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Wheeljack’s Lab

Once Tracer had calmed down enough, Wheeljack decided to let go of her entirely. He slowly stood to his full height and carefully moved away from the metallic slab she was still sitting on. She seemed to trust Smokescreen, but the troubled femme still believed ‘Jack was an orderly at the asylum and Axle to be someone called Compulsor. It was evident to the scientist that the hallucinogen would have to run its course even without the field medic having to tell him as much. The mechanical engineer let out a low sigh as Axle made his way to Wheeljack’s side. The black and green mech was about to say something when he received a comm from Ratchet, demanding that he return to the Guardian’s med bay at once.

“No problem, Axle,” Wheeljack said to the retreating field medic. “I’ve got things under control here, so don’t worry.” The scientist barely had time to finish his sentence when Axle had already disappeared into the corridor outside his lab. ‘Jack let out another sigh before he peered back over his shoulder plate at the pair of star-crossed lovers. The diversion expert seemed to be keeping her calm, but how long that would last was anyone’s guess.

It was then that Wheeljack remembered he had to put in for Smokescreen and Tracer’s assignment transfer to the mad scientist’s lab. To avoid scrutiny with the higher-ups, ‘Jack decided to request approval through the automated transfer system via the Ark-22’s computer. With the engineer’s officer status, it should be no problem getting the transfer okayed without drawing any unwanted attention. Thus the white mech wasted no more time and made his way to the nearest terminal, entering the appropriate access codes as soon as he sat down. Before long he had gained admittance to the system and quickly typed in the request to have the diversion expert and troubled femme reassigned to his lab for the foreseeable future, or at least until everything that needed to be resolved was, in fact, resolved to everyone’s satisfaction.

There, that should do it, Wheeljack thought to himself as he turned around in his chair to check on the pair of mechs once more. They seemed to be doing okay with Smokescreen talking to her in a calm manner. Perhaps he was telling her another story to help jog her memory. Just as long as Tracer remained relaxed everything would be okay and a tranquilizer would not be needed. All there was for the scientist to do now was wait for the approval to come through the automated system.
_________

While Smokescreen was relieved that Tracer seemed to trust him, he was disheartened to discover that she still didn’t fully remember him and continued to think that Wheeljack and Axle worked at the asylum. She also refused to believe that a war had broken out or that she was really on board the Ark-22. The drug-addled femme then begged for him to get her out of the asylum, a look of desperation etched on her faceplate. “I’m here to help you, Tracer, in any way that I can,” Smokey insisted as he held her hand to comfort her. Axle’s whispered vocals then registered in the rallybot’s audio receptors as the field medic informed him that the hallucinogen was going to have to run its course and that he should keep her talking, hoping a tranquilizer would not be necessary.

Smokescreen gave no verbal response to the black and green medic, only nodding slightly before Axle moved away to speak with Wheeljack. That left the diversion expert alone to help the troubled scout regain her memory. Before he had the chance to say anything further, she had gotten up off of the slab and moved around behind the kneeling rallybot, whispering something to him about a quiet room. Smokey stood up and turned around to face the worried femme, placing his hands onto her shoulder plates as a gentle smile formed on his visage.

“No one’s putting you in a quiet room, I promise,” Smokescreen reassured her as he took a single step closer to Tracer. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You can trust me. You’ve always been able to trust me, remember?” The rallybot gazed into her optics, hoping to find some sign of her memory returning. He had already succeeded to a certain extent with the story of their second meeting, but it hadn’t been enough. Therefore, perhaps it was time for another story, one that would bring even more of her memories back from the confines of her processor and wake her up to the current reality that she was living in.

Removing both of his hands from her shoulders, Smokescreen lowered them until he had her own actuators intertwined with his. “Tracer, I know you don’t remember the war breaking out, but it did and it’s still going on to this day, countless vorns later. It ultimately tore us apart but not before you saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life, remember? After our second meeting at the bar, we spent a lot of additional time together. I helped you by winning more credits at the Iacon casinos and giving them to you whenever you needed them. I even taught you how to cheat without getting caught. I never asked what the credits were for. I just wanted to help you. I never realized until recently just how bad your problems were. Had I known back then, I would’ve done things differently to help you.”

