Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Do you have any idea how hard it is to be me? Seriously. Yeah, I know, everyone is fifteen once, even your parents, but it's so much harder now than it was for them. Right? Everyone says that. Well, I've got news. Even if you're fifteen and reading this, you don't know anything about how hard it is to be me. And I know you're rolling your eyes and just gearing up to tell me your sob-story of a tough life. 

Well before you go and embarrass yourself, let me tell you my story first. I am Annabelle Marie Lennox. And I hate my father. 

You think Nebraska's the middle of nowhere? Forks, Washington? Fairbanks, Alaska? They've got nothing on me. Ever heard of Diego Garcia? My point exactly! It's a military base on a little group of islands in the Indian Ocean. You heard me. Military base. Now normally growing up on a military base isn't too bad because there are civilian cities nearby. Not on Diego Garcia. Every living creature on that patch of earth is there because they're owned by the US or British military in one way or another. What about the natives? They were run off the islands back in the '70's. I grew up on stolen property while the rightful owners spent every penny they could spare to get their ancestral lands back. So how's that for original sin? 

And did I mention it's a military base? Yeah. My dad is, like, G.I. Joe. Serious. All special ops and disappearing in the middle of the night to go save the world from demon alien robots. You've heard of them, right? They terrorized the world about ten years back. Uh-huh, those demon alien robots. How's that for 'career day' at school? "My daddy's a colonel, and he could tell us what he does every day, but then he'd have to kill us." Of course, there were only, like, a hundred and twenty other kids in my school, and they were all military brats, too. No, not my grade but my entire K-12 school . My dad was the highest-ranking officer with kids, though. You think you've got cliques and social ladders at your school? Well, military brats are born into it. I wasn't the popular one, I was the one everyone was respectful to, because, well, everybody respected Colonel William Lennox, and so their kids were taught to respect him, too. So I kind of got promoted by association. I never got invited to sleepovers, because officers and enlisted don't hang out like that. It would be disrespectful. 

And as if I wasn't already isolated enough, my mom has a thing for the rural life and got us a house a half mile away from the nearest building and quarter a mile from the nearest paved road. In the jungle. So I'm smack-dab in the boondocks of the middle of nowhere. 

Raise your hand if you can one-up me still. 

As you can imagine, I grew up in a very adult world. My parents tried to shelter me from the fact that my dad was paid to be an alien robot gladiator, and when I was little, I never would have guessed. My dad and I were best friends. When he was home, he'd read books to me and help me build forts in the living room. We'd go swimming in the ocean or ride a bright-pink motorcycle to the commissary for ice cream. I always thought it was so cool that my dad gave me rides on a pink motorcycle. But the first and only time I swore at my mom, I saw the G.I. Joe side of my dad. It wasn't pretty. In fact, I'm kind of surprised the robots had the ball-bearings to take another shot at Earth after having seen my dad in battle. But I'm wandering way off topic. 

My best friends were all grown-ups. There were my mom and dad, of course, and then a few friends of my parents who were co workers. Epps was always out at the house, and eventually he settled down and got married, but their oldest kid was six years younger than me. I have a few memories of Graham, but he died when I was almost ten. There were also Aaron Hyde and River Christiansen, who went by the nickname of R.C., and they came to visit almost daily. They called Mom Spitfire and me Spitlet, since I was in her spitting image, which was cute until I was about twelve. 

When I was eleven, I asked R.C. about her name. "Like the Nile River?" 

"No," she said with a smirk. "Like River Tam." 

So I googled it and then watched "Serenity" on Netflix, but I didn't get why she'd want to be named after a crazy girl until the end when River went all warrior-goddess and wiped out a whole room full of demonic Reavers. I always saw R.C. a little differently after that. 

