and lashing out, she refrained from making physical contact to the man. "I adored your works. Truly masterpieces."

As if responding to the cube's reaction, the air blew hard; whipping her hair to the direction it was heading to, she kept the smile to her face whereas Simmons's own wavered, faltering momentarily at her unfazed in the face of his provocations and literal guns aimed at them.

"Thank you, to be known by a highly regarded member of your organization is an honor." Her eyes sharply flick to caught one of the member's gaze as they flinch to the sudden attention, despite the one carrying a gun. Her smile turned sinister, "however, working under the government, does the president himself knows what goes inside your little base of operations?" She asked with a furrow of eyebrows, tone worried as if asking on the condition of their beloved pets; Simmons eyebrows twitched. She raised the walkie talkie and shuffling the notch, she moved her eyes with a wicked smile turning to a smirk, "shall I let him know?"

Raising the walkie talkie almost within arms reach, she watched, through her peripheral vision, as a couple of their people freeze, some prepared the triggers to be pulled at any moment; Lennox and Epps saying nothing, stiffened. "As a citizen, I worry about the unsaid activities one with power would be conducting. Hence, there's always the higher power to control the less powerful, right?"

"And what would we possibly doing under the government's nose, Eloise?" Unfazed, Simmons stare hardened, jaw clenching as his hands, as little as its movements were, flexed microspically. His veins were green.

"I wonder too. I wouldn't know anything about a private sector," a series of segments flashed inside her mind, the heat within her chest turning hotter as it went on; it flashed like the blinking way people at the nineties watched once, it was cool, "perhaps experimentation?"

"On extraterrestrials."

That was one confirmed, "what about merging people with sacred, alien artifacts? Is that still under the works?"

This time, Simmons face hardened noticeably, his fists clenched and a vague motion from him; the people standing beside and awaiting for orders, rapidly closed in, "you don't know what you're talking about."

"Do I? Because I just had your interests in mind. Don't you want to advance humanity?" Pointing a hand to herself, Simmons eyes narrowed—clearly understanding what she meant. Knowing very well they can't harm her in any way other than to threaten and manipulate to coming with them; after all, a test subject is better if not damaged just as the products she sent to the respective clients. 

However, Sector Seven couldn't be above in her principles. They, in the last resort of desperation, could very well go against initial orders of bringing her back unharmed.

—and she can't afford that. For her deal with the autobots, own promise with Mikaela, and bringing Lennox and Epps to their home; she can't let herself be taken by Sector Seven.

Directing a firm glare to survey the people abruptly stopping to their tracks, she cocked her head to the side; so they do know fear, after all. "Where is your clearance authorizing you to bring armory in residential grounds where non-combatant, mere civilians are?"

Simmons stalked closer to her, her finger hovered on the button as she mockingly tilted her head and looked down at the man, leaning forward to reduce the height difference and stare at close proximity of intricate detailing of his face. 

"Again, you don't know what you're talking about."

"I bet, it would be all baseless rumors anyway." She conceded, raising the walkie talkie again, her smirk dropped and it was satisfying to see the little color on his face pale, "here's the thing, I am famous—high class people would eat any of my words for a piece of art. You're a smart man, Simmons."

"This is blackmail. Blackmailing a private government sector with these allegements will serve you jail time."

Another gesture from him, the people released the safety locks by their guns and in eerily synchronized motions, aimed at her. Solely at her only. She rolled her eyes, this was growing to be an occurrence; the tremor on her arms still hadn't grown used to this kind of thing, she bit down the fear making its way inside her. 

As a respond, the fire within her roared. It made the tremor in her hands quake out of anger, she feels if she just pulled her arm back and sucker punch the man in front of her. He'd be an instant knockout. 

Plus, jail time? That'll be vacation for her, and she had money. Connections. She shrugged carelessly, "blackmail is a thing in politics. Nothing new in the game. And see?" Gesturing around him at the obvious various weaponry pointed at her, she turned to him with a disappointed click of her tongue, "unwarranted arrest, a possible case of illegal activities. Threatening an innocent civilian on the list?"

She laughed, voice coming out rich in the needle dropping silence of the place, her laughter boomed. A few flinching at the unexpected, she glanced back down with a mocking glow in her eyes, "that's stupid."

"You've been rambling on and on without showing anything, citizen. An artist having connections with the president? Absurd!" Simmons hissed, suddenly, in his rage and fatigued showing in every of his movements, poked the side of her chest with his pointer finger roughly—succeeding in pushing her back a couple steps, "you may be well-known but if not even the director of our organization, one that had served faithfully generations of presidencies, can get a decent word. What more from you?"

She'll make him regret ever committing the things they've done to any of the people she heard suffered from their hands. Her eyes gleamed, she will make them fall to the point of no return to the deepest of the ditch.

Pulling the walkie talkie close to her mouth, she pressed the button and opened her mouth whilst her eyes stared deep with his, "hello, Patricia? Is the president out?"

"Ma'am Parker, the president is present. Will you need to talk to him?"

Her lips dropped to a frown, eyebrows furrowing, "if he's not too busy, would he be able to spare a few precious minutes?"

Simmons eyes had long widened to gape at her, eyes rapidly switching between from staring at her and the voice at the walkie talkie, he stood firm albeit hiding the shakes cascading through his hands very well.

Noticing with another vague command from Simmons, the people had gradually closed around them in a full circle; leaving no gaps to escape and offering a complete view to take her out in every side. Epps and Lennox hissed a low curse, moving closer to eachother then pressing themselves together back-to-back and hand placed by their holster, they crouched down to prepare for anything—or as much as they can take on.

"Understood, ma'am. A couple of minutes, if you please."

Raising her arm and laying her wrist comfortably it by the space between his shoulders, she tapped with the tip of her finger in morse code: call is recorded. I scream, you're done.

Already assessing the moment her bluff would be revealed; she subtly took the place and being a resident, knew areas to shield her and the two to take cover and plan. If they managed to get through the barricade. However, if they did plan to capture her at this moment—her arms burned and she had a brief thought of holding her hand and burning them. She took her arm back with a smile.

If the Allspark can heal her easily and she can radiate the exact or greater amount of heat that they burned her with, she could perhaps—her line of thoughts were cut off when the voice of the president spoke on the other side.

"My dear Eloise, to what do I owe this pleasure to?"

That was the voice of the president, she could nearly read across their faces. She contorted her inner surprise and suspicion into a cool facade, a smirk emerging and bumping chests with Simmons, she silently stared down at him, whispering, "a smart man, Simmons, would live to see tomorrow. Would you choose to be stupid again?"

Simmons stared at her hard, then his gaze stuttered to look at the object in her hands and he backed away, a visible tremble in his knees; he profusely shook his head side to side, mouth tightly pursed. He, in his clumsy attempt of a retreat, slammed to a group standing behind him and smacking their chests as he hissed a couple of words, she pressed down on the button with a small smirk, "no, no, mr president. It's my pleasure, will you be available on our discussion of where your sculpture would be placed?"

A little chuckle on the other side, she let go of the button and stared as Simmons openly didn't met her gaze as he opted to embarking at the helicopter with a ladder thrown down at them and accidentally hitting his face—she bit her lower lip when the man yelped, "as always, inside the white house, of course. Where else would I put a masterpiece?"

"Right, a masterpiece as you humbly declare it." She joked, the president's laughter heard on the other side; turning at the screeching of tyres and sounds of wind slapping with the propeller, multiple trucks and helicopter fled away, leaving dust to their wake.

That was quick.

She looked down at the walkie talkie with a strange expression, her hand clenching around it tighter. She didn't talk to the president. That wasn't the president.

Who did she just talked to?

"Did... did you just have the president on speedial?" Epps shakily asked, warily moving to stand on her side as he eyed the object still on her hand. Wordlessly, she gave it to him after setting the notches on a random frequency. 

"High-end connections."

Pulling the bag closer to her chest, she took a deep breath; closing her eyes, the unbearable heat dissipating into fumes and settling once more. Her shoulders sagged and as she was about to collapse to the ground; Epps, the one watching her movements than Lennox, promptly gone down to catch her by the shoulders and then guiding her down gently whilst Lennox, after Epps snapped at him, contacted one of the frequencies for calling an aircraft.

The last he saw her was pulling Lennox and Epps to dodge a bullet specifically meant for Lennox. Nearly grazing her in a potential fatal wound had she not moved another small step to the side, it would've also went through her head then continue straight to the original target: killing two birds in one stone.

Everyone inside the cargo witnessed the happening; like a slow motion of how their very Captain could've died whereas for them, it was the vessel of the Allspark being the one to die in place of the beloved Captain. 

He couldn't consider to think—to let the mere possibility surface if she was a moment's slower; if she, the one who their sacred artifact deemed to be worthy and thus, rose the ranks of a Prime based on the importance, died.

Jazz had physically reacted the fastest, the one to whip his sniper rifle first and take aim in a way he had always done whenever on a mission, on taking out a confirmed enemy. He almost wasn't stopped if Eloise hadn't acted fast to command the pilots to take off and thus, accordingly lift the platform as they ascend.

Watching Jazz calmly revert his sniper rifle into his arm, he drew himself back to the original position he was in whilst slowly tracing the scorched area enveloping the palm of his servo; his visor and nonverbal language giving nothing away of whatever he was thinking of, Jazz turned to casually smile at him. And all he can focus on is his unsheathed clawed digit still forming smooth circles around the scorched marks. 

"Something wrong?"

He, uncertainty coursing within if he should decide to be nosy, shook his helm. Jazz nodded in acknowledgment, leaning his back onto the wall with a light thunk.