Smokescreen looked away for a moment before returning his apologetic optics to her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see past my own selfish and deceitful nature. By teaching you those same traits, I was enabling you and your addiction. I was blind to your troubles just as I was blind to what was going on around us regarding the Decepticon uprising until it was too late. When that ‘Con sympathizer approached me with the hopes of recruiting me into their ranks, it was you that showed me that while I may be a lier and a cheater, I was certainly no murderer like Megatron and his goons. Change was certainly needed with all of the corruption in the senate, but not like that. You were the reason I joined the Autobots, why we both ended up joining. Remember? You saved me long before I got around to saving you, and I’ll never forget that.”

The diversion expert then slowly leaned in and kissed Tracer delicately on her chevron, all the while keeping her hands gently grasped within his own. Once the show of affection was delivered, Smokescreen pulled back again and smiled at her. “Trace, do you remember the ‘Con who had tried to recruit me? I didn’t give him an answer right away. Instead, I came to you for guidance and told you how I had always looked up to him before the war and that I was seriously considering accepting his offer. He had been a champion racer alongside the likes of Blurr, at least until the Cybertronian races had been shut down due to several Decepticon terrorist attacks. He was someone I had inspired to be just like back then, hoping to one day escape from the illegal street racing circuit and win it all in the big leagues. Remember his name, Trace?”

Wheeljack’s Lab

Tracer waited as Smokescreen stood back up from his kneeling position and turned around to face her. She only flinched slightly when he placed his hands on her shoulders but it was his gentle smile that ultimately settled her down. He seemed so sincere how could she not trust him? After all, he did say he was there to help her in any way he could.

His soothing words did comfort her unsure mind but there were still those “other” things that had to be addressed. Namely what she heard. “I was there one time. It didn’t stop the…” She cut herself off her train of thought completely lost. She searched his features for any sign that he might be trying to trick her into something…anything…there wasn’t. So sincere.

Tracer off-lined her optics and turned her head up to the ceiling letting out a heavy, weary sigh. Everything seemed so complicated what with being stuck in the asylum and being told that she was wrong. Then there was that bit about a war…and Syk? After several minutes of quiet contemplation Tracer raised her hands to the sides of her head and gently rubbed. Her processor hurt. There was just so much to take in. She on-lined her optics just as Smokescreen began to relate another story from her supposed past. The femme didn’t refuse to listen instead she focused on everything he said…she watched his every move…took note of all of his nuances.

It meant nothing. She accepted his sweet show of affection and leaned in closer when he pressed his lips to her chevron, but it still failed to bring back anything he thought she should remember. And once he was finished she offered him a small pained smile before shaking her head gently.

“No. I don’t. I don't remember.” Tracer carefully pulled away from Smokescreen and made her way back to the slab where she sat back down. She had torn her gaze from the blue and red mech and focused instead on her hands that were resting gently in her lap. The silence between them was deafening, but for Tracer she could hear everything. “I just want the screaming to stop. I can hear it more now…screaming, whimpered cries and most of them are not mine…at least not anymore.” She looked up from her hands for a moment. “At first it was the whispers…the disparaging looks…even upturned olfactory sensors that made me want to give up. Then I came here.”

The scout sighed lowly and slid back off the slab. She began to pace slowly in front of the rallybot…it wasn’t panic that drove her but instead a need to just move. “And then the screams started. ‘It’s normal’, they told me. ‘You’ll get used to it. You’ll forget all about it once you’ve had more sessions and in a vorn you’ll be cured’.” Tracer stopped in front of Smokescreen and shook her head gently. “That vorn’s long past and nothing’s changed. But…” She raised her hand and lightly brushed her fingertips along his cheek. “…you said before that you were here to help me…that you would help me in any way you can.”

The blue and white scout flashed a pained smile and stepped in just a little bit closer to the diversionary tactician. “Help me; help me make the screaming stop. They’ll never let me go and I’m tired… so very tired of hearing it.” She paused for just a moment before leaning in and placing a scant kiss on his lip plates. The gesture only lasted but a moment before Tracer pulled back far enough to whisper low so that only he could hear. “I tried. I tried to make it stop…to make it all stop, but I found out I can’t do it myself. Someone else has to do it. You have to do it.” Tracer pulled away so that she could look Smokescreen in the optics…an anguished, pleading look had made its way onto her visage… “Please.”

