Warnings: Slash, violence, horror, and gore. Lots of angst in there, too.

No one saw it.

Least of all, his bonded.

He had been seeming a little unwell lately, yes. His bonded always tried to ask him what was wrong, tried to coax his troubles out sweetly as bonded always could do.

But not this time. His troubles stayed locked firmly away. Further away than his bonded could find, even through the spark bond that was said to be able to join everything.

But no one thought that this was what would happen.

The heartbroken wail of his bonded rocked the Ark back and forth in the middle of the night. It was only moments before his bonded jumped out of bed and ran to where they sensed him last.

There he was. Mutilated and broken on the ground of the place he frequented so often. The scalpel used for his death was in his hand, and his optics were black and unresponsive.

---

"I understand if you do not wish to go back to the lab, Wheeljack. But I can't understand the reason you're giving me…" Optimus said quietly.

The engineer trembled, his optics dim, and hugged himself, looking at the ground. It twisted Optimus' spark to see the previously happy and upbeat Wheeljack become a shadow of his former self, but all he could do was hope that after he mourned he could perhaps move on.

"I still see his energon all over the room. I can still smell it. I can still feel it." He shuddered. "And… and sometimes, when it's dark like… like that night… I still see his body sprawled there with that Primus-damned scalpel. He's… he's looking at me, Prime. He's angry with me. He's angry with us…"

"Wheeljack," Optimus said softly, "his body was removed and the lab was scoured clean. Perhaps your CPU keeps replaying the image because you're upset…"

"It's too real!" Wheeljack wailed. "And you know when Prowl was there inspecting my last invention?"

"I was told that something exploded," Optimus said quietly.

"That's an understatement! The lab practically took a life of its own!" the engineer shouted, his optics hysterical and his blinkers flashing an upset blue-green. "Beakers went flying, everything mechanical practically turned into little bombs, the doors fritzed and closed and locked behind us… and… and the scalpels…" he shuddered. "Ratchet keeps a box of scalpels in there in case anyone using the lab needs to cut through Cybertronian-grade metal. They all flew out of their box on the table and started cutting through both of us. Something was shrieking. Something was shrieking."

"Wheeljack, I understand that you are upset, but calm down. Prowl reported that there was a system malfunction with a few inventions at the same time. Apparently, one of those things was a magnetism inducer. That was what made the scalpels fly. And its magnetism caused the other machines to malfunction. The door malfunctioned on its own; it hasn't had a maintenance check in a long time. The beakers have small traces of metal inside of the glass to keep them from being crushed. They just responded to magnetism." Optimus shook his head. "The shrieking… Wheeljack, you must understand, you've been through a lot. We all have."

"I hear him humming in there sometimes," Wheeljack murmured, almost as if he hadn't heard the commander. "He used to hum a lot, did you know? It always sounded nice… but now… now it sounds wrong. It sounds blacker, more evil. He's angry."

"Wheeljack, I know that this is hard, but Perceptor is dead," Prowl said gently. Both the engineer and commander looked up sharply. Neither had noticed Prowl coming through the door. By the looks of the data-pad in his hand, he had just come in to drop off more reports. "He committed suicide last month. And there are no such things as ghosts."

"Say that when you see him just staring at you, as if it's your fault that he's dead. As if it's your fault that he… that he…" Wheeljack let out a quiet wail and buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, Percy! Me an' Ratchet would've worked harder to figure out what was wrong if we knew how upset you were! We would've! Please…"

Prowl frowned, an uncharacteristic amount of sympathy in his optics. "Wheeljack, why don't you go to the med bay? I think you need Ratchet right now."

Wheeljack just let out a heartbroken mechanical cry, and Prowl's optics flickered a little. The tactician touched the engineer's shoulder briefly, putting pressure on it lightly, comfortingly. Wheeljack let out a strangled sound, then sharply turned around and left the office, presumably to seek comfort from his remaining bonded.

Prowl and Optimus looked after him, Optimus looking extremely tired and Prowl with his doorwings drooping slightly.

"Why did you wish to see me, Prowl?"

The tactician looked up, forcing his wings to stand up higher and putting the data-pad down on the desk. "I wanted to say that Wildfire's inspection is well under way. He does, however, find it unprofessional that we're hiring a psychic."

Optimus knew that Prowl agreed with Wildfire, but he also knew that Prowl understood why the Autobots were hiring a psychic. And Optimus would even venture to say that Prowl thought that, though it was unprofessional, it was the wisest course of action. Neither of them thought that a human psychic would do any physical good—there was no such thing as ghosts and the psychic was probably just a fraud anyway—but it would help some of the Autobots psychologically.