"I intercepted one of Lennox's call to the military. She's alive." He said casually, shoulders only sagging at that time when he fully engaged himself to relax. The visible groan of his stressed systems when his hydraulics, working overtime to compensate of the uncomfortably heating of his frame due to thorough activation of battle protocols, was put to rest. The humans knowing nothing better against all of the physical signs Jazz, who might as well been, was basically throwing at their face broadcasting his distressed state.

And why should they? Only four of the humans out of a hundred thousand cared enough to understood or had a vague idea to care about what their body language meant, of what their entirely composition of engines, vents, kibble movement and the brightening and darkening of their lights meant. Yet, only one had completely figured them out. And they, by their agreement, left her to fend herself.

"What about Sector Seven?"

"They didn't touch her," a small tiny smile procured itself on his faceplates as he bowed his helm, visor glinting as it brightened and lightly washed his armour in its blue glow, he added in a low whisper as if a verbal assurance towards himself rather than around him, "she's alright."

Mikaela, from below and sitting on Jazz's lap, finally stopped stroking his thigh in what she deemed as her duty to do; leaning back and closing her eyes with a relieved smile plastered on her lips, "that's good, we'll see her at the base then."

However, as relieved as he truly was; the image of the endless possibilities of how badly—in varying degrees—everything could've ended. He couldn't stop the unidentifiable tremor of his servos, he couldn't fathom to accept she escaped out there unscathed. Someone must've helped her out, Sector Seven wouldn't have been convinced to simply leave her when their arrival was solely for her. It was impossible. 

Jazz, beside him, stiffened.

He turned to detect what cause another one of his distress. Running a diagnostic scan first and foremost to rule out interior and exterior physical issues, finding nothing out of the sort, asked, "what's the matter now?"

"Decepticon activity was sighted near her area." Jazz clenched his fists, releasing the rapidly accumulating air through his vent, and he didn't let him say another word as he continued without a falter, "they're riding on a helicopter. Faster than the cargo planes, they'll arrive there earlier."

He singlehandedly caught on the true meaning of his words. Jazz will personally see her, he will interrogate her—yet judging by the nature of their relationship, probably postponed it if her condition isn't good or if she is, will go about it in another way than the usual method he utilized towards the decepticons. However, that was the mystery of their dynamic. They were both unreadable individuals on their own and together, unless he was or anyone was in the same room as them when the event took place. Or, any of their interaction really.

That was probaly why Jazz was so caught up with her; Eloise is so similar with Jazz in ways he hadn't considered beforehand yet he could see now with dawning realization. He thinks they could compliment, and they most definitely had, eachother. 

Too similar. 

Both had something to do with the art culture. Both have an influence over people. Both have an easy-going personality. And both had lost their parents—albeit Jazz lost his from the war taking turns for the worse; Eloise had also lost hers in the form of cruel betrayal. 

He internally winced, she had no more parental figure to support her. After a betrayal like that, he knew he, himself, wouldn't forgive someone for a very long time if it was done to him. That act would, ultimately, be the final straw of crossing out that someone from his life, no matter how special they had been.

Unclenching and clenching his servos, he kept to himself; engines softly purring in an effort to perform self-soothing procedures onto himself. It was working.

The soft conversation shared between Jazz and Mikaela as they quietly laughed at something; he didn't bother with it. Too caught up in his thoughts of how her mental condition would be after such drastic turn of events heavily spanning only for two months. 

Unknowingly, Mikaela noticed his sudden withdrawal from everything else—not that anything was different from how he usually acts nor was it too farfetched of an idea to execute such thing, however, somehow Mikaela was able to tell apart the difference of his usual withdrawal from this; inwardly cursing. A nudge to Jazz, he shifted his attention with a knowing glint and a downward twitch on one corner of his lips.

Jazz, conveyed all in his nonverbal cues, teased his emotional turmoil transparency apparent enough to an entirely different species getting a read on him. It was annoying. 

Despite the teasing, Jazz clicked his shoulder kibble with his own, sending a reassuring smile which somewhat made the weight on his spark lighten, engines ceasing of its purring, "we'll see her first thing, yeah?"

He nodded.

Her worries acknowledged and settled, Mikaela quietly but with how bright her eyes remaining to be, is excited to resume their one-sided conversation—fully listening, Mikaela was telling about the museum Eloise's works were held in, he shifted his optics to Jazz, seeing a soft and amused smile discreetly maintained throughout her speech as his visor glowed and darkened in certain parts; seemingly responding with each of Mikaela's words he eagerly eat up. 

Throughout the trip, Mikaela had eventually shifted her priority over him; she didn't let him move past far from her sight, routinely sneaking glances she thought was subtle. He had, in contrast against her, concealed the appreciation of being looked out on. Jazz having the absolute time of his life sending knowing looks and cleverly hidden snickers notwithstanding. 

At the back of his processor, the line of thought on the what-if has been a constant, incessant virus of what shouldn't exist; of what should've been erased. The what-if's remained.

And it seems it won't permanently delete itself until he saw her himself, of her alive and uninjured. 

Chapter Text

Trudging down on the familiar walkway, she looked to gaze at an all too familiar house; a house she hadn't longed to see in any of her succeeding lifetimes. The house where it all begun.

No matter how hard she tried—so many times, to steer herself away from the house. Her feet marched itself until she stood dumbly in front of the door, her arm lifting and hand wrapping on the cool handle; wincing and wanting to pull away from the electrifying grip the handle seemed to have on her, her hand twisted it and the door opened with a haunting creak.

Small footsteps belonging on a foreign body she had belatedly realized as her own once she stood before the full bodied mirror blatantly slapping her across the face. Her, against all internal wishes, little face smiled bitterly and against all her wishes which the younger her harbored as strongly as the present her, tears glistened from the corners of their eyes.

It burned. 

And with burning, with fire, it tend to spread. It spread to her eyes then to her tears and then her face shamefully looking away from the reflection—all spreading viciously and as hungrily as a pack of beasts to her small, thumping heart.

Fully turning away from the mirror, she moved to throw the bag to the couch and roughly wiped the continuous production of tears dripping out her eyes as snot started to gather and for her face to mainly grew hot. She stomped inside the kitchen, dark and cold.

Navigating through the dark with a skill of having done this circumstances often times to mentally memorize every object's placement inside the room with ease. Pulling a chair, climbing on it and feeling for the switch across the walls. The warm light easily washing away the previously cold room into a pleasant bath of slightly yellow tint she personally grew to like.

Getting down on the chair and neatly putting it away to the corner, she pivoted her body towards the bag laying on the couch. The thumping of her footsteps heard throughout as it echoed like a forgotten melody only known to a man merely having an echo of an idea how the melody begun; she rummage inside the bag and took out a paper.

Her movements turning careful—even in her seven year old mind, she was aware of nearly anything by that age and thus, with anyone growing awareness, also notice how she move and carries herself as well. It was amusing. Little hands delicately unfolding a piece of paper, her cheeks spread into a grin.

Hopping towards where the refrigerator was, she took a magnet and placing the paper on what her little height can manage to reach, she easily kept the paper on it's position after putting the magnet above it. Letting go, she step back and proudly looked on her work.

Perking up when she heard the door click open, her heart dropped on her stomach at what would happen next.

"Mami! Look what my friend drew for me!"

Her mother peeked from the corner of the doorway to the kitchen, an exhausted smile coming from her fatigued expression of eyebags as visible even on dim lighting of the living room. Her eyes moved past her and to the paper with a hum, "that's great, honey. Tell me more about it tomorrow, okay?"

"Can't I tell you now?" Moving closer, her hand found it's natural place to pitifully tug on her mother's coat gently, still smiling with an eagerness her present self couldn't help but cringe from, "I can talk about it with you on the bed!"

"No, tomorrow morning, okay? Mami's tired, honey."

Hand unclasping from it's hold when a larger one guided her to pull away, cruelly pry the little fingers wanting to hold on her coat; she swallowed a lump in her throat and felt her head bobbing in agreement. Vaguely feeling something soft press on her forehead and then the distant sound of her mother's footsteps trekking up to her own bedroom as she was left all alone under the light. Her hands shook as she forcibly curled it into a trembling fist.

By tomorrow morning, she hadn't found her mother to talk. Or the next day after that, and the next. And the next. And until a new month came rolling by; her mother, strangely at home with her, sat beside her with a hand holding her shoulder, pulling her close to her side and a soft feeling of her lips pressing on her forehead.

"How was school, honey?"

Her eyes opened in a snap, body jerking sharply then automatically stilling similar to a concrete brick with eyes darting all over everything in order to distinguish whether she was actually awake or not. A blurry figure appeared from her peripheral vision and she took careful breath, registering the smell of dirt and gunpowder along with the scent of sterilized alcohol. She followed the two moving figures with a gradually calming breathing passing through her nose.

With an owlish blinking of her eyes, she took in her surroundings with quiet consideration—they arrived at the base, picking up distant sounds of nothingness aside from the shuffling of footsteps moving nearby; there was no one else except them that had arrived yet.

Roaming her gaze as she carefully sat up, elbow supporting her back and blinking the haze out of her eyes, white and plain hospital wall of the medical bay greeted her; tilting her head, picking a noise of footsteps approaching her as the air picked up and for the warmth to flare momentarily, she turned her head and moved her gaze upwards until she met Lennox's gaze.

Lennox crossed his arms, traveling his eyes towards her leg then sharply glaring with expression pinching, "a person with a fractured legs can't move like that."

She looked at him without another noise emitting from her, observing how his expression continued to revert from looking hostile then betrayed and then hurt. He was hurt. Her eyes, a little uncoordinated as she rapidly made adjustments to accomodate the pacing of the situation, moved past his expression and to the side of his head, "were you hurt from the bullet?"

"Am I—what?"

"Hurt, Lennox. Why would you look hurt if not from the wound?"