Wheeljack’s Lab

Another wave of disappointment washed over Smokescreen’s faceplate as Tracer told him that she could not remember the name of the Decepticon who had tried to recruit him so long ago. How could she have forgotten the one mech, a former Cybertronian racing champion, that the diversion expert had been a die hard fan of back then and who almost convinced him that the ‘Con way was the only way? The hallucinogen element in this batch of Syk was very strong, indeed, and it would take even more prodding from the rallybot in order to shake the memories from the troubled femme’s damaged processor. He had hoped that all this would have begun to wear off by now, but it appeared that there was no end in sight, not without the proper push back into reality.

Smokescreen kept a close optic on Tracer as she pulled away from him and moved back to the metallic slab where she sat down again. The diversion expert remained standing as he listened to her describe the screaming she had heard during her stay in the asylum. Smokey knew that it had been a terrible ordeal for her, but this just added a whole new layer to her suffering while incarcerated there. The rallybot wanted to say something but stopped when the hallucinating femme slid off of the berth and began to pace, continuing her descriptions of the screams and how she was told that they were normal and that she would adjust to them in time. Oh, how much Smokey wanted to go back in time and give those orderlies a real thrashing. He wanted to make them all pay for the tortures they had inflicted on Tracer when all she really wanted was to get some help and all they did was make things far worse.

The blue and white scout then moved in closer to Smokescreen and begged him to help her make the screaming stop forever. Tracer leaned forward and placed a delicate kiss on the diversion expert’s lips, a gesture he returned to her before she pulled back and whispered to him how she had tried to make it stop before but that she had failed. She needed someone else to do it and that someone was the red and blue racer standing in front of her. Smokey had said he would do anything to help her and she took him literally at his word.

Smokescreen stared back at the troubled femme as she pleaded with him to end the screaming. At first he was unsure what exactly to do for her. Did she want him to remove her audio receptors or shut them down somehow? No, that doesn’t make any sense at all, the rallybot thought as his gaze remained fixated on Tracer’s desperate visage. After a few more astroseconds, Smokey finally understood what she meant by “make it all stop.” It wasn’t just the screaming that she wanted to stop. It was her very spark and thus her overall suffering. Doing so herself wouldn’t work, not in the asylum as the orderlies would get to her in time and repair whatever damage she had managed to cause. Tracer had no control over anything in that place, not even her own life.

“No,” the diversionary tactician replied with a shocked expression etched deeply on his faceplate. He took a step back from her as his mouth quivered with what he was about to say to her next. “Are you serious? You want me to end your life!? No! NO! I will NOT do that, Tracer! I will not! I can NOT!!” An emotional Smokescreen looked to the ceiling and then to the floor as he searched for the right words. He wanted to avoid calling her crazy or insane as that would only make things worse. Still, he needed to get through to her somehow and he needed to do so now.

Smokescreen returned his full attention to the troubled femme who was now asking him to extinguish her own spark. He moved towards her quickly and grabbed her firmly by the shoulder plates again. “Now you listen to me, Tracer, I will NOT kill you, not now, not EVER! Do you understand me?! I just got done risking my own spark to save yours and to help you beat this eternal addiction to Syk! Remember?!” The rallybot shook the troubled femme as he raised his voice so that she would be sure to hear him over some non-existent screaming. “Remember how I went down with you to Earth, the planet that we are currently orbiting? Remember how you went to see your dealer, Oil Slick, in order to get more Syk? Then I followed you and attacked him, stealing some of the drug before we raced back to the shuttle. Your dealer followed and my old body was decimated by his acidic chemicals. REMEMBER?! You came to my rescue and when we finally got back up here to the Ark-22, Wheeljack and Axle saved my Trinity organs and built me a whole new body from scratch. They’re NOT orderlies, they’re our friends! They helped us! I almost died for you, Tracer! I was willing to sacrifice myself to save you, so I’ll be damned if I help you to die!!”

