Healed [Sequel to Burned](Transformers Prime)

Epilogue

"I remember years ago,
Someone told me I should take
Caution when it comes to love,
I did,
I did
>><<

The Close, almost eight decades later . . .

The Agent in his passenger seat was solemn, quiet. She was well aware Ratchet did not feel like speaking to her, not during this time. The Autonomous Robotic Organism had felt his spark falter, and they knew it was time.

When they arrived at the assisted living she got out, walking quietly into the facility and directly to the correct room, having visited many times before. She checked to ensure the coast was clear before giving the two Cybertronians the okay, waiting patiently for them to fizzle into view.

Ratchet appeared first, the doctor taking on a suitable human appearance, his holomatter avatar having aged only slightly in the past few decades. Megatron was next, looking much younger than his Autobot counterpart. But even the pair combined seemed to have lesser years than the one they had come to visit.

Age had taken Dana hostage and refused to let her go, and despite even the Cybertronian tech inside her - which still functioned like it was brand new - her body deteriorated at its normal pace. Now at almost ninety-five years old, it was ready to stop.

Her pale green eyes gazed at the avatars with a ghost of a smile, her weak hand reaching out. Ratchet took it in his own, feeling the wrinkles and veins which now protruded out from her fragile skin. Only nine decades, not even a century, and her life was already about to end. It was unfair. Humans, though not a fantastic species, had its share of redeemable members. And yet even the good ones only lived as long as a Cybertronian year.

One year. That was all he had with her. He wish he had been more selfish, more possessive, of their time. But even when her hair was greying and her bones cracking he still could not spend enough time with her.

It's not fair.

Megatron hated the way she looked. Once a proud warrioress, now subject to the whims of nature and the betrayal of her own health. He could barely recognize the femme in front of him, though he had seen her age. He remained at the foot of her bed, not wanting to approach, not wanting her to see the disappointment in his eyes. Though it was a silly thought, he believed that if he stayed here, when Death would come for her the gladiator would rip it apart so it could not touch her.

"Ratchet," the medic's name left like a whisper on her lips. "Is it time?"

Is it time? She asked that question every time he visited. It was as if she knew he could feel when her systems were finally shutting down.

"Yes," he held her hand, the word harder than he ever imagined to say. "It is. I'm sorry, Dana."

A throaty, weak laugh escaped her. "Why are you sorry? I have lived more than a fulfilling life. I got to meet you, go on adventures, become a top secret government agent . . ." She took along breath; it was becoming more and more difficult, she realized. "And you . . ." The old woman smiled at Megatron. "We had our differences. But we made up."

The warlord nodded. He did not know what to say to her. Of all the things he had done, Megatron had never comforted a dying spark. The opportunity had never presented itself, and it wasn't like he would take it anyway. Now, well, he wished he had at least some practice.