Her sister, Mia, joined the unit on Diego Garcia when I was eight and she seemed even more, well, special ops than R.C. She was constantly telling us about this or that new gun or missile or grenade that she was testing out for their weapons-engineer, Jack. When my thirteenth birthday sleep-over was a flop (did I mention that military brats don't fraternize with their higher-ranking brats?), Mia showed up the next day after school with an array of side-arms, shooting earmuffs, and some targets. "Sometimes, it helps to just blow something away," she said sympathetically. That day, Mia taught me how to use a .22, both a hand-gun and rifle. To my surprise and her satisfaction, I was a pretty good shot, even from that very first day. And I had to admit, I was enjoying myself by the time she and her shooting irons had to go back to the base. Dad just about had a fit when he found out, but Hyde (as Mom and Dad both called him) talked him down from his tantrum by pointing out every femme (as he called all females) should know how to defend herself. 

Hyde was different from R.C. and Mia. He was always just…playful. I wondered sometimes what he and Dad did on the base, because they were kind of in synch and you knew they had to be working together a lot. They obviously had a great friendship, and Hyde was kind of adopted by our family, even more so than R.C. and Mia. 

One day when I was almost fourteen, he and dad came home while Mia and I were shooting out back. She was teaching me some tricks about how to manage a higher-caliber weapon despite my smaller size, and Dad couldn't bear to watch, so he went inside to Mom. I caught Hyde staring at Mia and I realized he was in love with her. And then Mia caught him staring and winked. They never held hands or kissed or anything, but it was just plain as day in their eyes that they loved each other and I wondered why I'd never seen it before. It was something of a shock that Hyde could be in love, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Mia was perfect for him. Mom agreed when I asked her. 

Dad even roughhoused with Hyde. Often they'd get together a football game and a whole bunch of Dad's fellow warriors from the base would come and fill the front yard with really cool cars. I always loved the back yard football games. The guys were rowdy and fun, especially the twins (there were two sets of them). When I was little, they'd take turns giving me shoulder rides, and when I was too big for that, they would tell me really cool sci-fi stories. And then the game would start. A couple of guys with the nicknames of Prowl and Prime were the team captains and you'd think it was an all-out war they were so serious about it. Even R.C. and Mia would play while Mom would referee. I was the cheering section for whichever team Dad was on. 

But yeah, that's my messed up childhood. Nothing too traumatic, just…messed up. No kids my own age to play with, and femme fatales for best friends. I hadn't realized how lucky I was until my dad went and traumatized my adolescence. You see, I turned fifteen a week ago. Apparently, Hyde and his CO thought that fifteen was old enough to be entrusted with matters of global security and my whole world got turned on its ear. I'm still wondering if they're right. 

And I really do hate my father.

Chapter Text

At my request, my fourteenth birthday party was a back-yard football game. Unfortunately, it also involved a very embarrassing surprise serenade of "Happy Birthday" by Sunny and Sides that ended with them each on one knee on both sides of me offering me a yellow and a silver-grey rose, respectively. I just about died from embarrassment, but the others thought this was hysterical, mostly because both Hyde and my dad were fit to be tied. 

My fifteenth birthday was a lower-key affair. R.C. and Mia came over for a slumber party with me and my mom while Dad went to stay with Hyde. My present from R.C. was a set of four paint guns, and Mia's present was ammo (in copious quantities, true to her style). So after a nighttime round of team paintball (R.C. and I won), we went inside for birthday cake, ice cream straight from the carton, and a movie. It was an oldie called Miss Congeniality that we all laughed ourselves silly over. Then we gave each other pedicures and talked about nothing in particular until I passed out around 02:00 hours. I have no idea how late the others stayed up. Around 11:00 hours, we finally woke up enough for strawberry crepes and coffee. (It was a school day, but family tradition was that I got to stay home from school on my birthday.) 

We were just finishing when Dad and Hyde came home. He and Hyde had both taken a half-day off work for my special day. "How's the birthday girl?" Dad asked, giving me a big hug. 

"Groggy," I answered. 

"After sleeping in 'til noon?" he teased. 

R.C. and Mia both gave me hugs before quietly slipping out. Their shifts started at 13:00. "See you soon," R.C. promised.