The rallybot held firm to the troubled femme’s now shaking body, desperate to finally get through to her. “You will remember, Tracer! You have to remember! You will dig deep inside of your processor and pull out these memories that I know are still in there. Because death is simply not an option, Tracer! No way in the Pit! I love you too much and I refuse to harm you in any way, shape or form!” Smokescreen paused for a moment, allowing himself to finally calm down long enough for him to regain some semblance of composure. “Now, tell me the name of the ‘Con that tried to recruit me,” Smokey continued, this time in a whispered tone. “You know his name. Tell me what it is! Tell me that you remember not only that but everything else, as well!”
_________

The computer console began to beep, drawing Wheeljack’s attention back to the terminal. After a moment of scanning the screen, the mechanical engineer saw exactly what he wanted to see. The automated system had granted the transfer requests for both Tracer and Smokescreen. They were now officially reassigned to the mad scientist’s lab until further notice, giving them all plenty of time to sort things out to everyone's satisfaction.

Good, now I can move on to more important matters, Wheeljack thought as he stood back up and made his way across the main lab to where the replicator was still sitting on one of the worktables. Considering the troubled femme’s adverse reaction to the reproduced Syk, it was now necessary to re-calibrate the amount of hallucinogen within the narcotic, lowering the levels to such a degree that would avoid a similar reaction with future doses. The white mech had to be careful not to lower the offending element too much or even eliminate it all together as that could also cause a negative reaction that could be just as bad as seeing things that weren’t there. The Syk still needed to keep Tracer’s underlying condition under control as well as her addiction for the time being. Altering the drug too much might decrease its effectiveness, causing her withdrawal symptoms to return much sooner than normal and possibly with greater intensity.

As Wheeljack began accessing the Syk ingredients that were stored on the replicator’s processor, the sound of Smokescreen yelling at Tracer drew the mechanic’s attention away from the device. “Now what?” The scientist muttered quietly to himself as he moved away from the worktable and over to the doorway that lead into the back room. ‘Jack stopped in his tracks as he listened to the red and blue racer tell the hallucinating femme that he would not assist in terminating her life before informing Tracer of all that he had sacrificed recently to help her. The rallybot was clearly desperate now, trying everything he could to make her remember that she was no longer in the asylum. Whether this more aggressive approach would work any better than previous attempts was yet to be seen. It was all that could be done at this point since she apparently wanted to kill herself, a likely byproduct of the hallucinogen.

Regardless, Wheeljack decided to keep his distance and let the diversion expert deal with the situation as he saw fit. Smokescreen seemed to know Tracer better than anyone and thus that made him sort of a de facto expert when it came to her well being. If the engineer’s help was required, he would certainly be there for his red and blue friend. Until that time, however, ‘Jack simply waited over by the entranceway with cautious optimism that the hallucinogen would finally start to wear off soon.

Wheeljack’s Lab

Tracer’s newly repaired optics remained trained on Smokescreen as she waited with some semblance of patience for the blue and red mech to respond to her request. She was desperate for it all to end…the pain, the voices, the suffering…all of it needed to end. She knew there was no leaving the asylum; no escaping either. The only way out was by her own initiative, which had already proven unsuccessful, or, now, employ an envoy on her behalf…which is where Smokescreen came in.

The small unsure smile that was on Tracer’s face faltered when the mech before her finally gave her the answer she was waiting for; unfortunately it was not the answer she desired. She was ready to make another plea when Smokescreen quickly moved toward her and grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. The movement caught Tracer off guard forcing her to take half a shaky step back. Her optics brightened in surprise at what then flowed from the diversionary tactician’s vocalizer; it was both unexpected and disheartening.

A deep frown worked onto her face as she cringed ever so slightly at the mech’s raised voice. Tracer listened, unfortunately that was the only thing she could do while the upset bot tried to convince her that her way was not the right way. How could he possibly know what was right for her or what could help her? Her mind whirled with other possibilities if this endeavor did not pan out the way she liked.

Again, his aggressive actions had Tracer flinching unsure if he would go beyond just jostling her to get his point across.

And then he stopped. He began to calm down which made it easier for him to compose himself. Tracer watched his every move the vigor with which he had presented his case was intense…he believed in her, he believed that what he was telling her was the truth. If that was so then why didn’t she?

His calm, soothing whispered question drew her in completely, but her mind simply could not process the answer he was after. She stared at him…gazing into his optics…a grief-stricken expression etched deep onto her face. Several long moments passed before she frowned and gently shook her head in the negative. She just couldn’t remember.