His expression lightened, heaving a heavy sigh. He took a seat at the corner of her bed, nearly at the edge of it, "I'm not hurt. I'm just... why did you lie about your fracture? And your hands! You were burned, weren't you? Fourth degree burns, ma'am. You have fatal wounds yet you," growling, he turned away from her, "you lied."

This would be the part where she lies easily, seamlessly as blinking her eyes, as exhaling through her nose, and as the natural choice in her path of life; she blinked, "I did, why didn't you ask this earlier?"

Epps walked by and stood beside Lennox, extending a hand to put on his shoulder. 

"You had many chances to ask me. You suspected something was wrong, why didn't you?" She asked, eyebrows meeting together then she chuckled lowly, "this is what I meant in asking the important questions back then, Captain."

Lennox clenched his fists, shoulders coming down to sag around closer to his chest as if to fold around him, protect him from a predator. "I wanted to. But everytime I look at you, I see the person I left to die on some ditch. Everytime I see you, I see the civilian I pulled into a war, someone to die."

"Ask me now then."

He looked at her with confusion and yet, in her eyes, all she saw was fear erupting in every corner of his eyes, of the twitch in his eyebrows, and the way he seemed to hesitate overall. Unbecoming of a great Captain he was; he looked like a young adult leading a normal life, one looking at a mistake he made with shame and regret. He looked like the younger her with a mistake she'd wanted to fix so badly.

(She wanted to give them a chance. The chance her younger self had wanted but didn't receive—wasn't even given a fleeting thought about.)

Holding out one hand, she opened her palm and showed it to them, feeling her bag and taking out a sketchpad with a pencil holding between her fingers with a familiarity of intertwining paths with something so frequently that was dearly beloved, "I'll show you the reason why I'm still alive."

Opening an empty page and putting both items on her lap for now; she refocused on unwrapping one bandage, letting it plop to the blanket and unrolling with her other bandaged hand to reveal, with every bit of spin, a scarred skin. Keeping her expression neutral whilst the memories of things leading up to this very moment, of several life changing events that was horde together in a tight, compressed fit to unfold all at once.

She stared at the scarred skin that started another new beginning. (And a lot of trauma to try and sleep off, forget of.)

"It's all healed." Lennox whispered, speaking as if his breath was knocked out of his chest. 

"Ask me, Lennox. Let's fix it, okay?"

A barrage of intensifying emotions passing through like the night sky under a time lapse motion; he stared at her unblinkingly, "why are you alive, Eloise?"

Putting a finger on her lips, she picked the pencil and wrote what she wanted to say. 

We'll talk on the paper.

The two sharing a look, Lennox held his hand out and giving the pencil, he wrote down a simple question: why?

That wasn't the president I talked before. A hacker who knew my predicament helped me out. The hacker could be listening in like my mami before.

"What?" Epps reacted first, withdrawing his upper body to lean back and took a step back, he snapped his eyes on her, "for real?"

She nodded, writing down on the page and showing it to them: an excellent hacker to hack on a heavily encrypted frequency between the actual president. 

"Then...?" Lennox took the pencil from her to write quickly, still careful of making a tear or make a mark noticeable to the next page; she appreciated the thought and read what he wrote: the secretary isn't the actual secretary either?

No. Patricia doesn't pick anyone's call that fast. She only accepts a call after on a second or third ring depending on the caller. Laughing after writing it down, she smiled, "I personally find that cute." And adding another for the hell of it: she always pick up mine on a fourth ring.

The pair shared her amusement on some level. 

Epps took the sketch from her hands and giving the pencil as well, she waited for him to finish jotting down the rest of his questions on one go. Giving it back to her, he handed her the pencil and gestured for her to read with a jerk of his head.

Why didn't you die? How did you confirm the identity of the president? How did you heal so fast?

That was less questions than she thought; the skritching of her pencil the only sound she heavily focused on, answering the questions respectively, and giving it to them with a cock of her head.

The Allspark chose me as their vessel, didn't want me to die. The cube caused the burns. The president hadn't ordered a piece for me in a month. The Allspark/cube healed me.

Epps's mouth falling slightly agape, he roughly took the pencil Lennox was about to give to him: the cube the cons stole? Why would the cube choose you?

She shrugged, "beats me." Then she wrote on the page: all I know is that I can do stuff that helps them.

Lennox stopped playing with her scarred hand, hands stilling as he looked up, surprise shining in his eyes, momentarily forgetting they were supposed to only speak on paper, "you can control it?"

"Is that why Sector Seven at the scene?" Epps asked, nose twitching into disgust at the dawning realization as his face paled, "you... they weren't planning to do something with you, right?"

She choked an abrupt laughter, "let's be real here, Epps. You think they won't try to dissect me or something? Really?"

Epps, against the heaviness of the present topic at hand, had the nerves to look sheepish; rubbing the back of his nape and smiling, "considering you're mami works there—I just thought..."

She shook her head side by side, giving him a dismayed grin. His head slanting downwards as a small curse word emanated under his breath came loose, he looked away with a scowl.

"Are you saying this because you trust us or it's that you need to?" Lennox asked after letting the silence wrapped around their necks long enough, he watched her hand be pulled away as she start to reapply the bandages slowly.

"I think we're exactly the same in the aspect of being responsible, don't you?" Tearing the paper off the pages, she crumpled it on her one hand and looking up with a smirk, she willed a part of the warmth to turn into the same exact copy of intense heat as she felt to her arm; specifically to the hand holding the crumpled paper.

The pair watched in confused silence on what to expect before they jumped back when a foul smell of burning paper registered to their senses and they're heads were quick to pay proper attention to the smokes emerging within her closed fist.

Stunned silence drowning the confusion, they watched her fingers unfurl and stretch to reveal a scorched completely black formerly pristine white paper, absorbing the onslaught of information rushing all at once, it was without a doubt that they flinch more than what was expected of their military ranks, at her clapping her hands, grinning. "Cool, right?"

Mikaela, face slacked and indecipherable, blankly stared towards the person sitting inside the Porsche. A pretty woman wearing casual clothing and noticeably, a thick tinted blue visor, grinning at her, "Jazz? Is that you?"

The woman smirked at her, quirking one playful eyebrow, hands firmly holding in the steering wheel "at a flesh. Pretty neat, huh?"

Merely closing her mouth, she flip her eyes towards another similar person sitting on the neon green ambulance. An older man with wrinkles wearing prescription glasses with a medical labcoat, an ordinary looking and totally not suspicious in comparison of Jazz's holoform. Ratchet's holoform or human Ratchet looked at her with a smile, "what."

How come Ratchet's holoform wasn't as well established as Jazz? The latter, perceptive as always, noticed her unsaid question with a burst of a low chuckle strangely appealing to hear, answered. She patted her cheeks to will away the heating blossoming on it.

"Don't look so confused, Mikaela. I'm the only one in the team to really use the hologram function most times, is why mine's the best looking human." She—he? They said, grin never faltering but instead gesturing over to pick a ride, "so, who you going with?"

"Uh," clearing her throat, she laughed away the nervousness and pointed the neon green ambulance, "I think I'm riding with Ratchet."

The doors of the Porsche closing, she jogged over to the other door of the ambulance; finding it open already and Ratchet turning to her with a pointed glare and yet his lips were perfectly set into a pristine smile, "you are careless with my door despite being a mechanic of vehicles." He said, voice coming out of the radio whilst his hologram remained smiling. It was more than an unnerving sight to witness. The door shut close with the lock clicking.

Although, she still wouldn't change rides just because Ratchet's holoform plainly unnerved her. She settled herself and took the seatbelt, clipping it over herself, "you know the way to the medical bay?"

"Of course, are you ready?"

"I am but for what—" she released a blood curdling scream and clutched on the handles for dear life once the clicking of gears was processed by her head too late and Ratchet tore off the hangar like a mob of gangsters were hightailing from behind with the expanding list of debt.

Which was to say, surprisingly fast. For an ambulance. 

Mikaela never knew an ambulance could have that much control on its engines. It was, honestly, a first for her when Ratchet—the Chief Medical Officer, the one to reinforce safety and health and shit—narrowly drifted at a corner, changed gears, and then continued on like a professional racer. With Jazz, of course, smoothly taking the lead at front.

God damn, that was the coolest thing she experienced with an ambulance. She never expected that from Ratchet, himself. He was a rule breaker, who could've known?

Tightly gripping beside her seat, her body flew to the other side as Ratchet did another one of the impossible maneuver for an ambulance with limited mobility and she knows that,  she's a mechanic for goodness sake. Her seatbelt clipped tighter than it should be, she felt like riding on one of those extreme rollercoasters that does three consecutive three hundred sixties, it was nerve-wracking and puke-inducing really; the experience was not so different with them too. 

It was a good thing her stomach was doing great.

The seatbelt unclipping on its own, retracting back. She put a hand over her mouth.

"Do not puke over my interior, Mikaela. I do not want to clean organic waste ever again."

"An organic puked inside you?" Hand removed from her mouth, she keeled over as Ratchet drove forward in alarm; she guffawed, the engines growling from the unfiltered sound as the hologram Ratchet turned to her with the still perfectly smile maintained, "you do know why organic pukes, right?"

"I do know. It is not, however, my fault that you have weak constitutions." He said with a bite, unaffected as she flashed him a grin; rolling her eyes, she opened the door to step down.

Stabilizing herself a few moments, she looked up to see Jazz standing by the door, their arms crossed over to their chest and giving them a bemused expression if she read them right—they, thankfully wordlessly, gestured towards the medical bay's door beside him.

A hiss from behind her, looking over to her shoulder; she rightfully stifled her laughter inside. Seeing Ratchet smiling, not caring whether it was a hologram and not the actual him making the expression, was amusing. Smiling innocently, Ratchet's glare merely intensified when he turned at her.