"See ya." 

"So. Big day," Hyde said, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He looked almost nervous. He hadn't given me a present yet, and from his expression, I suspected it was a doozy. 

"What did you do?" I demanded, expecting a mischievous grin to light up his face any second. 

"Nothing." 

"Um-hum. Riiight." 

He shrugged, smiling just a little. Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he offered me a small, wrapped box. "Go on," Dad encouraged. "Open it." 

I went to the living room and sat down on the couch, tearing the paper off. Hyde sat beside me. Inside the box was a small, sleek, expensive-looking cell phone. 

"Qwerty keyboard, 10 megapixel camera, and voice-to-text capabilities," Hyde bragged. "And all of our names and phone numbers already programmed in." 

It wasn't what I was expecting – especially having the personal phone numbers of my Dad's co-workers – but it was a very sweet gift. A grown-up gift, I abruptly realized. I threw my arms around Hyde. "Thank you so much!" 

He hugged me tightly. "Anything for you, Spitlet."

I groaned. "Please don't call me that." 

His strong shoulders shook with laughter, and he let me go. "Alright. Annabelle. But that's not your only surprise today." I looked at him expectantly, but he glanced up to Dad like he needed a little help. 

"You'll have to go to the back yard to get it," Dad said. He looked a little apprehensive, too. 

"Okay," I said uncertainly, standing up. My first thought was that maybe Hyde had bought me a car, but I was only fifteen and didn't even have a learner's permit. And why was everyone so nervous. "Do I need a blindfold?" 

"No," Mom said, laughing a little and taking my hand. "Come on." 

Hyde's Topkick was in the back yard. Mom paused on the back deck, her arm around me. Dad leaned against the railing facing me, while Hyde went down to stand in front of his truck. My father took a deep breath. "Annabelle, have you ever wondered what I do at work?" 

I shrugged. "Sure, but it's all extremely top secret." 

"Not anymore," he answered. "Not for you." 

I looked from him to Hyde and back in surprise. "Huh?" 

"You know the aliens that attacked Earth?" 

"Yeah." 

"Not all of them are bad. In fact, some are our friends." He turned and nodded to Hyde. 

Hyde blinked out of existence. 

My breath whooshed out like someone had punched me. He'd disappeared into thin air, right in front of me. "Where…?" The hood of the truck split down the middle, and I watched in horror as the vehicle shifted and morphed into the shape of a robot. NO! This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't. 

"This is Ironhide," my dad was saying. "He's an Autobot and has spent your entire lifetime defending the whole of planet Earth from the Decepticons." 

"No," I whispered. 

"I'm afraid so," the thing with Hyde's voice said. "We wanted to tell you – " 

A blood-curdling, horror-struck scream fell out of my mouth. 

"Annabelle," Dad said sharply. 

"No." I shook my head, stepping back. Mom's arm on me tightened just a little bit in support. I shook her off, taking another step back. This was Hyde ?"NO!" 

The robot held his arms out almost like he wanted a hug. "Please, Spitlet." 

" NO! "I shrieked. 

Dad grabbed my arm and said to the monster, "Excuse us a minute." Hauling me back into the kitchen, he got right in my face. "Annabelle Marie Lennox, what is wrong with you? Ironhide has been your friend since you were a baby." "No, my friends are human !" 

Dad narrowed his eyes. "You know him. You know he won't harm you. You know he's one of the good guys." 

"I don't know anything anymore!" I could feel my hands trembling. The monster in the backyard knelt down, looking worriedly in through the window.

"Look," Dad growled. "The first time I saw one of these things, it was tearing up Soccent, and the only reason I survived was that I kept a cool head. The day your mother met Ironhide, she threatened his life if he didn't bring me home safely – and he was in his robot form. You're our daughter and I expect you to show a little more backbone. You're shaming us both!" 

Shaming them. I was having a freaking crisis and all he could care about was the impression I was making on his alien buddy. 