Tracer let out a low moan before stepping in close to Smokey. She gently laid her head on his shoulder resting it just beside his cheek. Her arms then snaked around and under his arms until the palms of her hands pressed firmly against his back. The femme pressed in close and whispered into his audio. “I’m sorry. I just don’t…I’m sorry.”

She stayed like that for nearly a full breem, her optics off-line and her frame pressed close to his. And then a smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she on-lined her optics, yet she refused to pull away. Instead she whispered to him…low and sure. “It was Drag Strip. You loved watching him race. Hated it when I told you Blurr was so much better.” Tracer paused a moment trying to gather her thoughts and search through the newly-found lost memories. “”You are so much better than you think you are.”" "That’s what I told you. That’s what I believed, and that’s what I’d hoped you believed.”

Wheeljack’s Lab

Smokescreen waited patiently for an answer as Tracer stepped in closer to him and placed her head onto his shoulder plate. The diversion expert’s anger and aggression all but disappeared at the feeling of her arms wrapping around him with her open hands against his back. He returned the favor by pulling her into his own loving embrace. Smokey then listened as she whispered into his audio receptor that she still could not remember the name of the ‘Con who had tried to recruit him. The resulting reaction from the rallybot was not more anger this time, but sadness as another exasperated sigh escaped from his vocalizer.

The red and blue racer off-lined his optics and remained silent, all the while continuing to hold her close to him. Perhaps the sound of his own spark pulsating within his chest cavity would elicit some kind of memory from her. It was certainly worth a try even if it was a long shot to be certain. Then, after what seemed like a million breems, Smokescreen heard the troubled femme in his arms whisper to him again. The rallybot half expected her to plead with him again to help her end her life, but instead she finally said the name, Drag Strip! But, not only that, Tracer remembered how she had told Smokey that Blurr was a better racer and how much the diversion expert thought that was a load of slag, at least at the time, anyway.

“Yes!” Smokescreen exclaimed as he on-lined his optics and pulled back only slightly so that he was able to gaze down into her tortured visage. “That’s right, Tracer, it was Drag Strip! I knew you would remember! And I remember arguing with you for cycles on end that he was a far better racer than the overrated Blurr. Of course, little did I know Drag’s true nature underneath that famous facade he exhibited for his fans, including myself. What a major letdown it was for me to find out what kind of fragger he really was. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but you made me see the truth and also to believe in myself as being more than just a street racer and gambler. You showed me that I could be someone important and that I could make a real difference. It’s the whole reason I joined the Autobots.”

The rallybot cast a warm smile at her, hoping that the memories trapped within her processor would start to pour out now. However, he could not stop prodding her for more of those precious memories. Smokescreen needed to keep at it for Tracer’s sake. “Remember when we first enlisted? We both went down to the local recruitment center and did it together. We even ended up in the same boot camp! Remember? You were so nervous while I was acting all calm and cool even though I was just as nerve racked as you. The drill sergeant really busted my chops back then, practically knocked the smirk right off my faceplate. Remember who that was, Tracer? Come on, you know him! He's pretty hard to forget!”
_________

Wheeljack remained by the doorway to the back room as he watched the tense situation between Smokescreen and Tracer dissolve into a calm and loving embrace. The mad scientist let out a relieved sigh as the rallybot continued to expand upon their story, prompting her to give him more and more information regarding their past together. Good, keep it up, Smokey, the white mech thought to himself. She should eventually come out of her delusional state. Just don’t let up. Persistence and patience are all that’s required now.

The mechanical engineer made no attempt to relay any of his thoughts to Smokescreen as he didn’t want to disrupt what the diversion expert was already doing. The rallybot had things well in hand and all was once again peaceful in the lab. Hopefully, that would continue to last for more than a breem or two with no further outbursts from the love ‘Bots. Thus, Wheeljack saw no reason to remain loitering near the doorway and quickly turned and made his way back to the workbench where the replicator was still waiting for him.

“Now, where was I?” Wheeljack muttered to himself as he sat down on a stool in front of the table. “Oh, yes, I need to recalibrate the hallucinogen within the program matrix. Shouldn’t be too hard.” The scientist then grew quiet as he went to work on re-programming his invention so that Smokescreen wouldn’t have to retell his and Tracer’s life story after each time the drug-addicted femme was given a dosage of Syk.