It was the first time anyone saw Beachcomber as anything but his laid back self.

The scream tore through the halls, sending everyone into immediate alert. The last time a scream woke them up, it was because one of their own was dead.

But no. Everyone bolted to the source of the scream to see Beachcomber outside of his room, huddled in a little ball on the floor, struggling to take a proper breath.

To everyone's surprise, it was Ratchet and Wheeljack who came forward and knelt by the minibot, taking his trembling form into their arms. Maybe it was because all three of them had been close to Perceptor. Maybe the medic and engineer just felt bad for him. Either way, Beachcomber clung to their armor desperately and Ratchet stroked the geologist's back soothingly and made quiet shushing sounds.

"Okay… come on… tell us what happened."

Beachcomber was still shaking as he glanced up at his dead friend's old bonded, his optics wide behind his visor. "He was above me. There was energon everywhere, all over the room and all over him. He looked just like how his body did. He was bleeding, man. He was bleeding everywhere. He was angry. He had a scalpel." He buried his head into Ratchet's armor and Wheeljack tightened his grip around the medic and geologist. "He's angry. Really angry. He's not Percy anymore. I thought he was going to kill me. Kill us all, one by one."

Red Alert, watching from the side, made a strangled squeak and leaned against the wall, his horns sparking uncontrollably. Inferno rested a hand on his shoulder, understanding how his friend's glitch could work into overdrive at the thought of this.

Ratchet just patted the geologist gently, ignoring the onlookers for the time-being. "Come on. You can sleep in the med bay tonight." He picked up the minibot easily in his arms, Beachcomber not letting out so much as a squeak of protest. The medic looked up and glared at the people surrounding the scene, his expression threatening. "Now you all go back to your berths. Nothing to see here."

With that, the medic and the engineer both went back through the dark hallways with the geologist, disappearing into the black.

Optimus winced inwardly at the memory. That was the only time he had ever seen Beachcomber afraid. There had been other incidents, like when Bluestreak woke up screaming from a nightmare involving Perceptor (though he absolutely refused to elaborate the events of the nightmare further than that), when Brawn randomly started smashing the lab when he was alone there (he had later said that he had seen Perceptor there, all of his wounds in place, and the scientist had been bleeding everywhere. He had said that he was angry that the scientist committed suicide, so he was trying to hit Perceptor. He just could never touch the scientist.), and the time the twins fell into the Ark's deep set machinery and nearly died…

"What on Cybertron possessed you to try to jump through the Ark's engine room?" Ratchet sighed, examining the twins' wounds. The two Autobot warriors had been lucky that they hadn't been deactivated.

Wheeljack just shook his head slowly, doorwings drooping and his expression subdued. Ratchet had stopped shouting and raging like he used to before. Now, sometimes there was some half-hearted throwing of tools, some swears, and some scolding, but it lacked the heart it used to have.

"He wouldn't stop. We had to catch him."

"Who, Sideswipe? Is there someone else down there we have to find?" Ratchet asked, looking up with a serious light to his optics.

"I think that he left the engine room. I never knew that Percy ran so fast."

Both Ratchet and Wheeljack stiffened. "Excuse me…?"

"We asked him to stop," Sideswipe said, looking up with a disturbing smile on his face. "We wanted him to get those wounds checked. They were splashing energon everywhere. And his optics were very red. Sorta like a Decepticon's. I don't think he heard us, though. He just kept running through the halls, so we tried to chase him. We never really caught him, though."

He looked down, his smile still in place. "I bet we could catch him later. All that energon was enough to make the floor slippery and nearly made a stream in the Ark where he walked. He can't run so fast forever. But… maybe we're not the ones supposed to catch him. His scalpel looked really bloody, though."

The medical tray in Wheeljack's hands clattered to the floor.

"Wildfire is reluctant to keep this off the records," Prowl said quietly, looking out the window slowly. "Everyone's skittish behavior is already aggravating him."

Wildfire was a high-ranking official on Cybertron, and though he was not known for mercy or the like, he did his job effectively. His division was in charge of collecting information on the Decepticons and making spare parts for medical teams to use on Autobots whose limbs were destroyed. How those two functions crossed over and got caught in the same group, no one was quite sure, but the division did both well.