"I hate you," I hissed. And then I bolted to my bedroom and locked the door. Throwing myself on my bed, I lay face down on my pillow and cried. They'd lied to me. Who else was an alien monster? My parents? R.C. and Mia? Bobby and Theresa Epps? Sunny and Sides? Who had known? Who had lied? I felt the answer to that last one: everyone. Everyone must have known. My whole life, everyone I'd ever trusted had lied. 

A few minutes later, there was a light knock on my door. "Annabelle?" my mom said. 

I just buried my head under my pillow. 

After another minute or so, she softly began to sing. It was my favorite lullaby when I was little. 

Sparkling laughter, sparkling strong, 

Sparkling smile, sparkling song. 

Sparkling weeping, sparkling bright, 

Sparkling daughter, sparkling mine. 

Sparkling gentle, sparkling sweet, 

Sparkling welcome, mine to keep, 

Sparkling growing, mine to love, 

Sparkling little, sparkling safe. 

When first your light filled me, 

I wept to hold you near. 

A part of me, yet all your own, 

Mine until you're grown. 

Sparkling laughter, sparkling song, 

Sparkling smile, sparkling strong. 

Sparkling weeping, sparkling bright, 

Sparkling daughter, sparkling mine. 

"R.C. taught me the English version of the song," Mom said. "It was a traditional lullaby on her world." "Use her real name!" I snapped before I could stop myself. 

"That is her real name, except if you look in your phone, it's spelled A-R-C-E-E." 

When I didn't answer, she kept going in a soft voice, as if she was talking to herself. "She was first a teacher and then a scientist before the War that destroyed her world. She taught younglings, the equivalent of middle school, more or less." A pause, waiting for me to comment. After a few seconds, she went on. "Mia, or Chromia as most people call her, says that the younglings were the best preparation any civilian could have had for combat. Early on in the War, Arcee defended neutrals, people who hadn't joined either faction, because the Decepticons were killing indiscriminately. She was instrumental in winning a couple of crucial battles before coming here." 

Another pause, and when Mom started talking again, she sounded nostalgic. "The first day I met her, Will was in the hospital on base because he'd been injured. At the time, I only had clearance to interact with Ironhide, but Optimus Prime made the decision to introduce me to everyone." Again she paused. "You were only a year old at the time. Arcee was so…in awe of you, Annabelle. 

They all were. Their children were all killed in the War. Every last one. You were a miracle in their eyes. And until little Danny Epps came along, you were the only child they could know. You were hope incarnate to them. Precious. A treasure." 

Another pause, longer this time. She sighed before continuing. "They were all jealous that Arcee got the chance to hold you in her human holoform, so much so that Optimus brought it up with the liaison. It was feared that a young child would let the secret slip, so after much arguing with the Secretary of Defense, a compromise was reached. The Autobots could interact with you as long as they stayed in their holoforms and strictly acted human. It was decided that at the age of fifteen, we could let you in on the secret." A pause. "Ironhide and the femmes have chafed at needing to hide so much from you, but a deal was a deal. They've looked forward to this day for years. They want you to truly know them." 

She paused a long while then, but I was still giving her the silent treatment.

"They love you, Annabelle. Ironhide loves you. Forget his exterior and look on his heart." 

"He doesn't have a heart!" I snarled. 

On the other side of the door, Mom chuckled once. "No. But he has a spark. It's the part of them that makes them unique. Their soul, I guess. It's a physical orb of light that a Cybertronian carries in his chest. Or her chest. When their spark is extinguished, they die. Remember the song? They call one of their babies a sparkling. The best translation would be 'dear heart.' Look on his soul, Annabelle, because he does have one, and you've loved his soul for as long as you can remember." 

I didn't answer, and after a few minutes, her footsteps retreated down the hall. 

Half an hour later, another, firmer knock rapped on my door. "Annabelle?" Dad asked. He sounded calmer, but I could hear he was nowhere near apologizing. When I didn't answer, he spoke again, sounding frustrated. (Good, I thought.) "Ironhide went back to the base. It's safe to come out, now." 