Wheeljack’s Lab

Tracer relished just being able to be held close by someone who sincerely cared for her. For most of her existence she was passed around, poked and prodded and treated like a lab experiment. There was no profit in it for her just the promises of making her a normal member of society. Those promises turned out to be empty. Normalcy never came to pass leaving her alone and broken in mind and spirit. But then Smokescreen had come along and things got better…life slowly started to become commonplace…just as it should be.

The femme leaned in closer to Smokescreen as he reciprocated her embrace. She kept her position even as she whispered the name of the racer that had tried to recruit him. She was startled, however, when Smokey cried out and pulled away slightly so he could look her in the eyes. Completely taken aback Tracer stared back with a shocked expression plastered on her face. Had she done something wrong, or was it something right? To her relief it turned out to be the latter.

Her shocked expression slowly turned over until a small smile worked onto her features. Her smile was due more to his excitement and his exuberance as she finally began to remember pieces of their shared past. But Tracer’s smile faltered when he started in with several more questions. The scout quickly averted her optics instead looking to the floor. Tracer took a moment just to remain near him before she slowly backed away and moved to the berth. She touched both hands to her temples and off-lined her optics. If she could recall Drag Strip and the part he played in both their lives then she was determined to remember all of it.

“Boot camp. It was…was in…Rodion.” Tracer shook her head slightly as she tried to access any memory files pertaining to her time in that particular location.There was the asylum, of course, which she quickly filed away. Searching and locating was difficult, everything in her mind was either scattered or partitioned by some kind of mental blockade. Finally, it had taken several breems, but finally she on-lined her optics and lifted her head high enough to look back at Smokescreen. “I remember he was an older mech…had an awful, dull green paint job. But that wasn’t what stood out about him…” She furrowed her brow as she stared off past the former racer. “…he used to chomp on that damned cy-gar. And he always had a story to go with any situation.”

Tracer’s optics met with the red and blue ‘Bot’s as she smiled and slowly made her way back to stand in front of him. “I never thought it was possible to be so enthralled and so bored at the same time. Kup made it easy though.” Tracer let out a light chuckle as she placed her hands gently on Smokescreen’s chest. “That introductory line up didn’t go very well for you. You nearly fell on your aft when Kup got in your face and gave you that dressing down. In fact, I almost got the same treatment trying to hold back the laugh.” The image of the past memory had her trying to stifle another laugh. It didn’t work of course.

The blue and white femme’s laughter and smile quieted down and finally stopped and vanished completely as another memory file was accessed and finally brought to the forefront of her processor. This one, however, was not one from her happier times. Tracer’s expression grew pained as she met Smokescreen’s gaze. “After training…we were separated into different units.” She let out a heavy sigh as she continued. “That was one of the hardest times of my life.”

Wheeljack’s Lab - Back Room

Smokescreen remained still for a moment, watching as the troubled femme slowly back away from him while she tried to remember their time at boot camp. Her optics were off-lined as she rubbed her temples. The first bit of her memory came quickly followed by several breems of deep concentration. “Yes, it was in Rodion. You can do it, Tracer. I have faith in you. Just block out the asylum for the time being and focus. The memories will come back to you. I promise.”

The diversion expert took a single step towards the femme before stopping as he did not want to interrupt her thought process. The rallybot could tell that Tracer was trying very hard to access those memories that were still hidden deep within her sub-processor. It was a time consuming endeavor to be sure, especially with a hallucinogen blocking her progress every step of the way. However, that did not stop her as she finally on-lined her optics once more and looked over at Smokescreen. The drug-addicted femme’s words brought a wide grin to the red and blue mech’s faceplate as she was clearly talking about Kup. With a smile on her own visage, Tracer made her way back over to where Smokey remained standing. Her recollection of the old war horse only made the rallybot happier with each passing astrosecond.

“Ha ha! Yes, Kup was pretty tough on me, wasn’t he?” Smokescreen replied as his laughter intermingled with Tracer’s own. “Of course, I deserved every bit of what he gave me. You know, being so hard on us is what made us into soldiers capable of fighting what eventually turned into an endless war. Without the old timer’s training, not to mention patience, we would never have lasted as long as we both have. We owe him a lot.”

