Chapter Text
Title: Amnesia
Warning: Equivalent of mind control.
Rating: PG-13.
Continuity: MTMTE AU
Characters: Pharma, Tarn.
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn’t own the script or actors.
Motivation (Prompt): Kinkfest 2016 prompt on Tumblr: “Humiliation kink.”
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Part 16
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Flashes, mostly. Pictures like afterimages here and there, usually when he was upset or tired. The irregularity of his memories were the worst part. Nothing his damaged archives salvaged ever made sense, disconnected bits of his life that left him rattled, unsettled, and restless for days. If he could predict an onset of remembering, he’d avoid the stimulus. It was easier when he didn't remember. His guards always seemed to know when he’d had a flashback, and there was an inevitable barrage of tests he had to take afterward. Prowl told him all the prodding was preventative medical care to prevent a relapse or some kind of shock-collapse, but Tarn had his suspicions.
Rung’s explanation was much the same, but Tarn believed him more. Especially after the psychotherapist accompanied him to one of the post-memory appointments. Tarn liked Rung. Not only did the mech discuss classic literature and music with him, but he’d stopped the medics from excessive prodding and sternly limiting the number of tests to a reasonable few that actually made sense. Tarn understood processor stress-tests. He didn’t want to lose his memories again.
Still, he had to wonder why Prowl had him watched so closely. It made Tarn think something had happened on Messatine. Beyond everything else the coldsparked coghead had set up to happen, of course. Hmmph. It’d be a long time before Tarn forgave Prowl that.
But Prowl had power, political and military leverage. He’d engineered the downfall of the Decepticon Justice Division by knowingly placing Pharma in mortal danger on Messatine. He stood at Optimus Prime’s right hand. As much as Tarn liked Rung, he wasn’t fool enough to believe Prowl wasn’t manipulating them both. Tarn believed Prowl didn’t want him to remember something, so he couldn’t confide in Rung about the strange memory flashes. He didn’t dare.
Seeing Megatron on trial was the worst time. Tarn's head pounded afterward, an aching empty processor pain where damaged files refused to be recalled. Even the soothing presence of his precious surgeon couldn't stop him from trying to remember. He should have been content to be with Pharma, positively euphoric that Pharma was at his side for once, but watching Megatron renounce the Decepticons had felt like tearing out his own fuel pump.
"Did I know him?" he asked Pharma, wretchedly unhappy, and the frown on Pharma's face hurt his spark but he had to know. "Did he order my torture? Did he speak to me?" Blue optics looked away from him, and Tarn fell to his knees beside Pharma's chair, fingers clutching the surgeon's arm in need.
Big hands made careless dents, and fear spread across Pharma's face as Tarn leaned into his lap, the massive tankformer caging him in as he pleaded, "Tell me, please!"
Rage blotted out fear in a thin but effective cover. Pharma erupted from the chair, throwing off Tarn's too-tight hold as if it'd burnt him. "Don't touch me!"
"I'm sorry, I -- Pharma, I just -- " Tarn nearly scrambled back, realizing too late how he’d hurt the comparatively frail flyer.
“Don’t ever do that! Not ever, do you understand?!” The surgeon regained his footing on the other side of the chair, reassured by the barrier, however small. He stood tall, wings hiked high in indignant rage but quivering in reaction he couldn’t quite hide.
Tarn stayed down, letting him take control. Regret and fear surged in Tarn’s aching head. The painful waves made it difficult to concentrate, and he squinted up at Pharma. “…yes. I understand. I apologize for -- “
Still standing behind the safety of the chair, Pharma bent forward to spit angry words. "Back before the war, a mech like you would lose his hands if he dared touch me!"
He blinked, awareness crossing his optics, and he straightened abruptly.
Tarn didn't know what his surgeon had suddenly realized. He was busy having his own epiphany at that moment. The words had hit his mind as though they meant something. Something important, something worth remembering, something just out of reach. Corrupted files recalled to error messages by the sight of Megatron on trial opened and crashed in quick succession. Each tagged file triggered the next, a cascading failure in his processor. Something important, something about hands, about losing hands. Something about Megatron, his memories, a past he didn't remember, they all mean something --
A caress as light as a snowflake traced around his audio, and Tarn jerked back to the present, optics wide behind his mask. Surrounded by a halo of shattered memory, Pharma crouched before him, one hand outstretched. The shutters around the surgeon’s optics were tight, defensive fear held at bay, but the surgeon wore a crooked grin. It transfixed Tarn.
A mere hint of pressure from the hand on his helm made him bow his head, and Pharma purred, "No hands. I expect you'll have to get inventive," in the audio he pet with fine fingers.
And everything Tarn didn't remember vanished beneath what he did.
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