Transformers Prime: Project Predacon

I'll Keep Waiting. . . (100 Years)

Smokescreen opened his optics lazily, his vision fuzzy for a moment. The lights above him were blindingly numb for a moment before his focus became clearer. He lay on the mobile berth, wondering for a moment what he was doing there before his memories returned to him. He looked around the room, stopping on a frame that sat in the corner, leaning over far enough to nearly knock himself out of the chair.

"Hey, docbot!" Smokescreen called groggily. Ratchet nearly shot out of his chair, attention sparked after a lack of noise for 18 hours besides the occasional knock on the door from another member of the Autobots.

"Smokescreen! By Primus, I thought we lost you." Ratchet hurried to his berthside, reading the monitors Smokescreen was hooked up to and typing several things into the computer before starting to remove the sensors attached to his frame. The cordial psychic patch remained attached, however, and Ratchet eyed it nervously for a time.

"You can take it off, now. We're ready." Ratchet watched the frame on the berth next to Smokescreen anxiously. The femme had yet to stir.

"Hold still, then." Ratchet moved around the table to Summer first, taking a shaky breath before unhooking her from the patch and promptly removing the other end from Smokescreen's helm. "Sit up. Slowly, please. You've been out for 18 earth hours. I imagine you're either well rested, or pretty beat up." Smokescreen sat upright, taking his time and finding his balance. He looked left and right, up and down as well. Besides being groggy and the world was a little shaky, he was doing okay. "It was a long night. How are you feeling? What did you see?" Ratchet pressed, glancing over at Summer's still frame. He watched the monitor for a moment before turning his gaze finally to Smokescreen, searching for answers. Smokescreen recalled what he remembered, talking about his battle with fervor and pride. He did not recount any of the memories that he saw while knocking around Seasonal Prime's mind, he felt that maybe the information was too personal and he wasn't sure if Summer had any memory of meeting any of the team at all. Better to be safe than sorry, he supposed. Ratchet wheeled the chair back over to the mobile berth, listening intently and watching the monitor above Summer's helm, looking for any abnormalities that could indicate her waking. She lay still for a time, long enough that Smokescreen was able to stand and take a few steps without assistance. Ratchet commed Optimus, who arrived promptly, happy to see at least one of them awake and sane. Smokescreen told the story again, wandering around the small room, feeling better with every step he took. Optimus stood with Ratchet for a time even after Smokescreen left to find the other team members, bragging about his adventure and enjoying the taste of victory. It was still hours before Smokescreen approached Ratchet again, looking at his pedes with shame.

"I didn't exactly tell the whole story, Ratchet." Smokescreen said, wandering into the open doorway. Ratchet stood over the femme's body, monitoring electrical activity expertly.

"Do tell, then. I have time." Smokescreen lay the news on Ratchet quickly, unsure of what type of reaction the old bot would have. Ratchet was quiet for a while before he silently pulled up his chair to her side of the berth.

"I thought as much." He replied, staring into the wall blankly. He had already anticipated this type of news. If the plot was rooted before she even left Cybertron, then it was just as serious as Ratchet had known the whole time. It was Airachnid driving the body, basically. It was all an act and perhaps Summer was never even aware that her frame was being used for something so sinister. Infiltration was something that Megatron was known for, but Shockwave was the true professional. They all should have known since his return that something even more revolting was behind their first façade. It was strange, knowing this. Knowing that Ratchet had never truly met Summer again. It was strange knowing their time together wasn't real, things moved too quickly. He saw now why Optimus frowned upon inner relationships, why caring for each other deeply was too much of a risk. But why him, of all bots? Why not one of the young bucks, with eons ahead of them to make plenty of mistakes, and have a lifetime of experience headed their way? Why did it have to be the old man bot that had nothing to lose and was already sick and tired of this war? He saw how he was used. Love was weakness. Love was fuel to the fire that burned hot and hurt. Love was the worst idea imaginable. How could he be so stupid? How could he let a past mistake ruin him in the future?

Smokescreen stood with the medic for awhile. There was nothing more to say, nothing more to be done. It was all just a waiting game, now.