"Come on," pushing themselves off the wall, patting invisible dirt from their clothes was such a human characteristic, it truly amazed her how quick they adapted to their culture. The visor landed at her, a knowing smirk slowly emerging from the corner of their lip, "still confuse?"

"Ah, get off my case, Jazz. Let's just go." Hearing them chuckling behind her, another sound of someone snorting, no matter how quietly and quick it has been; her eyes narrowed. That was Ratchet for sure, pushing open the door with more force than what was necessary, her embarrassment wiped itself off of her the moment she spotted Eloise sitting on the bed.

"Eli!"

Eloise looked up from her sketchpad, a smile appearing on her face and Mikaela had nothing more to say than to let her legs take her to where she was supposed to be, "Eli! Are you alright?" Hands already moving past before the words had the time to leave her mouth, she rapidly checked over for anything off from her body while the latter snickered.

"It's alright, I'm fine, Ela." She reassured, patting her shoulder, her arms wrapping behind her back; she hugged Eloise firmly but remembering to not tighten the embrace too much, she used restraint in her own strength. 

"How the hell did you fucking dodge a bullet?!" She asked, pulling away to really look harder for any tell-tale signs of a hidden wound, continuing however not directing her anger at Eloise, "what the fuck's wrong with Sector Seven!"

Eloise looked at her with bemusement, at a loss of words, she regained her composure and took her hands with her. The feel of the bandages a reminder of what happened in Mission City, her heart tightened, pursing her lips tightly; she looked to see the steady and comforting gaze of Eloise, a soothing smile already on her face as her thumbs worked on rubbing each of her hand clasped with hers.

"Hey, it's alright, now. If you'd like, how about we let the doctor examine me? He seems about to tear you away from me." Eloise joked, looking behind her. She turned halfway and saw Ratchet's crossed arms and as expected, smiling. 

"You know that's Ratchet?"

"Of course, a patient never forgets their doctor. And the pretty lady over there too." Winking, she give her a knowing look and then looking directly at Jazz, "hey, gorgeous."

Laughing with a hand covering her mouth, Eloise looked at her with this some type of fondness in her eyes. Realizing their hands were still clasped together, she looked down to see the hand covering her mouth was actually hers, the texture of bandages distinctly brushing her lips; she was quick to put their hands down.

"Eloise." Their attention diverting to Ratchet, she saw Eloise's smile turn into an amusement, the traces of any fondness tucking itself away as her eyes searched for any hints of it ever there. She looked up to see a visor observing her without a word; Jazz's head ever slightly moving down to probably look on their still intertwined hands, she only tightened her hold and felt joy when Eloise reciprocated the notion, continuing to carry her conversation with Ratchet. 

The world was silent. Everything was silent except her voice, hearing clearly every word coming from a mouth speaking with so much life and everything; the consistent rubbing of the thumb going over her own was reassuring. Although, a little confuse on why Eloise's hands were a little too warm. As if it was put in front of the fire for a little too long, she didn't question the phenomenon. 

"... see? I'm fine, Ela." Tuning in, she looked up, "it's okay."

Looking at Ratchet, he nodded in resignation. Reluctantly turning back her attention at her, she bit her lower lip, "okay. That's good. You seriously didn't see anything, Ratchet?"

If it was possible, and it shouldn't be with that smile, Ratchet exactly gave her a deadpan look of absolutely answering her concern with no use of words needed.

A soft clench on her hands, she instantly directed her entire attention on Eloise, giving a questioning hum in return.

"Have you eaten yet, Ela?"

"No, not yet. Why?"

"How about you eat first? Then if Ratchet let me go, I'll join you and Sam later?"

As if Eloise had thoroughly did knew of her hunger, her stomach rumbled; giving no room to complain nor deny it anymore, she sighed and was the one to unclasp their hands. Her own feeling cold on their own without the warmth formerly surrounding it, she forced a smile and Eloise must've seen though it because, at the last minute, she took one of her hand and smiled.

"I'll find a way to convince Ratchet, Ela. Eat first, okay?"

And thinking of it, if she's seventeen right now and Eloise's is twenty-two. The gap isn't too much, right? Only a five year gap, except she's still legally a minor and she's an adult. It would be illegal—and what the hell is she thinking? The familiar heat that was felt from her hands seemed to transport itself on her cheeks, feeling the flaming of her face felt to the tips of her ears as her heartbeat quicken, she pushed herself harder away from the medical bay.

"I. Think. Mikaela. Is. Suffering. From. Heart. Palpitations." Ratchet stated casually, gazing at the firmly shut door where said person walked—ran—out of.

Looking at the same door, she snorted, "saying a person's going to have a cardiac arrest at anytime is bad, Ratchet."

Ratchet grunted, uncrossing his arms to stray a glance towards where Jazz had stubbornly remained to be throughout the entire exchange, relaxed as they looked to be; his atmosphere simply was off. 

Picking where he was looking at, she didn't need to follow his gaze as her eyes had long recognize the exact area where they occupied the space. She took one look and knew how this was going to turn out for her.

A hand patting her shoulder, she looked up to see the glint of the glasses shining right in front of her realistically at the point of light hitting the lenses. Ratchet conveyed all the words he didn't need to say, wanting to lighten the mood; she smiled and give a reassuring squeeze. Ratchet was worried, Jazz must be going hard on her, that she could tell even if she couldn't tell with the fake, pixelated visor.

Waiting until the door had fully shut behind Ratchet, who could very well simply vanish in a light show before her; the door shut close.

"Do I look gorgeous?"

Blinking, she slowly turned to Jazz, "of course, you do! I told you you're gorgeous, didn't I?"

Jazz cocked their head at her, curly hair following the path of their head and they smirked, "that you do, babygirl." They walked towards her without breaking the gaze between them, sitting to the bed and holding their hand for her.

She observed if everything was as realistic to touch as much as it was realistic it was to look at; taking their hand, the softness of the flesh and the firmness of the bones underneath, it was a perfect mimicry except at one tiny detail. It was the thrums of engine that run though the veins instead of a pumping of a heart, of the dum-dum rhythm humans have. 

Playing with their fingers, her shoulders sagged, tapping on their hand with her fingertip: no one can hear us? 

"No one, babygirl."

"Okay, shoot your question then. Or, you wanna make it feel like an interrogation or something?"

Finally, Jazz smiled and something cracked inside of her. Something she couldn't somehow identify and name, even pinpoint what cause the cracking. Her hands move to engulfed their entire hand, perfectly slotting in with hers; she returned the amused smile, the corners of her eyes squinting.

Their hand turned over their joined hands to completely intertwined their fingers around hers, clasping securely with the coldness like touching the same arrangement of their fingers with their actual form—just the size making the change and the texture and yet it all stayed the same even with that, "as long as you play along, will you do that?"

"Yeah, you particularly got me with your voice. I don't know exactly what else I have in me to go against you."

"Well, you're good at acting."

She shrugged, taking it as a high compliment for someone who specializes in wholly basing from body language and overall any other cues to gather information, "so, questions?"

"Why'd you ask if no one can hear us?"

Just as she told with Epps and Lennox, she retold the same story with Jazz. Their expression unchanging the whole time; she had an inkling suspicion they personally knew the identity of the hacker she was talking about. 

"Why did they help you back there?"

"I don't know, they're good in impersonating people and hacking onto an encrypted, private frequency, though." Sighing, she lay back to the bed, "either they're a really great hacker or it's one of the decepticons... oh."

Jazz remained quiet, the only signal they were still with her was the shifting of their weight from the bed and the coldness of their grip with her hands.

"Ravage is a decepticon."

"Yeah."

She sit up so quickly to gain a whiplash, groaning and clutching her head as her eyesight momentarily darken and closing it, she felt their other hand guide her to their chest, "Jazz, I helped Ravage."

"In what way?" Their other hand stroking her hair, she leaned forward and fully rest her weight on them, keeping her eyes close and focusing half of her attention to the purr reverberating through their chest. "Babygirl, in what way?"

"I did something with his armour, the same as I did with the supplies." Pulling herself away from the embrace, she looked to the side, "and, I gave one coordinate to an energon mine."

She expected Jazz to have an outburst of some kind, to lose their cool of the blatant treason. Treason? She don't know if what she did was treason but it, regardless of her reason, felt like betrayal on her part. She extracted her hands back, pried them off their clasp on them, and glued them to her lap.

"Is it to give us time to bounce back? To not make them go desperate to attack every place on Earth?" They asked, soft and gentle as they delicately lay one hand on top of her own, the other sliding from her the back of her head to her cheek, "I'm right, am I?"

"Yeah, you're right."

Jazz went quiet for a few seconds, "either option is heavy but you made the right call."

"Does Ravage have someone backing him up?"

"His backer is exactly the hacker that helped you. His name's Soundwave, third in command of the decepticons and the communications officer."

Looking back at them, she leaned her cheek further to their thumb stroking her cheek, "if Soundwave helped me and I basically helped the decepticons, won't they know I'm the—?"

"Soundwave would." They said in a low growl, "probably why he helped you back there. He wanted to recruit you, entice you with his abilities."

Her eyes, unknowingly closing at their own decision, snapped open, her mouth closing and opening in bewilderment; she stared with wide eyes at the unfazed Jazz, "recruit me?"

They grinned, "who wouldn't wanna recruit you? Pretty sure if you know how to fight as well as you dodging a bullet, I would've ask you to join specsops too."

"If you're my commanding officer, would I have the privileges to be this close to you always?" She teased, playfully batting her eyelashes as Jazz's grin widened.

"Whenever you need me, my agent or not, my doors is always open for you, babygirl."

Saying the word "my" wasn't really necessary. In the context, it wasn't. Yet all the same, it made her chuckle and swat their shoulder with no real harm intended. 