Of course, when he noticed how many spare parts were going to the Ark, he decided to go down there for an inspection. A team had gone up to Cybertron and visited him two months beforehand; if he had only asked them, he could have saved himself a lot of trouble. But he had decided that a surprise inspection would be best.

Anyone could have told him that most of the spare parts went to Wheeljack and the twins.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was impatient with everyone grieving. He wasn't a very sympathetic character, though Optimus had managed to convince him that they had to be cut a little slack with current events.

Prowl looked back at the window, his wings twitching. "The psychic is here. I came to tell you that as well. Her name is Ember Fox, and her assistant is named Jason Furman. Apparently, Ember is the one who sees the clearest and Jason draws a picture of what he senses. They'll probably come in, say that there's a ghost, 'exorcise' it, then go."

"It doesn't matter to me what resources it takes or what they say, as long as it gives our men some peace of mind," Optimus sighed, standing up slowly.

"I suppose that is all that matters," Prowl agreed.

Optimus and Prowl left side-by-side, the former straightening his posture and the latter stiffening his doorwings. By the time they had come to the entrance of the Ark, they both had redressed in their 'unaffected military official' uniform.

Beachcomber was talking softly to the two humans when the tactician and commander found them. Red Alert was huddled in the corner, his glitch refusing to let him leave, but his fear of the whole matter threatening to crash him anyway.

There was a female and a male human. The female had red-blond hair that curled a little, falling to the small of her back. Her eyes were a golden color, something everyone assumed to be caused by contact lenses. She was tall and composed, but her fingers twitched nervously every so often. And it didn't look like the twitching was caused by the presence of the comparatively huge Autobots.

The male, presumably Jason, was smaller, wirier, and had mousy brown hair. His fingers were stained with what looked like a combination of black paint, dye, and charcoal and his dark eyes glanced back and forth jumpily, as though he were expecting the shadows to come out and swallow him up in a moment's notice. He had a little satchel, probably filled with drawing and art supplies, wrapped loosely around his hip, constantly threatening to fall off completely but seeming to never carry through. He had a blank canvas held under his arm, shifting it a little every once in a while and pulling up his satchel.

"Hi, I'm Ember, and this is Jason," the woman said, coming forward with her hand outstretched. "We were called about a spirit?"

"A possible one," Optimus corrected gently, kneeling down and taking the hand between his thumb and forefinger carefully, shaking it slightly. "Some of my men believe that this place is haunted."

He didn't offer any more information to possibly be leaked to the human media, but neither Ember nor Jason seemed to mind. "Alright! Just take us to the place of most disturbance and we'll tell you whether or not there's a spook out for mischief."

Optimus straightened, and for a moment, he wasn't sure where they should go. The engine room? Beachcomber's room? Around the Ark in general?

"The lab."

Beachcomber spoke softly, be he was loud enough to be heard. "Have you, like, seen Ratchet and Wheeljack lately? The lab. Definitely."

"Okay then! Lead the way," Ember said cheerily, clapping her hands together.

"It's just down here," Optimus said, holding out an arm and walking through the one place Perceptor had spent most of his time in in life, and the place he took his own. Prowl followed because he felt that it would be proper for him to be there. Red Alert and Beachcomber followed for reasons of their own.

The door to the lab swished open and the heads of Ratchet and Wheeljack looked up sharply. They didn't say anything. Ratchet just frowned and Wheeljack looked worried. The medic had been against bringing a 'psychic' into the matter, but at this point, the engineer was willing to believe anything.

They shuffled to the side, abandoning their current yet half-hearted project, and Optimus let the group inside.

Ember nodded to him, smiling as she walked into the room jauntily. "Thanks for that. I have no clue how you can remember your way through those halls; I'd be totally lo—"

She stopped as she turned her gaze to the room, her smile falling away and her pupils dilating. There was a clatter, and the Cybertronians looked to see that Jason had dropped his canvas.

"It's so… so… bloody in here. It's everywhere," she whispered, scanning the room. She froze and all color still within her drained from her face. She let out an ear-shattering scream and fell to the ground, completely out cold.

Jason snatched his canvas up and spun around. "Grab her and run!" was all he said before he sprinted out.

Most of the Autobots were certain that this was an act, but they played along. Prowl gently picked up the fallen woman and they all filed out swiftly, Ratchet and Wheeljack tagging along.

They found Jason in the med bay, somehow having managed to get on one of the berths, and he was painting furiously on his canvas. His hands were enormously steady despite the fear his paleness and abrupt departure spoke of, and he was muttering to himself softly. "Didn't think… Didn't think that alien spirits became ghosts…"

Ratchet frowned, taking Ember from Prowl and rifling through one of his drawers. He took out a tiny human-sized tablet, and with remarkable dexterity he brought it just below the woman's nose and broke it.