He was so clueless that he didn't deserve an answer. After a minute, his footsteps retreated down the hall, too. 

I stayed in my room all day, listening to music on my MP3 player. At about 14:00 hours, I got a text message on my new phone from a contact labeled Ironhide. It simply said, "I'm sorry." I deleted the message. Mom came upstairs about 18:00 hours to tell me dinner was ready, and after a couple of minutes, I decided I was hungry enough to endure a meal with them. Dad tried to make conversation like today was just another day, but Mom only gave him short answers and kept throwing him warning glances. I went back upstairs before dessert and stayed there the rest of the evening. 

The next morning, I went downstairs for a silent breakfast in my pajamas and then went back up to my bedroom. A few minutes later, my mom knocked on the door and asked if I was going to school or not. 

"Not," I answered. "I'm too sick." 

She left without another word. I guess lying was easy for her. The next day was Saturday, and I spent the whole weekend like that, leaving my bedroom only to eat or shower. Every now and then I could hear my parents arguing, but I just turned up the volume on the player. On Monday morning after Dad left for the base, I got ready for school and silently stalked out to the garage. The minivan sat perfectly still. "Is it…?" 

"No," Mom answered. "It's just a minivan. The only Autobots you know are Ironhide, Arcee, Chromia, and the other ones with weird nicknames." 

"Epps?" 

"No. His entire family is human." 

That was a relief. At least I had a few human friends. 

"And we won't throw any more of them at you until you're ready," Mom added solemnly, gauging my reaction. "But Ironhide is our guardian. When he's not on active duty, he'll still come here. Not in his human holoform or his robotic base mode, though. He'll just be in his alt-form, just your father's truck." 

Just a truck – another lie. Looking away from my mom, I climbed into the front seat.

Chapter Text

Author's Note (Eowyn77): Sorry if the last two chapters left a bitter taste in anyone's mouth. The first line of this chapter kind of sums up where we'll go from here, though. ;) It'll take 2-3 chapter for Annabelle to repair the damage she's caused, but we will get past this, and then the REAL fun can begin. :)

TIE IN: This chapter ties in with Introductions: Bradley Johnston. He's a minor OC in this chapter. I put him in here with a bit part, and then the slagger insisted on telling me his story. I have to admit, it was pretty good, so his story is now posted as part of the Introductions series. Currently it's a one-shot, but it's not likely to stay that way. You might want to take a minute and make his acquaintance before reading this chapter, though you don't really need to. :)

Today I remembered why I love my dad. Darn him.

It was after school and Mom was working on her accounting stuff when the phone rang. (She still owned her ranch back in California and she did all the paperwork for it remotely.) I was still pouting in my room, so I didn't bother answering it. It's not like anyone human ever called the colonel's daughter, and I wasn't about to speak to my alien robot "friends." It had been two and a half weeks, and Ironhide, Arcee, and Chromia left daily text messages for me. I deleted them without reading them.

A couple of minutes later, Mom hollered up the stairs for me, and I grudgingly opened the bedroom door. "What."

"We're headed up to the base. Pack whatever you'll need for the rest of the evening."

I recognized her tense, choked-up tone, and my blood ran cold. Walking to the top of the stairs, I looked down at her. "Is Dad okay?"

"Yeah, he sent a car. Hyde's been hurt, along with Sides and Arcee."

"Sent a car?"

"An Autobot," Mom confirmed.

I crossed my arms defiantly. "I'm a little old for the daycare, don't you think?"

Without batting an eyelash, Mom said, "Yes, I do. If you come with me, you'll actually come with me. To the Autobot hangar." And there was just the faintest hint of a challenge in her eyes, not calling me chicken but asking if I really wanted to miss out on this.

Frowning, I went back into my room and threw Return of the King into my backpack, along with a sketch-pad and my pencils. I checked my MP3 player, grateful it had a decent charge, and added it to my bag. Rummaging in my purse, I found a few dollars and pocketed them, in case I wanted something from the commissary while we were there.