As Jazz, with the silent question of letting her decide, opened their arms for her; she didn't have to think twice of throwing herself at them and wrapping her arms around their nape to pull herself and sit on their lap. Fully comfortable, Jazz resettled them by sitting on the bed rather at the edge of it; mattress creaking under their combined weight, she nuzzle her nose to their neck.

"Does your scorched mark hurt?"

"Not even a little."

Laughing under her breath, she closed her eyes, "now, I know you're lying. I'm sorry, Jazz."

The hand stroking her hair and the visible thrumming of their engines wasn't the answer she was looking for, but it was exactly what she needed and it showed when her body release every part of her tensed limb in it's confinement of being in the fight or flight it always settle itself to be, which was at everything except this, apparently; she fell asleep.

Behind his visor, his eyes narrowed into slits. If Soundwave really want her on their side, he could very well start to convince Starscream to plan and take her from them. Soundwave is a persuasive mech if he wanted to be, and him wanting Eloise is something he'll work for without a doubt. 

The question remains if he either wants her as the barrier of the Allspark or her abilities as an individual. And he considered Soundwave to take in someone not cybertronian under his protection if they were useful enough. And Eloise is pretty useful for a human, that he should know for someone to always be in a look out for potential candidates to work in special operations.

What he saw in Eloise seemed to not have remained for him only. It looks like Soundwave had also realized her potential as an ally. Or, a slave.

Neither options doesn't work, feasible to ever happen.

He had to start the preparations in creating distance between them as much as possible and that was starting with every computer on the base and fortifying the security, planting viruses for intruders like slagging Soundwave and the rest.

But most of all, he looked at her again. Her entire guard was completely lowered at him, she trusts him. She feels safe enough to sleep like this. 

She was growing on him. 

And it's terrifying to acknowledge the fact he was fond of her, of her being special to not receive an actual interrogation when needed to be—even if she would've complied regardless, of him giving away valuable and certainly not for humans to know information because who knows if they won't turn their back on them? Who knows if he can or should even place his trust on them? And even then, why should he trust a species so much like them and the rest he came to know before? 

What was most baffling, is how easy she received a portion—only a portion—of his trust. 

Must be from her lack of self-preservation, or her utter amazement of everything else on her, of her appreciation to everything, or being brave, or... or, maybe it was just her eyes. Something in them sucking him in like a blackhole, to place blind hopes of ever getting out of there alive if consumed. He trusted her to not eat him whole, not break the portion of his trust unknowingly given to her.

Lifting her limp hand, the weight notable in his current form; he quietly gazed at the bandages. 

What made her worthy to receive the Allspark? To receive his trust? To receive Optimus Prime's faith?

What was so different from this human setting her apart from the rest?

His eyes rose to meet the person standing by the doorway, seeing Captain Lennox leaning the side of his body; lips turning into a thin line, he relaxed his furrowed eyebrows and simply stopped his caress over her hair. He held his gaze.

Captain Lennox gestured outside with a quick jerk of his head, rolling his eyes behind the visor. He, slowly and carefully, disentangle himself from her; laying her back to the bed when he could've just metaphorically snap his fingers and vanish easily, he savored what every seconds of time he have with her. Standing beside the bed, he wiped away the stray hair out of her face with a light grin before turning away, his grin remaining.

The decepticons and humanity itself will have to fight tooth and nails against him before they ever try to take her from them. (From him.)

"What's up, Captain?" He asked once outside of the room.

"Follow me," raising both eyebrows, he let Captain Lennox walked past him before he dissolve the holoform and transformed into his actual frame. He followed the Captain from behind, scanners and routines on high alert with the signal disrupter working without a stop; probably glitching any form of technology they passed by to disrupt any potential eavesdropping from a whole other side of space—in other words, Soundwave, "how long?"

"You gotta be more specific than that, Captain."

"How long did you know the truth about her? Or is it all of your team?"

Eloise told them? His optics narrowed, a muted yet extremely felt by his entirety when his engines surged; he cocked his helm to the side, audials suddenly hyperfocusing on everything that was Captain Lennox, he asked with the low whirring of the battle protocols detecting any hostile movements from the target it locked on, "your bordering on thin ice, Captain. Your words carry a heavy weight and you ain't speaking nothing lightly to brush off easy."

Abruptly stopping, Captain Lennox stood before the assigned hangar of the autobots, he didn't turn to face him but he might as well spat right in his faceplate from how sharp his words are, "you talked me in bringing her back with us. Is the radioactive excuse bullshit?"

Stopping as well, he detected another signature in the same room as them. "Are you angry at us for keeping you in the dark or because you sent Eloise with the cube to die? The guilt eating you, Captain?" He mocked, a sardonic smirk coming to his faceplate and his sheathed claws to emerge as quietly as his simmering pot of anger upon remembering the events, "so much for a special operation forces group, I expected too much from the Captain of it."

Bingo. Captain Lennox drew back, sharply sucking a breath, and pursing his lips into a thin line before throwing his face to look the other side out of shame. And he should feel ashamed, he put out a civilian, the one he specifically send to a safe place, out of the battleground again with a sacred artifact! Without any backup that Sam had back then! 

"If the cube didn't do nothing, her death would be in your hands." He hissed.

Hissing under his breath, Captain Lennox turned the other way and clenched his fists, "I know."

"With what you did, you really think we would've revealed something that important to you? To any of you?" Does he think, a soldier meant to die on the battlefield yet passed their duties to a civilian to die in their place instead, someone worth entrusting their back to?

"She did." He said, albeit weakly and without as conviction than before.

He scoffed, "I bet it was to inform you ahead of time than trusting you." Optics narrowing once more when his processors recalled another event but he reconsidered, even at the height of his boiling annoyance, that it wasn't Captain Lennox's fault this time but the Sector Seven, where her mother works. His annoyance intensified. 

Captain Lennox's staying quiet was all the confirmation he needed.

"Look, Jazz. I didn't mean any of my words to be misunderstood that way, I was only asking," so was he, he kept his mouth tightly shut and looked down at Captain Lennox, "I want to make it up to her."

"Yeah? How're you gonna do that?"

"Let us help you."

Frame not letting up, he put one servo on the hip and mostly leaned on one foot, "you'll be our allies? Is that what you're saying?" He frowned, looking up ahead to see soldiers walking by giving him strange, weary stares. As if the weeks they'd spent with his team wasn't enough nor the near death situation back in Mission City amounted to nothing but a daily walk on the road. "Don't feel very much ally material right now."

Captain Lennox briefly touched the graze at the side of his hairline, glancing to where he was looking at and sighing, "I'll handle it. Just—can you rely the news to the rest of the team?"

He stared down ahead for a few moments, weighting the pros and cons of trusting the words of a Captain having endangered the Allspark vessel two times and yet had played, an undeniably, major role of helping them turn the tide around. No matter how angry he was, he couldn't discredit the effort they sacrifice as much as they did in return, he nodded wordlessly.

"Okay," a visible sigh of relief he could see from a mile away, took over his body then clutching the space between the edge of his eyes, continued with a tired yet relief small smile, "that's good. Thanks, I'll see you around, Jazz."

Ratchet, finally deciding to make an appearance, appeared; standing beside him with his own signature scowl—a thoughtful scowl, "you two really have influence over people."

Rolling his optics, he playfully shouldered Ratchet. Laughing when the latter almost tip out of balance and dodging a well-timed slap from him.

Chapter Text

Fluttering eyelids taking a moment to fully focus around the surroundings; she determined she's still in the same place, same bed, and same predicament. 

Sucking a deep breath, keeping it inside before exhaling very slowly through her mouth. She raised one arm to shield the all too bright light shining down on her; the gaps between her fingers filling by the light finding its way through to glimmer and momentarily make her lose focus—flexing fingers moving, she put it down and stared at the plain, dull ceiling. The colors seemingly drained out of this room, devoid of any colors.

Sitting up and taking out her sketchbook and the pencil; taking the time to really feel the smoothness of the wooden pencil and smiling to herself. Taking a sharpener and humming under her breath, she sharpened the pencil then looked at the newly pointed pencil with an approving glint of her eyes. This will do. 

Opening to an empty page, she briefly thought of contacting one of the establishments she receives clay for sculpting from. Would it be possible if they can deliver the product from—pausing, her pencil stopping from making soft skritching noises, she stared at the picture drawn on the page blankly.

Where was she exactly? Her hand mindlessly resuming in forming whatever imagery her mind had conjured from the depths, she blinked when a hand tap her shoulder.

"...i? You okay?" 

"Ela," a smile breathing life to her face, she momentarily stopped the pencil for moving, "do you know where we are?"

Mikaela returned the smile and sat beside her as she scooted over to silently offer her to sit close to her, "Diego Garcia, pretty far from any country. Sick ocean though, wanna see it sometime? It's all sand around here, Eli!"

"Really? I've never been surrounded by beach on all corners." She said, humming under her breath contemplatively; returning back to the image before realizing what she was drawing. The figures in her dream. She smoothly flipped to another page, "you ate?"

"I did, did you?"

Did she? When did she last eat? She flexed her hands, she doesn't remember. "Last night, still not hungry though."

Mikaela squinted her eyes, "really?"

Humming, she bobbed her head faintly; facade slipping without her knowing, her features returned to, as plain and dull as the ceiling, as the walls, and as the room itself—blending nearly to the point of coexisting with it if she wasn't breathing, a blank slate of what remains as a far mimicry of a human. It was calming she thought fleetingly, completely unaware of everything. 

Another touch from Mikaela pulled her, squeezing her shoulder tenderly; picking a faint scent of fresh lemon soap and conditioner, she blinked her eyes. Out of the haze, her pencil thumping to the ground and breaking the dull tip, she looked down on the bundle of hair below her.