Ember snapped awake, coughing and shaking her head. "Ouch. Ow. They've… they've never done that before…"

"Done what?" Ratchet asked, an undertone of anger in his voice. If this human femme was going to take advantage of his bonded's death for personal gain, he couldn't promise that he wouldn't throw her across the room.

"You didn't tell us everything, did you?" Jason muttered, still painting without pause.

Ember clambered into a sitting position and looking up with a… glare on her face? "You have one seriously pissed off ghost. Possibly the most pissed off one I've ever met. Ghosts like that DO NOT haunt a place. They haunt people. You KNEW him," she accused, a furious red coming to her face.

Ratchet stiffened along with everyone else. How did she know? They had made sure that nothing of Perceptor's suicide got out into the media, so she couldn't have researched it beforehand by conventional means…

"He… he… he d-died last month." Wheeljack made a sound like he was swallowing, and it took him a moment to force the next thing from his vocalizer. "He committed suicide."

"That's not possible," Jason said, still concentrating on the painting. "Suicide ghosts only hang around because of regret, the remembrance of something they forgot to do in life, or to watch what happens in the wake of their death. They're sad. Not angry. Suicide ghosts don't get violent unless they're mentally ill."

"Well what else could it have been?" Ratchet asked darkly, putting Ember onto the berth with Jason and turning away. "All the evidence pointed towards it. He'd been upset for a month before. We tried talking to him, but he wouldn't say what was the matter. Then we find him on the lab floor dead with a bloody scalpel in his hand." He wrapped his arms around himself, his optics glazing for a moment. "We should've tried harder to talk to him."

Ember was silent for a long moment. "You both." She pointed to Ratchet and Wheeljack slowly. "You were close to him. I'd guess either lovers or brothers. I can sense him around you, but it's not entirely an angry energy like in the lab."

"We were his bonded, actually," Wheeljack said quietly, looking at the floor.

"It's the rough equivalent of marriage in your culture, only it is the linking of minds and souls instead of the exchange of vows and rings," Ratchet said.

"How do you know all this?" Red Alert asked the humans, his horns sparking lightly.

Ember looked up at him, a scowl in place. "Look, I know that most of you hired us expecting a bunch of frauds out for a little money. You probably expected us to walk around with a cross or something, then after a bit say that you're spirit-free. But no. I have never seen a spirit like that."

"Look at me! I only saw him for a moment and I can paint him exactly as I saw him! He was just so vivid…" Jason stuck the handle of his brush in between his teeth and twirled around the painting. "Is that your bonded?"

Ratchet and Wheeljack only needed to glance at it briefly. Wheeljack let out a small wail and spun around, hiding his face. "I told you! I TOLD you! He's angry. He's so angry. Oh Percy, we would've tried harder! I swear! We never thought… we never thought that you…"

Ratchet kept staring at the picture, his lips drawn in a tight frown.

"That's exactly how he looked in my room," Beachcomber said softly.

It was Perceptor, but at the same time not. His soft smile wasn't there, but instead there was a furious snarl on his face. He was in a crouching position, as if he were about to pounce on the person looking at him. His optics were red, and every wound that had been there when he died was fresh and bleeding energon freely, splashing it across the floor.

"He's not angry at you for not stopping him or figuring out what was wrong. He didn't commit suicide, and he's angry that you think so and those who know otherwise are keeping their mouths shut. That spirit is not a suicide. That spirit was murdered," Ember said darkly.

It seemed as though the room went several degrees colder. Everything was frozen for a long, long moment besides the quiet buzzing of Red Alert's horns and sensors going haywire.

"You don't believe this, do you?"

Everyone looked up sharply to see a simple black mech with a heavily Cybertronian design standing there with his arms crossed. "For one, I find it dismal how you walked in here and didn't notice that I was already inside. For two, I find this human's claims ludicrous." He waved Ember off, jerking his head slightly. "The scientist was suicidal. His low sense of self-worth was noted as well as his eagerness to sacrifice his life for others, even an enemy. I think it should have been picked up from the beginning."

"Perceptor was like that because he cared about other people!" Ratchet said fiercely. "He had trouble understanding that he was valuable and loved, too. He wasn't suicidal because he thought that his life was worth less than others'!"