My new cell phone was sitting on my dresser, charging. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands a couple of times. I was still angry about being lied to, but only a little bit. Mostly I was just wallowing now. It was stupid and bratty of me, but I hadn't really seen an alternative. I didn't know how to move beyond the fact that I couldn't trust people I once would have trusted with my life.

With a sudden feeling of dread, I realized this was the turning point. I had to either go with Mom and start acting like a mature adult or stay home and continue to act like a spoiled child. I had enough sense to know it would be just plain wrong (and maybe hazardous to my health) to go into that hangar with my bad attitude. Did I really want to miss out on this? What else did I have to do today? Who else did I prefer to be with? Checking my new cell phone once for messages – there were none – I put it into the backpack, too.

And then I sat on my bed beside the bag and stared at nothing while I waited. The man I'd known as Aaron Hyde had been hurt several times, of course. The first time I remember going through all this, I was nine. It was the same day Graham died. Dad had driven over in a little green mini and brought us back to the base. I remember Mom crying so hard, and Dad just looking…cold, but not in a mean way. Like he was in shock and he was trying to stay that way so he wouldn't cry, too. They'd dropped me at the daycare and I spent the day there playing computer games and watching Disney cartoons. I guess I just didn't understand how Hyde could ever be really hurt. He was tough as nails and as kind as Santa Claus. Larger than life. Legends don't die. And before the day was up, he and my parents came to pick me up from the daycare and bring me to the commissary for a treat.

A day or two later, we attended Graham's send-off. He was flying home to be buried beside his grandpa. I remember that part because I realized then that I didn't know who my grandpa was and I decided I wanted him to be Hyde. I never told anyone, but I wrote it in my little locked diary.

The next time I remember him getting hurt, I was twelve. It was eerily the same – the phone call, Mom's worried voice, Dad driving home in an unfamiliar vehicle to pick us up. Funny how I never made the connection before. That time, it was a yellow Camaro. I remember because it was raining and the yellow color seemed way too happy for such a dismal day. Sitting in the daycare had been depressing that time, mostly because it was insulting, but I helped out the workers by holding babies.

"Annabelle?" Mom called up the stairs to me.

"Coming."

It was a golden Corvette flying down the driveway this time. I glanced at my mom. "Sunny?"

"Sunstreaker. And yes, Sideswipe is actually his twin. Their spark split when it was formed, just like with human identical twins."

Then the car slid sideways to idle not two feet in front of us. "Come on! Come on!" Sunny's voice snarled through the radio's speakers. He sounded exactly like he did when the football players started arguing and he wanted to just get back to the game so he could plow into his brother again. (It was a basic rule of Lennox Football that nobody got an intact set of twins. Sunny and Sides were hard hitters, and Skids and Mudflap were almost impossible to catch.) For some reason, his anger sounded so…so honest. Genuine. Where I didn't know if I could trust Ironhide's open arms, I could trust Sunstreaker's irritation. I slid into the passenger seat, buckling up while Mom climbed in.

Sunstreaker peeled out on the gravel, fishtailing, and raced back up to the highway. "Would it kill you to get a paved driveway?" he growled. "My finish is slagged now."

"You were slagged by the Decepticons first," Mom answered. "Besides, if we paved it, what would you have left to glitch about?"

Did my mom just cuss at Sunstreaker in Autobot?

"Saltwater, sand, UV rays, the acid rain your stupid species seems intent on making, Ratchet, Sideswipe, Prowl, Optimus, Iron Will, Megatron, Starscream, Shockwave…"

"Shut up," Mom snapped.

"Hey," Sunstreaker snapped right back. "She's got clearance now. Doesn't she? Don't you, Spitlet?"

"Don't call me that," I grumbled.

"I'll call you whatever the slag I like, femme."

"Until Ironhide comes around," Mom muttered.