Something warm wrapping her shoulders and then emerging from within her chest, she release a soft breath, "... Ela?"

"Are you sure you're really okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Leaning her head forward, chin resting on top of her head; she twisted her arms to wrap itself around Mikaela's shoulder, "I think I'll take that sightseeing offer."

Mikaela nodded, offering her a bleak, weak grin of worry bleeding through ever stretch her cheeks made; her eyes darting all over across her own as her features morph into poorly hidden concern. A hand touching her cheek, she kept her eyes open of how warm a human hand could be.

And yet, she couldn't help but to flinch, recoil from the touch. The tingle returning twice as warmer than before, it surged forward to the spot Mikaela had caressed to seemingly erase any traces of her by any means. Thankfully, Mikaela had long withdrawn her hand; she didn't want them to accidentally burn her with it. 

It's just... the touch. She wanted to erase anyone ever touching her. Ever feeling her flesh in their hands. Of her feeling the warmth in their hands when, in fact—she paused. 

How can a human hand feel so warm physically but felt empty to touch? As if hot air with a really good balloon holding the heat in? Why—eyebrows furrowing, she contemplated that if she were to get out of this miserable, dull room to another space where people regularly brushed shoulders, strangers casually touched any of her limbs, and beings that thrives off from physical touch were to enforce their unknowing belief on her; she wouldn't know how to control herself. She knew how she would react, she's simply been letting it go all this time.

But at the height, something she grew to immensely fear, of her own mental state and the dream, the memory—the forgotten nightmare—with her parent. Everything was a little too much.

Mikaela step back, a tiny leaning back of her body movements she instinctively caught on no matter how deep she was in her thoughts, "we're going to the beach. No side quests, no detours." Standing to the side of her bed, she gazed at her with something in her similarly dark eyes, only much lighter than her own. The shade of a tree bark, strong and determined. "Deal?"

She liked trees, they were cool under the hot weather, refreshing to be around with, and they can be leaned on, be depended on—be the support she need on times things were a little too much with the art critics, politics and all the things she bottled inside with a tight seal; a seal that only the trees surrounding her ever get to witness in loosening. She smiled, "deal."

It must've been a mistake in her part because the next she saw her eyes the second time; it was crystal blue. The same shade as the skies, as the sea, and as his visor. 

Then, she remembered the deep blue skies she often painted on the canvas under the caress of the wind, of the sway in the trees, and of the changes the sky can adjust to with ease. The sky she often looked out for some kind of guidance, some signs in her troubling times—which was to say, most weren't caused by her but by the circumstances she's in—the same sky she's been in love with.

If she were to describe the deep feelings of respect and admiration in one word; but then again, love isn't exactly as felt by her in comparison by so many others describing love in it's intricacies and that's okay. It's okay but sometimes, it does get confusing and an isolating feeling, an experience she can't even imagine to have.

"Do you ever wish your eyes were brown?" She asked as they walked out of the medical bay, bag never leaving her with it slung over her shoulders.

Mikaela pretended to think hard, glancing from her peripheral to give her a grin; a physical space between them barely seen but felt, and it was appreciated, "so many times. I bought a bunch of brown contact lenses for that reason. It's a shame it's left back home."

"Both would suit you."

"I know," clearing her throat and angling her cheeks so only the back of her head was seen, she looked over to her shoulder, her hand twitching as if roughly calling it back to not take her own hand with hers, "c'mon! The sun's pretty cool by this time." Picking her pace, Mikaela looked over to her shoulder and smoothly directed her to a path with lesser people.

People she still exchanged greeting and waves and nod, pleasantries with. It was a habit she grew up with and never outgrew with as all things that usually come with childhood. 

A simple tap on her shoulder, her gaze un-blurred like a newly wiped window clean from the dirt; her senses were overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of life brimming outside the medical bay and the dangy old military hangar they settled in—obvious at the fact this place was offered by last minute preparations, totally unprepared for their arrival and it was understandable. Everything did happen fast; started too early and ended too quickly, it was understandable. It was also, regardless of logic, understandable she still feel irritated. 

It was so isolated from civilization! The technology, as far as she's seen from the briefest tour she had ever been and untouched by the technologically advanced mechanisms, are outdated! The facilities are collecting dust, the staff were definitely stationed by the last possible notice if ever, and the only, and only, redeeming quality this place had given her was the ocean and the skies!

If they were to be ambushed in an environment like this; without the proper support and proper facilities, supplies, and technology—they'd be caught dead before reinforcements, if Lennox's group has coordinated with whoever superior he was serving, have other groups to support them in times of need.

Because if she was right, and most likely she is, the decepticons have flight vehicles—fighter jets on their side.

The autobots don't have one. What they have is, however, human pilots. Put said human pilots against beings that's literally built for the same purpose? Mankind don't shred half a chance unless their pilots are the geniuses among the geniuses.

Either the person Lennox was serving didn't coordinate with the right people, had a weak position of the group, or they didn't truly prepare nor expected the outcome to be this. In which case, a dumb move.

Looking around the place; crouching down and sitting on the sand, she puckered her lips. This place would've been better off as some kind of training facility than the actual base of operations. Isolated from distractions, spacious hangars, and technology that could be improved; this is a perfect place for beginners to train along with an autobot or interacting with a human.

Hand sliding along the sand, the waves washing off the shore as it splashes and fills the air with the salt the water carries; her back landed on the soft with a muted thump. Mikaela smiling beside her, also sitting and aimlessly playing with the sand too.

"You missing home?" She asked, watching the sun dipped to the horizon and casting an orange tint to illuminate the place and cast an illusion of the environment being orange or a warm color. Her chest tingles as if them agreeing with her observation, "I could draw home, whatever your home is."

Mikaela paused from her movements, drawing a breathless chuckle and continuing playing with the sand, "you up for it?"

"Always up for a creative pursuit, Ela," she said, taking off her eyes from the sight to take out the materials which are as usual: a sketchbook and a pencil, eraser—moldable, clay eraser then after a moment pondering, a sharpener. Glimpsing the redness on the former's cheeks then to the tips of her ears when she tucked her hair. 

The feeling of unease settled to the pits of her stomach; flicking her eyes and pretending she didn't see nothing out of the ordinary, however, what use of pretending when her smile felt the same as all the facades she used in the political schemes in her profession? 

Ah. The tell-tale signs of a crush—possibly leading to a romantic nature, was forming. Or, had it already been formed?

Her smile felt plastic all of the sudden; she was at her natural environment. Pretending in everything she does. The pencil gaining weight between her fingers, her chest flashed with warmth. A comfort she ground herself with.

"So? Anyone in mind?"

Mikaela pulled herself closer towards her, nearly brushing shoulders if she moved her arm even as little as a nudge; the burst of heat centered her chest and about to rapidly, probably, shoot out to warn off Mikaela like an animal with the defensive mechanism part of their body.

Does she consider the Allspark as part of her own now? 

Sighing softly, she retracted the sensation of internal heat sprinting towards the area off-limits to intruders with a firm yet also weak resolve of letting it happen as natural as everything that happened so far with her. She didn't, the heat didn't fight back but it did resisted a little like a stubborn entity of getting upset in her place. 

From the back of her head, she could almost vaguely, make out the drone of Mikaela describing her home is, unsurprisingly, it was a place that didn't remind her of her history, the record of crimes she didn't regret yet had also wished to not resort in the first place at the same time. She described home as the place where she was free of restraints, to simply feel like a teenager with the skill of fixing vehicles.

She looked down to see her hand had created exactly the portrayal of her home: herself working at a vehicle with her father and their men moving around in a tiny but one that gets by, mechanic shop. 

Her eyes lingered on the image of Mikaela and dad's beaming at each other, examining the interaction as if entirely foreign and a concept she had yet to understand. "So this is what home looks like to you." She said, smiling without a hint of genuine happiness nor awe other than to make appearances; coordinate with the correct responses. The grip on her pencil unnoticeably tightening, flexing under the bandages; she hummed and hand the sketchbook for her to look at. 

Ignoring the sharp intake of breath as her head swiveled to look on the horizon; her ears picked something across the distance. A mechanical whirr of engines, vibrations made through the sand and she turned to face her other side with a quirk of one eyebrow, "Jazz?"

The sun, gone with it's glow as the night had taken control of the skies. It basked the natural shimmer a cybertronian had on them, on their armour. And her eyes might had gaze longer on the details of his armour with the latter giving an amused smirk of his lips; she raised her head to meet his visor. 

Unaware of her hand loosening around the pencil as Jazz, similarly to her, also took in the way her eyes glinted in the way their armour does. A small semblance between her kind to theirs, it brought a small glint of fascination under his visor. Mikaela, someone long registered by his sensors, only truly came into attention when Eloise shifted her attention to her and likewise, making his attention shift as well.

"Not to be nosy or anything, but are you two like, romantically involved?" Mikaela asked seemingly out of nowhere. A weary smile on her face, a flash of something appearing in her eyes at the display the pair was showing in front of her. A common interaction between the two that formerly didn't disturb her but now, it does. It sent her stomach to churn in a way extreme rollercoasters and the way Ratchet drove earlier hadn't achieved.

For a moment, the pair simply blinked and looked at her.

Then, Eloise snickered, "hey, what bought that up?"

Jazz still standing, cocked his helm to the side in curiosity. Sharing her amusement as he crossed his arms over to his chassis. "Yeah, we that obvious?"

"Jazz, keep this up and they'll have a rumor about us soon," Eloise teased, tone light but her gaze meaning the opposite of what she meant to convey. She was serious although hidden very well.

The sabotuer, surprisingly, didn't find himself opposed of that idea, looking at her with a widening smirk, "don't like being with me? I'll tell you, Eli. I'm one of a kind."