"That spirit didn't commit suicide!" Ember said with only a little less fierceness than Ratchet. "That spirit is furious because first he was murdered, and now not only has the person he blames for his death been set free as a bird, but his loved ones honestly believe he took his own life."

"I think it's disgraceful that a human 'psychic' was brought here in the first place. That mech killed himself, case closed. No one knows why, but the physical evidence speaks for itself." He straightened. "Now if you would excuse me, I am going to go recharge."

The mech left; Ratchet itched to throw something at him but stopped himself nonetheless.

"I do not like him," the medic said simply, crossing his arms.

"Who was that?" Jason asked, eyeing the door suspiciously.

"Wildfire. He is from Cybertron," Optimus said quietly.

Jason and Ember exchanged glances. There was a pause for a long time, no one saying anything.

"This is all some trick, isn't it?" Red Alert said, breaking the spell. "You must have found out all this information, Perceptor's death, his relationship with Ratchet and Wheeljack, and his appearance beforehand and memorized it. There are no such things as ghosts." His voice got softer and he looked at the ground. "And Perceptor committed suicide."

"Red's right. How is this even possible? Percy never did anything to provoke murder." Ratchet leaned against the wall, and it looked like a fantastical weariness settled on his shoulders. He looked old, worn, and drained. He never looked like that. "I'm very tired right now. I think I'm just going to go to the berth."

Ember bit her lip. "But…"

"Please. I don't want to talk about this anymore," Ratchet sighed, rubbing his chevron.

Red Alert shook his head slowly. He turned around without a word and opened the med bay door, taking a step out.

"Look out!"

Beachcomber, the only mech close by and with fast reflexes, grabbed the security director sharply and threw him to the ground.

Fwip!

Red Alert looked up in horror to see a blade wedged over two inches deep in the metal of the doorway right where his head had been a moment before.

His mouth fell open, a small squeak teetering from his lips. The thing was stained with fresh energon. It was stained with FRESH ENERGON.

Just to punctuate the point, a drop fell from the blade, splashing onto the security director's helm.

Finally, Red's CPU kicked into gear, and he let out a loud scream.

He scrambled away, hurriedly standing up and clutching the area just above his spark. No one reacted. Everyone just stared at the blade blankly.

There was a long moment of silence. Slowly, as if in a dream, Ratchet came forward and took the blade out of the doorway. More energon spattered across the room from it, but he was too caught up in what it was.

It was a scalpel. But it wasn't just a scalpel. It was The scalpel. That thrice Primus-damned scalpel.

"I thought that I incinerated this thing," Ratchet said numbly.

"Sins can't be burned away."

The blade was scuffed and the handle a little chipped and dented from constant use. Perceptor had always used this particular scalpel. Ratchet and Wheeljack had always asked him why, and even with their bond and the constant merges, they still had a bit of trouble understanding it. He had said that it was familiar and made him feel more secure.

They both understood the need for familiarity and security when they found him a bloody mess on the floor.

Ratchet somehow felt like he was floating when he touched the energon on the blade, uncaring whether or not it would cut him as well. He was slowly floating upside down through the clouds. The tiny sensors in the tip of his finger took in a sample of the energon and examined it.

It was Perceptor's energon. After a month, it was still fresh and wet.

Ratchet slowly gripped the handle again, his mouth open slightly.

He had hated this scalpel after that night. He had hated Perceptor for leaving like that. He had hated him for not saying good bye. And he had hated himself for not being able to save his bonded. He had flown into such a rage that even Wheeljack was cowering into the corner. No one dared come near. This wasn't the simple 'throwing wrenches around' rage, this was 'take leave of your senses, destroy everything' savage, feral, RAGE. He had roared and smashed everything possible, cursing Perceptor, cursing himself, and cursing Primus for letting this happen. He threw every tool in his possession whether or not it was sharp enough to kill if it hit someone. He broke the doors of the cabinets. He crushed everything under his feet. He smashed any and all mirrors and glass inside the med bay with his bare hands, managing to cut himself up thoroughly. He threw the Primus-damned scalpel into the incinerator meant to be used for un-recyclable waste. And he practically made the wall a dart board with all the other ones. It was only when one of his throws went a little wild and clipped Wheeljack's arm did he come to his senses.

He had been appalled with himself afterwards, but Wheeljack was understanding. Too understanding. More understanding than the medic thought he deserved after that incident. Wheeljack had just kissed him, smiled sadly, and forgave him. With both of them working together, the only evidence of the rampage the next morning were the loss of one scalpel and the conspicuous lack of mirrors. No one had asked after either. Barely anyone even needed to go to the med bay that day, or even weeks afterwards. Even the twins were in too low a mood to get into trouble.