Sunstreaker ignored her. "You know the names of the good guys. Wanna know who the villains are?"

To be honest, I was kind of curious, now that he mentioned it. "Sure," I mumbled.

"Megatron's the big one. He's the one who started the whole fragging war. Starscream is his right-hand mech and a huge pain in the aft for everyone – Autobots and Decepticons. And Shockwave…" The engine roared, and somehow, it was more frightening than if he'd cussed or yelled or growled with his human voice. There was a lot of power behind that engine, and it shook his whole body, including his passengers. "As you humans say, Shockwave's got brains. He came up with a new type of ammo that might just cost Ironhide his life."

"Sunstreaker," Mom said, more gently this time.

"Don't 'Sunstreaker' me, femme. Spitlet's gonna find out sooner or later. Besides, she's tougher than you think, screaming like a girl notwithstanding."

"Wow," I snarked. "You got all the way up to four syllables with that one, Sunny." I didn't like being reminded about that scream. It was embarrassing, even if Dad didn't have any right to say so.

We pulled into the infamous hangar, and opening his doors for us, Sunstreaker unceremoniously dumped us out of his cab. He launched himself forward, transforming on the fly. It was easy to see why. An identically-shaped silver Autobot stepped into view, apparently walking out through a large door. He was rubbing his chest kind of like Dad did when he had heartburn.

Sunstreaker grabbed his brother by his shoulders, shaking him. "You fragging, punk-ass slagger!"

Sideswipe angrily shook him off. "Love you, too, bro."

Impulsively, Sunstreaker pulled Sideswipe into a quick hug and then rapped on Sides' helmet. "You are so scrapping stupid. Come on, let's get you some energon."

From the open door, we all heard a baritone voice command "Lay off the high-grade for at least twenty-four hours."

Ratchet. A host of memories rushed over me at the sound. Ron Hatchett, nicknamed Ratchet, had been our family's physician for as long as I could remember. Anytime Mom or I were sick or hurt, he made a house call, even if it was just to splint Mom's ankle when she twisted it. When I caught the chicken pox, he stayed overnight for several nights in a row until my fever came down. Ratchet's voice was the sound of comfort and the easing of pain.

Simultaneously, the twins casually flipped the bird in the general direction of Ratchet's, er, repair shop. Then they turned and stalked toward us, making for the other side of the hanger. Seeing us standing there, Sideswipe gave me a tough-guy grin and a twitch of his optical hardware that, coming from him, had to be a wink.

Watching them, it slowly dawned on me that, even in this bizarre form, the twins were familiar. I knew them. From flipping off Ratchet to the jaunty way they walked to the cheeky wink, I could see Sunny and Sides in Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

Dad entered the hanger from a human-sized side door and came over to us. "Hey, ladies," he greeted us, but the words were subdued.

Then Mom touched my elbow and all three of us walked toward the door Sideswipe had just emerged from. As we got closer, I noticed another Autobot, this one much shorter than the twins but still twice my height, standing guard at the entrance.

"Chromia," Dad said in acknowledgement.

"Iron Will, Spitfire," the Autobot coolly answered with Mia's voice. Nodding toward me, she said to Dad, "You sure you want to take a youngling into the med bay? It's still pretty bad, and Ratchet's mood is even worse."

And just like with the twins, I suddenly saw Mia in Chromia, in the way she stood with her hip to the side and the angle of her rifle. "I can handle a thirty-ought-six," I answered quietly, "thanks to you. I should be able to handle this."

I could almost feel her surprise when I spoke to her directly, and I felt a surge of guilt. I shouldn't have deleted those texts. Now I didn't even know what they'd been trying to say to me.

Looking back at Dad, Chromia said, "It's your call."

"No," Dad answered. "It's Annabelle's. She's got clearance now and permission from Optimus."

"I'd like to go in," I said in a small voice.

With a grimace, Chromia pushed aside the door for us.