As Tracer’s laughter subsided, she began to recount a more somber memory, one where she and Smokescreen had parted ways for the first time. The diversion expert let out a sigh as he, too, remembered being assigned to different units after graduating from boot camp. “Yes, it wasn’t easy for me either,” Smokey responded, happy that this memory had come to her without any further prodding from him. It was getting easier for her now, but that didn’t mean the rallybot was going to let up. Not for one astrosecond would that happen. “But we eventually found one another again on the battlefield. Our units joined forces to propel a Decepticon attack against Iacon. Remember that? From then on we fought side by side, at least until the exodus. That’s when things went downhill quickly.”

Smokescreen paused for a brief moment as he brought one hand up to caress Tracer’s cheek plate. He let out a depressed sigh as he accessed his own memories of how they had lost contact with one another again, that time for countless vorns. “When the order to evacuate Cybertron was given, you and I were supposed to leave on the same shuttle. Remember? Unfortunately, it didn’t work out that way as we were surprise attacked by a Decepticon squad. I remained behind to help fight them off so that you and the others could escape. I recall seeing your shuttle fly off into the distance but then it came under heavy fire from another ‘Con unit. I never knew what had happened to you after that, and I never saw you again until just recently over on the Guardian.”

The rallybot stepped in even closer to Tracer as sadness overcame his features. “I thought you were dead for a while, that your shuttle didn’t make it. I eventually evacuated on a different ship, but I never found you. I checked the casualty lists on a regular basis for your name, but thankfully it never appeared on any of them. I always held on to hope that you were out there somewhere fighting the good fight and I guess I was right, because here you are now. I just wish I had known about the internal suffering you were going through all that time. But, then again, if I had known it would have made being apart from you for so long even worse because I wouldn’t have been there to help you get through it like I am now.”

Smokescreen stopped and looked deep into the troubled femme’s newly acquired optics. “I’m sorry I got off of that shuttle. I should have stayed with you. I should have recognized your pain and helped you beat your addiction to Syk vorns ago when it would’ve been a lot easier to do. But, at least now we’ve found each other again. This time, I won’t leave you. Never again will I leave you. I promise.”

Wheeljack’s Lab – Back Room

Tracer let a sigh escape her vocalizer as she recalled being separated from Smokescreen for, what felt like to her, an eternity. She perked up, but only marginally, when he mentioned them having been reunited on the battlefield. It was disheartening, however, that their reunion had to take happen in a place surrounded by nothing but carnage. But she would have taken being together in the Pit if need be.

“I remember.” Tracer’s optics dimmed as she lowered her gaze down to the floor between them. “It may seem cruel, but I’m glad I didn’t know any of those who died in that attack on Iacon.” She shook her head gently before bringing her gaze back up to Smokescreen. Tracer gave the rallybot a forced smile as she took his hand in hers. “Downhill is putting it lightly. It was more like dying a slow painful death.”

Her smile turned genuine as she pressed into the caress when his hand gently met her cheek. It felt good to finally remember…even if the memories were sordid and unwanted. Tracer gave Smokescreen’s hand a slight squeeze as the former racer began to retell the story of when they were forced to evacuate the planet. She remembered that as well.

“I tried to go back. I couldn’t just leave you.” Tracer paused for a moment and released Smokescreen’s hand. “It was too late. The door had sealed and the shuttle was already lifting off. They had to pull me away because they were afraid I’d get the door open and jump.” She remembered not hearing anything about what happened to the Autotbots who stayed behind to help get the shuttles off the planet. For all Tracer knew Smokescreen had perished and never got away.

Tracer caught his optics and gazed just as deeply into the red and blue mech’s eyes. A smile spread across her face while she laid her hand against his cheek. “Staying behind was the right thing to do. Don’t doubt that. And as much as I missed you, as much as I had wished you were with me, I knew what you did needed to be done.” Her smile grew wider while she pressed her forehead against his. “There was no way for you to know what I was going through. So, please, no more ‘should haves’.”

Tracer pulled back slightly to look back into Smokescreen’s blue optics. She let out a contented sigh at his words before snaking her arms around his shoulders and leaning in for a tight embrace. “Good, because I won’t ever let you go.” she let out in almost a whisper.

Wheeljack’s Lab - Back Room

Smokescreen listened carefully as Tracer gave him her version of events from when they had been separated for so long. While the remembrance of being apart made him sad on the inside, he couldn’t help but also feel happy, happy that the troubled femme was recalling more and more of her memories that the hallucinogen had temporarily taken away. Hearing that she had tried to go back for him, but the others on the shuttle wouldn’t let her, brought a deeper sense of regret to him as his optics reverted to the floor.