After the initial outburst, Ratchet had gotten his grief and frustration out through overload. Wheeljack had been very understanding about that too, even though Ratchet knew it upset him. It just didn't feel right without Perceptor, and the raw grief in their sparks made the only pleasure derived from the act physical only to be followed by emotional pain when they joined sparks. There was no harmony in their anguish either, no comfort to be taken. It was just a constant bombardment on the spark.

After Ratchet woke up to Wheeljack crying softly, he finally faced the fact that he was hurting his living bonded while mourning for his dead one. After that, he searched less for release and more for trying to give comfort to both himself and Wheeljack. When you're using merges for comfort in a time of pain, it could be one of two extremes. It could be just doubling the pain for both and a form of escapism, as it was for them at first, or it could be the greatest thing you could ever do for the healing.

Ratchet let out a cross between a hysterical chuckle and a whimper. The medic was never really sure what happened after he started trying to get through it all in a 'constructive' manner. Sometimes he wondered if he was only driving himself insane in a more subtle way. Sometimes in their merges, Ratchet sensed that Wheeljack almost agreed.

"It's Percy's energon."

Wheeljack let out a small cry and his knees buckled, only catching himself from a fall by leaning on the wall. Ratchet stared at the scalpel a moment longer, numbly putting it on the countertop.

He didn't care what 'psychics' said. He didn't care what mistakes he made. He didn't care about glitches that tried to pass themselves off as high officials on Cybertron. He had lost one of his bonded for not paying enough attention. He refused to lose the other.

He knelt down by Wheeljack and helped him up gently. He sent a gentle pulse through the bond, calming the frenzy in his remaining bonded's spark somewhat.

Ratchet looked up, a fire sparking in his optics. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

Silence.

"Because if it is, whoever is doing it can knock it off."

"It's not a joke, Ratchet."

All optics turned to Prowl, who was sitting quietly on one of the berths.

"Prowl…?"

"It's not a joke. It's true; Perceptor did not commit suicide. He was murdered."

The room seemed to freeze over completely. If Skyfire were there, he would probably be reminded of his time in a glacier.

"How would you know that, Prowl?" Optimus asked slowly.

Prowl's doorwings were drooping and his head was bowed. He shuttered his optics and shook his head slowly. "I know because I was the one who killed him."

There was a long silence. Wheeljack almost fell again, but Ratchet caught him. Everyone was staring, but Ratchet and Wheeljack's quietness seemed much more dangerous than before.

"Why?" Beachcomber asked softly.

Prowl did not look up. "Wildfire contacted me with orders from higher up the Autobot hierarchy to kill him."

"What? Perceptor?" Prowl looked at the screen in front of him, shocked. "Why Perceptor?"

The Autobot official leaned back a little, frowning. "We received information that he is a deeply undercover Decepticon assassin. We have the word of several high-up Decepticons and reports some people in the tech division under Magma got from Shockwave's database."

"Perceptor is…" Prowl shook his head, shuttering his optics briefly. "Why aren't you going to Optimus Prime?"

"Prowl, we're talking Optimus, here. We all know how he is. He'll be determined to see the good, and in the end it will cost all of the Autobots." Wildfire narrowed his optics. "And we don't want anything 'official' with this. It has to be done unofficially to avoid Decepticon retaliation. Make it look like a suicide."

"Sir, we're talking assassination. And he is bonded to two loyal Autobots. There is supposed to be a fair trial so he can say his side of the story…"

"He has orders to kill Optimus. With his bond, he has two people he can destroy easily if he feels threatened, that, and he looks better. And did you hear what I said about Decepticon retaliation?"

Prowl froze. The death of Optimus would make the entire Autobot faction fall apart. The stakes just skyrocketed. "But what if Perceptor is innocent?"

"It has been proven beyond reasonable doubt. I will send you the reports and the recordings of the interrogations if you would prefer. You have your orders. Don't tell Optimus and don't tell anyone who don't need to know. Good day, Prowl."

"He sent me everything he promised. I even did some digging of my own, going as far as asking Magma herself. Everything checked out." Prowl sighed and his wings drooped down further. "So I did as he told me to. But… afterwards, when I was searching through his computer to see if there was any Decepticon information, I found a file. He had been using it as a place to let out his thoughts since he felt as though he couldn't tell anyone about it."