"And you're one step away of being kind-a ignored if you keep this up."

"Harsh, Eli."

Mikaela arched a perfectly maintained eyebrow at them, they were two of them and yet not one of them answered her question. 

Her question was answered soon enough when Jazz gave her a small disarming smile, a passing glimpse of his attention poured to her as she felt, like some remnant of an instinct behind during their evolution for survival, uncomfortably cold at his smile. 

Deep within her gut, she felt like she received her answer in a way she hadn't anticipated it to be nor exactly wanted it to be received. Her lips purse and she broke her gaze from the pair.

Eloise, of course, noticed her sudden withdrawal and kind as she is, rest one hand to her shoulder with another offering the finished drawing of her "home" was, she had truly kept her half-hearted promise of giving something to her when she had her means of creating masterpieces. Mikaela took it with a shuddering breath, made all too aware of an intense gaze boring down above her head until her fingers clasped the other end of the paper and took it from her to keep it close to her chest. The heated gaze was lifted from her the moment her hand was removed from her shoulder.

"Do you want to come along with us, Ela?" Eloise asked, a small smile on her face.

"I think I'll stay for a bit longer here. Gotta take in this scenery before coming back home, right?"

For a moment, Eloise looked at her with something in her eyes. Something indescribable and too hard to pin down with how rapid she was to rein in her feelings, Mikaela was left stumped as the latter nodded in understanding and a mischievous grin pulled both her cheeks beautifully, 

"Do you want me to call Sam over?"

"Eli, please. Just go."

The voice that answered her was pleasant laughter and watching Eloise stand and grin at her made the weight on her chest lighter with it, her smile alone carried away the supposedly homesickness she was feeling of being thrashed in an environment of such violence, politics, and in an isolated island at that.

Mikaela simply watched as Eloise and Jazz walked side by side away from her and retreating inside and only then, did her eyes tiredly shifted back to the crashing waves coming to shore.

Man, no one ever told her one of the competitor would be a giant robot.

He felt her gaze on him as he walked through the corridors, his footsteps not leaving an echo as the only one traveling in the path he had taken; the path of their hangar, "something on your mind, babygirl?"

Eloise hummed under her breath, his audial receptors turning up to the noise as he cocked his helm a little to the side. He felt like he was under the subject of her curiosity, studying him in a way no one had hoped to be successful; he let her with an amused glint in his visor. 

"It just.. is everything alright with the bond of the humans and autobots?" She asked with a tilt of her head, eyes taking the glow of his visor as his lips, minuscule in remembering the events, pulled downwards. 

Jazz pursed his lips, "ya really wanna know?"

She grinned at him playfully, raising one eyebrow in amusement, "would I ask if I wasn't, pretty mech?"

He snorted, chuckling lightly and if she was any bigger than half of his height. He would've playfully smacked her shoulder in return but alas, she was only a tall human by their standards. Not by them though, the Arcee triplets would enjoy her for being adorably small. "Anymore pet names like that and you'll have me by your hands, you know?"

"What? Like you aren't already by my hands?" She asked with a smirk. 

He blinked his optics, resetting it as his vision returned and cleared once more. His breath hitching, he shook his helm with a tiny smile, "nice try, but it'll take more than a couple of pet names to have me fully succumb to your will."

Snorting, Eloise turned around ahead with her hand lightly resting on his shoulder kibble, it felt cold to the touch and his sensors were all but thrumming with a pleasant buzz of how good it feels, "seeing how you're avoiding my question, I'll assume it didn't go well. What happened, Jazz?"

His claws involuntarily unsheathed, frown becoming apparent as his optics narrowed, "Captain Lennox offered for our forces to merge but how the slag would that happen if the humans are too guarded with us? And that incident with leaving you back to Starscream and then, you saving Captain Lennox from his early grave." He clicked his glossa, stopping in his movements as he took a couple of deep breath, regaining some semblance of composure no matter how scathing his spark burned in the memories, adding with a sardonic smirk as he resumed his walk, "personal feelings got involved as you can see but we'll smoothen things out soon enough."

Eloise was quiet for a moment, "give him a chance, Jazz. He's fixing his mistake."

Engines whirring loudly, he growled, lowly hissing his response, "mistake? Seems like no mistake when he done all that. You nearly died multiple times from his choices, Eloise."

"He's regretting it a lot and didn't he offer this opportunity to—"

"That's not the point here. The point here is, you almost died." Taking another deep breath and releasing it through his vents, he looked away with dentas clenched in brimming anger, "two times in front of me."

And judging from how she went quiet, he snorted and looked at her with a dry grin, "Ratchet and I saw you."

"What?"

"The bullet almost took you out too. You and Captain Lennox, did you know?"

Pursing her lips, Eloise offered no response other than to breath out and swipe her fingers through her hair, eyebrows furrowed, "so that's where the high-pitched squeal was. Was that your battle protocols going off or something?"

Orbital ridges furrowing, he paused to stand in front of their hangar, "you... how are you able to hear that far?" To hear Ratchet's medical alarms going off as well as the internal protocols activating, his optics narrowed thougfully. Were her movements not one of luck, after all?

Eloise turned to him, smiling sweetly as she chuckled, "have you figured it out yet?"

Ah, she wouldn't have died because that was how sharp her hearing is. The weight holding his spark in prison fell away like chains he had slipped out of like grease, he entered their hangar with an entertained smile, "you smart, sweetspark. You're too good for a human sometimes."

The scenery clanging into narrow hallway into a spacious space where hastily scrapped computers matching of their size was littered to the middle of the room and enveloping the rest of the corners, a lively static of electricity coursing inside as the four cybertronians, seemingly stationed with different purposes, all turned to the entrance.

He sensed Eloise's attention pouring out towards Ratchet, the medic already marching to where he stood with a determined expression coating his fsceplates as his optics zeroed on the being sitting by his shoulder plate. He put one servo to his hip and watched with placid amusement at how Ratchet was hell bent on taking her from him as soon as possible, cradling her to his servo and turning her over and about.

Unsurprisingly, Eloise complied without much of a complaint. Her expression, in intimately knowing and seeing her vulnerable had somewhat getting a grip of her cues, was controlled. She plastered a smile, grinning and as usual, joking with Ratchet but if he dare say, he knew better, she was worried in a way Ratchet is to her.

It made him crossed his arms over to his chassis, watching the exchange quietly. 

"Jazz." He shifted his gaze to the voice, Optimus Prime regarded him with a neutral look, one where he knew something was off yet the latter didn't want the rest to know, his peds moved towards their leader, "we require your assistance, follow me."

Follow he did, letting him be lead on one of the computer and the monitor showing unusual movements his installed program were detecting. Standing before it, servos already clicking away to further analyze with a few rapid clicks to gain more access from hacking to multiple networks easily and his visor darkened. 

"Decepticons." He locked on the signal, putting the coordinates to know exactly what the place would mean to the decepticons for them to step there. He knew of the answer already, as well as Optimus standing beside him. Still, he checked and it confirmed everything.

It confirmed that there are energon deposit in Earth. It confirmed that the decepticons would have stable supply of fuel from now on. And it confirmed Soundwave's suspicions against the autobots harboring the Allspark bearer. 

Sensors detecting a few approaching figure, Ratchet stood to his other side with Eloise sitting on his servo, both intently watching the monitor as Ironhide and Bumblebee remained to their station, furiously clicking buttons.

"They discovered one of the energon deposit," Ratchet lingered on his words, optics never straying far from the screen, "Eloise, would you happen to know anything about this?"

"I do." She simply answered, Ratchet wasn't surprised and waited for more with a thin line of his lips, "I gave the coordinates to Ravage—"

"Ravage?" Ironhide lifted his helm with a dangerous glow of his increasingly brightening optics, "did I hear that right?"

He pursed his lips, helm pivoting to observe Ironhide. His state wasn't well, obviously not taking the revelation as good as the rest of the group. He shuttered his optics, ready to be the middleman of a heated discussion about to take place when he was promptly stopped by her voice.

"Yeah, do you have any opposition by that tone, Ironhide?" Eloise asked, a small smile on her face with her eyes keenly staring at the latter, she looked kind, she sounded kind. But her words, it sent a tingling feeling similar to electricity touching the surface of his armour.

Ironhide turned to her, his back on the console as Bumblebee shared a look with him. He held his gaze and the scout understood, standing beside Ironhide. "Tell me, are you a decepticon sympathizer?"

He knew Ironhide's words hit the mark straight but Eloise didn't falter. Ratchet, however, was already glowering at Ironhide behind her. 

"I don't know anything about your full history with eachother but I do know the current events and how it'll lead to some with less death rolls." Holding up one hand when Ironhide was about to retort, she added sharply, "answer me this, would you rather the decepticons know that there's existing energon deposits here, make a mess finding it, and leaving chaos in their wake resulting in us cleaning up their mess with the ruined place, people, and wrecking the trust of humans on you or," planting a heavy emphasis, Ironhide narrowed his optics at her and clump his mouth shut for a moment to hear the alternative, "you give one—one energon deposit to placate their desperation and earn more time for this side to think some plan?"

Ironhide crossed his arms over to his chassis, growling, "you think they'll be satisfied at one enegon deposit, youngling?"

Eloise sighed, looking at her bandaged hands thougfully, "I think not."

"Exactly! They're greedy! They won't stop at nothing and who's to say they won't do whatever it takes to get you, huh?"

The air turned heavy the moment his words came out of his mouth and was registered by their processors whirring twice the usual pace. Only the steady noise of the beeping signals and the whirr of engines were heard, Eloise closed her eyes and Ratchet moved her closer to his chassis, worry in his optics as it flickered and fluctuated to bright and dim.

"Optimus, are the decepticons the kind to kill someone based on their usefulness?" She asked in a whisper.