However, that feeling was quickly squashed when the blue scout placed her hand on Smokescreen’s cheek plate, bringing his optics up to meet hers once more. She then assured him that he had done the right thing and that he shouldn’t doubt himself or the decisions he was forced to make. Tracer was right. There was no way he could’ve known what she was going through, but Smokey still felt as though he should’ve at least sensed that something was wrong and perhaps questioned her about it. Of course, the femme would have almost certainly denied any problems, leaving Smokescreen to think that everything was okay with her.

“I guess you’re right, Tracer. I just feel bad about the whole situation, that’s all,” the red and blue mech conceded in a low tone as he felt the femme's chevron pressing against his own. She then lifted her head up and let out a sigh before reaching her arms around his shoulders. Reacting immediately, Smokescreen pulled her closer to his rebuilt frame as she confirmed what he already had known from the moment they had found each another again over on the Protectobot frigate - she would never let him go, either.

The embrace lasted for a few breems before Smokescreen pulled back slightly in order to look down into the drug-addicted femme’s new optics again. While she had remembered the past, the rallybot needed to be sure that she was remembering the present, as well. Thus, it was imperative that he ask her one more series of questions to eliminate any lingering doubt whatsoever. “Trace, you do remember where you are now, right? I’m sorry. I know I’ve asked you a lot of questions about the past, our past, in order to jog you memories. But, I just need to be sure that you realize you are not in the asylum anymore and that you’re surrounded by friends here and not orderlies.”

Smokey spoke in a soft tone before casting a quick glance over his shoulder plate at the resident scientist who was currently making modifications to the replicator out in the main lab. The diversion expert then returned his attention to the troubled femme and cast her a reassuring smile. “You remember who that is out there, right? Please tell me his name, and I’ll stop with the questions. I promise.”

Wheeljack’s Lab – Back Room

It felt good remembering their shared past, Smokescreen and hers. Although the separation from him was devastating, their subsequent reunion, only recently, made up for their time apart. Their embrace hadn’t lasted nearly as long as she had hoped. It seemed that Smokescreen wanted to make absolutely certain that her recovering memory was not only limited to their own shared past. She needed to recall where she was and just who she might actually know.

Tracer looked back into the rallybot’s optics and studied his features for a moment. She was willing to do as he asked and look at the other mech occupying the lab, but she was frightened; not of the white ‘Bot beyond the door, but of who he might actually turn out to be. What if she had never seen him before? What if he really was that same orderly that would drag her down to that secluded hole for her daily treatments?

Briefly Tracer held Smokescreen’s gaze until she gathered enough courage to actually take a look at Wheeljack. She hesitated to look, by offlining her optics; she wanted to reassure the rallybot first that she was going to try and believe that she was safe. “I know you wouldn’t lie to me. You’ve proven that to me already. It's just that…” She shook her head once before onlining her optics and looking back up to Smokescreen. Tracer paused for a brief moment and then took a glance behind Smokescreen at the busy white mech beyond.

Tracer kept her eyes glued to the other bot. He seemed less threatening than before; however, he still resembled that same asylum aid. “I’m sorry, Smokescreen. He doesn’t act like him, but he still looks like Compulsor’s assistant.” Tracer quickly tore her gaze from Wheeljack’s busy form and looked back to the diversionary tactician. “I’m trying, please believe me, I’m trying... but …” The blue and white femme stopped suddenly as she looked over his shoulder at the room behind him. She studied it intently.

“The walls are light. They were dark in the asylum.” Tracer tilted her head up to look at the ceiling. “All of the lights are working. They haven’t flickered.” She grew quiet as she offlined her optics and drew in the surrounding air into her olfactory sensors. “The air doesn’t smell like burnt ozone.” Her voice was low as she onlined her optics and she lowered her head.

“Not the asylum. It never was.” Tracer flashed Smokescreen a relieved smile but let it fade. For a second time she peered over his shoulder at the engaged mech. Without looking away Tracer stepped around Smokescreen and worked her way, slowly, toward the mech. She stopped at the entrance to the main lab and looked Wheeljack up and down several times.

“Wheeljack?”