At this, Prowl's wings started to twitch slightly and his lips pressed together in fury. "All he wrote was that he saw something a month before when he, Smokescreen, and Ironhide had been sent up to Wildfire's division on Cybertron. He said that it was something Wildfire hadn't wanted him to see, and he was afraid that he was in danger. He said that he didn't care if he was, but he was going to make whatever he saw stop. He never said what it was. I should've known. But it doesn't matter why I did it. His blood is on my hands."

He sighed slowly. "I didn't admit sooner because I was trying to find out what Wildfire didn't want anyone to know. I thought that the only way to redeem myself in Perceptor's optics, though perhaps not my own, was to bring Wildfire's secret to light and him to justice. If I admitted to being a murderer, it would destroy any credibility I hoped to have and deprive me of the chance to reveal him. I… I wanted to be able to look at Perceptor in the optic when it came time that I was to go to the Matrix. I never thought that he didn't leave. I'm sorry. It can do nothing, but I am sorry, Ratchet, Wheeljack, and most of all, Perceptor."

He didn't say anything more, nor did he look up. Ratchet couldn't help but be grateful for that. If Prowl had dared try to make eye contact, that may have made him snap completely.

"I have my own confession."

Everyone minus Prowl looked at Red Alert, noting how the security director was staring at the floor, hugging himself. "I saw it happen on the security cameras. Prowl thought that he had caused them to glitch, but I had a secondary one in case Wheeljack had a serious explosion of some sort and we needed to see the inside of the lab. I was afraid because Prowl would never kill someone without reason, and that meant he had probably gotten orders from higher-up. So I just sat back and let Perceptor be called a suicide." He shuttered his optics. "I'm sorry too. I saw the pain everyone was going through by thinking he killed himself, but I didn't say anything. I'm sorry."

Ember and Jason both stood up, glancing at the ceiling. "Do you accept their apology, Perceptor?"

No one said anything. Red Alert nervously edged away so he was next to Prowl, the only one who he didn't think would glare murder at him just then.

Fwip.

Both officers stiffened and looked up, noting that the same scalpel that Perceptor had always used, the same that Prowl had used to kill the scientist, and the same that Ratchet had thrown into the incinerator was just inches above their heads, embedded in the wall with the fresh energon staining its blade dripping down.

Prowl was about to look down again in shame when it started to change.

The metal turned green and organic and the side pointing outwards flowered into yellow petals. The energon dripped down to the petals, becoming little beads of dew, and in no time they were staring at a daffodil growing out of the wall, dipping only slightly to gravity's pull.

Prowl looked like his logic processors were about to crash.

Beachcomber looked at the flower in awe, and slowly, a smile bloomed on his face. "I know what it means. The day before he died, Percy and I were outside. I told him all about the symbolism behind the flowers we found. Daffodils mean forgiveness."

"I don't think he ever blamed either of you," Ember murmured. "He didn't mark your hands with blood. I would've seen it if he did. He just wanted you to tell everyone the truth."

Prowl somehow miraculously overlooked the sheer impossibility of what had just happened and he bowed his head again, shuttering his optics. He whispered something inaudible, but he knew that, if any of this was real, Perceptor would hear.

"So… he really is here?" Red Alert asked, looking up.

"Yeah." Jason stood up, his eyes fixed on the doorway. "He's here. And he's smiling. But he's going to take revenge on the person he does blame."

Ember frowned, glaring at the wall, before she sat down and closed her eyes. "Wildfire's hands had blood on them. He places full blame on him. And what goes around comes around." One could tell, just by listening to her voice, that she knew perfectly well what she was implying. And she supported it fully.

Optimus looked at the door and sighed slowly, yet he didn't once make the order to protect the Cybertronian official.

Prowl looked at Ratchet and Wheeljack, not once trying to make eye contact. "I can't ask you to forgive me, but—"

"No," Wheeljack said quietly, looking away. He took a shaky breath and shuttered his optics. "If Percy can forgive you, we can try. It'll be hard, but we can try. I just… can't do it right now."

Prowl nodded and bowed his head again. "It is more than I deserve. Thank you."

A breeze of warm air washed through the med bay despite the fact none of the windows were open, and there was the sound of someone humming sweetly in the distance.