Taken aback, Optimus Prime blinked his optics at her as his mouth parted slightly, "Eloise... have you garnered their interest?"

Eloise turned her head away from them to look at the monitor, the light from it illuminating her features in a way that made her look exhausted. It highlighted and similarly, darkened the areas of her face to appear as such but in his observation of her, he felt his spark twitch. 

She looked empty, the glazed look in her eyes wasn't a facade to hide the turmoil of her emotions that was always active and making it's appearance known everytime.

"Please answer me, Optimus."

"Their system is solely built of one's own abilities, if one had outlived their usefulness then..." an uncomfortable yet simmering anger appeared in his optics and he clenched his servos into a fist, "it was said the body is never found far from the splatters of blood."

"And how high up is Soundwave in the chain of command?"

Ratchet paled behind her, looking at her with widened optics as the rest narrowed their optics at the questions except for one. Him.

Ratchet knowingly looked between the pair, "how long did you know, Jazz?"

"Not too long, since you left us alone in the human medbay." He answered curtly.

Ratchet closed his optics, taking a breather and the existence of the beeping signal was a distant memory, "how did Soundwave entice you to switch sides?"

"Soundwave impersonated the president when I bluffed against Sector Seven." 

Optimus Prime felt tension through his wires, the kink in his frame making it's appearance known to further irritate him as his processor run a thousand stimulation of how drastic the situation had gotten out of hand, "Soundwave, I presume Jazz had told you of his position amongst the decepticons, yes?" At her nod, he continued with a hiss of his gears, "he could be considered the hidden figurehead of the decepticon movement, one of the pinnacle foundation supporting the movement and an influential figure in league of Megatron, himself."

Eloise nodded her head, a hand to her chin as she looked down to stare at Ratchet's digit, "and in a probability that Ravage is his own, and died while with us. Would he seek vengeance?"

"Indeed, Soundwave treats his comrades as part of himself. Given that he may only have a select few he established that deep of a connection. He considers any action to his comrade as one would utter before him as well."

Eloise smiled, her expression lightening into entertainment, "ah, if he's interested in me to personally recruit me himself. Does that mean, at some level, he already consider me as his own based on my usefulness of serving him well?"

Bumblebee looked at him with widened optics, :: is she... considering to switch sides?::

:: no, she has a plan.:: Albeit a plan he persobally thinks wouldn't like, he looked at her with a quirk of an orbital ridge, "what are you hinting at?"

She turned to him, a twinkle in her black irises similar to when he thought of something that majority considered as stupidly risky yet bearing of big rewards. He didn't like the twinkle in her eyes of closely resembling too much of his own.

"I'm thinking of letting them take me."

"Preposterous! Ridiculous!" Ratchet glared at her, a long drawn out protest of his engines as his optics brightened, "that is the most moronic and stupidest idea I had ever heard in all my life!"

Eloise turned to him, placating smile on her face as she brought up both arms in surrender, "of course not now."

"As if that's make things better." He grumbled with a glare.

"Ratchet." She looked at him with exasperation, frowning at him, "unless there's someone on their side that would want to hurt me just because. I don't think anyone of them would want to hurt someone that Soundwave personally recruited."

The autobots blinked at her. Were she seriously considering of this route? Jazz completely turned to her, servos on his sides as he studied her quietly for a moment.

"Babygirl, if not now then when?"

"Until they have no need to actively kidnap me yet."

He watched her lean back, the glaze look in her eyes fleetingly appearing before it was blinked out of existence. He considered of her being perhaps too tired to think, :: Ratchet, what is her condition?::

:: that's the thing. The Allspark is withholding her state of condition vehemently. All the scans are negative, no problems.::

Hissing under his breath, he closely observed her with his own optics. Thinking of several scenarios of methods they could utilize without resorting to, like giving out candy, her to their grasps. Surely there must be, another different kind of beeping took their attention and they all swiveled their attention to the front as Bumblebee whirred.

"Incoming shuttle, multiple passengers! Confirming faction..." Bumblebee hurriedly clicked around the buttons, focused solely before his doorwings lifted up to flutter vigorously, "confirmed energon signatures, all identified passengers are autobots."

Identified Passengers: Autobot Sideswipe, Autobot Sunstreaker, Autobot Mirage, and Autobot Jolt.

All the individual profiles of the respective autobot was displayed to the screen, Bumblebee verifying the identity with a nod.

The insignia of a red showed to the screen, just above the beacon rapidly flying as if falling to the atmosphere. Eloise narrowed her eyes, pinpointing rough estimations on which country it'll take land of, "Jazz, can you redirect them to be as nearby to our coordinates?"

Jazz opened the comm frequency of the ship, an error in bold letters stopped him and he bypassed it with little to no problem, securing himself a weak communication status with the passengers enough to just send a simple coordinate that hopefully they'll follow, with the signal shaky from how damage the vessel was, he couldn't give himself much of an identification other than to leave a special mark his agents ought to know at first glance.

The ship's trajectory changed, it was falling straight to where he sent the coordinates. It was great that Mirage, one of his agents, is in that vessel, no one in the autobots would've trusted that source of coordinates popping out of nowhere with almost no distinct mark bearing of an autobot origin. Not when Soundwave is on the loose. He taught everyone better than that.

Spotting Optimus Prime, remaining quiet and brooding the entire exchange, sneaking a glance at the quiet Allspark bearer, he grit his dentas together. The moment their left alone, he would talk to her. See for himself on how she came up with such suicidal plan only mechs like him could possibly think of and go through.

Eloise stood up, patting Ratchet's digit, "Optimus with me, we'll need to cooperate with Lennox to mobilize a team." Optimus, his face mask gone and revealing his lips that parted slightly before closing, nodded and offered his servo to her. A flick of his finnials as she carefully stepped on his palm, "what vehicles are most compatible with their frames? Send the schematics with the Earth type vehicle that would suit them well." 

They watched the two engaged in a deep conversation with Optimus seemingly pleased and surprised by her show of professionalism. His attention was broken when someone tapped his shoulder plate and he turned to them, it was Bumblebee. 

"She'll be a great liaison."

Usually, as the leader of his faction, he would've been the one to lead troops, issue orders and commands, and to appease the situation all by himself with advisors giving their own input and yet all was clear, it was usually his call of what to do next.

Now, he vividly knows how the advisors felt like as he stood behind Eloise, talking to the president on the screen by their native language his processors determined as Hindi, the language of India and the closest country for the autobot ship to land on.

Captain Lennox occasionally threw him a glance as he stood close to her, it must be on the matter that Jazz had mentioned of combining the strength into one. He flickered his optics back as the president of India gave their traditional parting farewell which she executed excellently.

The screen went dark and Eloise turned to him with her usual smile in place however, there was... something lacking in her eyes. By how dark her irises was, it wasn't strange that light won't emit from there but perhaps, it wasn't in a literal sense but rather than a figure of speech. 

His spark uncomfortably quenched at the sight.

"The president of India permitted to take any repercussions done in their country as unintentional damage or collateral damage. They'll go along with the cover story and if needed to be, will hide the newly arrivals until we arrive to the coordinates."

Captain Lennox crossed his arms, leaning his weight to one foot, "how did you convince him?"

"Let's just say that's one allied country to us." She said with a sly smirk, winking at him and chuckling, "and Captain, prepare two groups. How many carriers do you have here currently?"

"General Morshower overlooks the deployment of aircrafts, Sergeant Epps issues orders so you're asking the wrong man but we currently have," he looked to his side where Epps stood and holding up four fingers for Lennox, he turned back to her, "four carriers."

"Optimus," his spinal strut unintentionally straightening at the unheard command of her voice, he faced her with optics zooming on her figure, leaning forward, "is four carriers enough to take whoever on-base autobot there while taking in account of the new arrivals?"

The twins would've not want to be separated thus one carrier will be for them, Jolt and Mirage could stay together and the rest of the remaining carrier can be occupied by the in-base autobots which would be himself and Ratchet, if diplomacy were unstable. He pursed his lips, perhaps since Mirage is there then Jazz, his commanding officer, would be more suitable and being his second lieutenant would fare well. 

Jazz is adaptable, flexible at any circumstance he easily overcomes with skills and as he says, style. He shifted his attention back to her and hummed, "the two carriers are sufficient to accomodate the newly arrivals while one would be utilized by Jazz and Ratchet. And for the remaining carrier, might I suggest for the vehicles that is to be scanned be put there?"

Eloise considered his words, making him look at her with a subtle flick of his finnials when the light in her eyes brightened as she smiled at him a little, "good thinking, Optimus. Captain Lennox, any other input?"

"Nothing, we'll do it by his arrangement." Lennox answered with a firm nod.

"Alright, you'll be traveling for five hours." And the rest went into thorough planning. Of her explaining and assisting in any way she can to look and take account every possibility as if an almost carbon copy of Prowl; it made his gaze warm, melt into fondness before it extinguished itself into worry. Prowl was one of their many comrades left on Cybertron, he knew and trusted his capabilities very well but why had the tactician not contacted any of them yet? 

The sense of foreboding hadn't gone away as his jaw clenched and for his servos to curl inwards for a half-formed fist.

What was the situation on Cybertron? Did the tides of war drastically worsen when they left in pursue of the Allspark? 

Allspark, his gaze unconsciously landed to the figure of the human. Such small entity harboring more than their body can possibly adapt on; he averted his attention from her and focused on contacting Jazz and Ratchet by sending a ping to head towards their location.

The thought of Eloise considering to offer herself in willingly going to the Decepticons hasn't left his processors. Rather, it plagued him and sickened and twisted his reserves in ways that was unsavory. He closed his optics briefly and opened, steeling his resolve once more at the familiar pair of signatures closing on them.