---

The next morning, Wheeljack found Wildfire dead on the floor outside of the lab. He had been mutilated with a scalpel and he was clutching an orange lily in one hand and deadly nightshade in the other. He had been tempted to just leave him there, but in the end Wheeljack went to Optimus and told him what happened. It was only a week later that it was revealed that Wildfire used illegal torture methods on the Decepticons his division had captured and were trying to interrogate. All of the extra parts he gave were either from the Decepticons' dead bodies or their living bodies after they were dismembered alive as an 'interrogation' technique. After his death, the twins got heavily damaged while trying to play Jet Judo with the seekers. Not only did everyone rejoice at the return of their previous reckless vitality, but they rejoiced because it was the first time since Perceptor's death that Ratchet threw one of the wrench-throwing fits he was famous for. The Hatchet was back.

When asked, Magma said that she had only backed up Wildfire when he was ordering the death of Perceptor was because she was blackmailed.

Wheeljack and Ratchet still heard humming in the lab, but it started sounding like it used to. Content, gentle, and comforting.

They could sometimes feel another spark when they merged. And sometimes, when they needed it most, Perceptor was there to comfort them and whisper away the grief.

---

"Beachcomber?"

The blue minibot looked up at the engineer in his doorway, smiling. "Mmm?"

"Uh… remember that flower thing?" Wheeljack asked awkwardly, shifting his weight foot to foot.

Beachcomber gestured him inside and nodded. "Yes."

Wheeljack edged in slowly, taking out a bundle of flowers from subspace. "Ratchet and I found these just outside our door this morning."

They were in pristine condition, their colors vibrant and beautiful. It was obvious that both the medic and engineer had been very careful with them as not even a petal looked damaged.

Beachcomber's optics widened slightly in surprise before he smiled, jumping off from his berth and coming closer to look at the flowers. "Forget-me-nots, globe amaranths, orange blossoms, poppies, sweet peas, carnations, azaleas, cattails, cyclamen, daisies, zinnia…" He let out a chuckle. "Wow, Percy. You have an interesting assortment here."

He looked up, still smiling gently. "I could go on and on about it. It's basically a bundle of flowers just screaming unfading, eternal, loyal, true love. He's saying that he loves you, that he always will, that he doesn't want you to be sad, and he's saying good bye. The cattails mean peace, so he's telling you that he's going to be able to rest in peace now, and the azaleas mean basically 'take care of yourself for me.' But in a way, he's also saying that he'll always be here." He looked down and let out a content sigh. "He really did love you both. Thank you for that. I never saw him happier than the times he was with you."

Wheeljack paused, looking down at the flowers with a different look in his optic. He blinked quickly, backing up a little. "I'll… I'll go tell Ratchet and put these in a vase. Thank you."

He gave Beachcomber a watery smile before turning quickly and disappearing through the door.

The geologist stood there alone for a long moment, but then he slowly turned and walked to the little vase on the table right where the sun came out of the window. Morning glories, impatiens, poppies, azaleas, cattails, red chrysanthemums, sweet peas, and zinnia were all there together in that little piece of strong cut glass. Beachcomber touched the petal of an azalea lightly, smiling sadly.

"I don't know how I can take care of myself without you, Percy. I'm so used to you always being around to tell me when I forget to eat or recharge."

Beachcomber smiled and turned away from the flowers he had found outside of his room that morning, lying down on his berth and falling into recharge to the gentle and familiar sound of Perceptor's warm, affectionate chuckling.

---

Neither the daffodil growing from the med bay wall nor the flowers left on numerous people's doorstep ever faded. They bloomed and flourished, uncaring of the passage of time. Some suspected that the same was true with the flowers found with Wildfire, but those flowers had been lost long ago. People wondered why the flowers were given. Some theorized that it was because the one who gave them didn't want to be forgotten. Some said that the one who gave them wanted to tell everyone how he felt about them. In reality, it was a mixture of both. Even years later, people who had been there to receive a bundle of the forever flowers would ask Ratchet, Wheeljack, or Beachcomber to tell them the story. They always knew the story best because they were closest to the one said to have given the flowers.

Wheeljack and Ratchet never did fall in love with another, but with time they were able to forgive Prowl for what he did.

Wheeljack grinned and shuttered his optics, listening to the happy humming resonating through the lab. There wasn't really much to forgive Prowl for, when you got right down to it. Perceptor never really left.

And it was that little fact that made everyone in the Ark just a little happier.

A/N

This story was done for the livejournal tfbunnyfarm contest. Kirin Saga (hi, Kirin! -waves-) was the original creator of the bunny. It was beta'd by Enzan Lover, and though I'm unsure if she has an FF acount, still give her a round of applause. -claps- Reviews are appreciated, and I hope you enjoyed reading this.