The first thing I noticed was another Chromia-sized Autobot, maybe because she was almost at eye level, maybe because she was bright pink. Arcee, I realized. She didn't look up as we entered. She just stared at a pile of crushed and half-melted parts sitting on a human-sized table. Looking more closely, I noticed the occasional fleck of purple. Without a word, Mom went over and gently touched the metal claw that passed for Arcee's hand. After a moment, Arcee looked down at Mom and sighed, collapsing into a familiar, pink motorcycle. Mom mounted the bike and the two of them sped out of the door Chromia had opened for them.

Dad started climbing the steps of a free-standing platform at the head of an Autobot-sized table, and I followed him.

"Thank you for getting those two out of the med bay, Will." Ratchet's voice came from an Autobot as tall as Sunny and Sides but broader in the shoulders. He didn't look up, but I could hear his irritation. "Arcee was so silent it was distracting and Sunstreaker's a glitch in the best of times. Now you two get the Pit out of here, too."

As I climbed behind my dad, I saw that Ratchet was…operating on a big, black Autobot, and with a sinking heart, I realized this must be Ironhide. His chest was exposed and spread wide open, a bright blue light humming away in some kind of casing where a heart would be. To my shock, a human in a hazmat suit was crawling around in the cavity. "Found it," the man said with a lilting British accent, holding up in a gloved hand what looked like a heavy-duty thermos. "Twelve more, right?"

Ratchet took the thermos and dumped a glowing, orange marble from the mug into something that looked vaguely like a cooler. I could see several of the marble things in it before Ratchet covered them with a lid. "Right. But you should let Davis do the next one."

The man was sweating from exertion. "It's just a few centimeters away from – "

"Yes, but it's been eight minutes."

"It's not going to kill me to – "

Ratchet plucked the man up by a harness around his chest. "Poor choice of words, Johnston. Yes, actually, it could. Now go to Quinn and send in Davis."

Clearly annoyed, the man crossed his arms while Ratchet set him on his feet and gave him a gentle nudge with one finger. It was that gesture, when his hand was extended, that let me see the scorch marks all up the inside of Ratchet's arm.

"What happened to you?" I asked.

The robot turned to me, and something about the set of his shoulders was downright menacing. "I said get out!" he roared in a tone normally reserved for Mudflap. "No suit, no protective gear at all! What are you thinking, Will? And she's a youngling!"

I jumped, but Dad put a reassuring hand on my shoulder before leading us silently out of the med bay, Ratchet ranting behind us.

Chapter Text

I followed Dad out of the med bay, fighting back the tears. Ratchet never yelled me. Never.

We left the hangar through the same door Dad had entered. It led into a long hallway, but we stopped only a few doors down. "Welcome to the human side of NEST," Dad said, leading me into a break room or cafeteria of some kind. In front of some vending machines, he stopped and said, "Hot chocolate? Ice cream? Corn dog? We missed dinner, but there's always the deli over at the commissary if you want something better."

I sighed and looked over the selection. A strange thought hit me. "They're not Autobots, are they?"

Dad chuckled. "No, but we did have to hunt down and kill a Decepticon pop machine once. After that, it was a long time before I could use a vending machine without one hand on my pistol."

Any other day, I would have smiled. Instead I just pointed at a bottle of apple juice. "I'll take that."

He bought the juice for me and a soda for himself. Sitting us down at a table in the corner, he said, "Don't take it personally, Annabelle. Ratchet's had a day straight from the Pit itself. We all have. He's been in that med bay since 03:00 this morning."

When I didn't answer, he squeezed my hand and said, "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"What…" I hesitated, unsure if I wanted an answer. Time to stop being a brat, I reminded myself. Show a little concern for the aliens who have always been kind if not actually honest. "What happened to his arm?"

"The same thing that's happening to Ironhide's internal systems. You saw those glowing pellets?"

"Yeah."

"They're kind of like radioactive buckshot. They couldn't pierce armor, but some of them did make it through the chinks and they're burning out Ironhide's circuits from the inside. Every time they move him, the shot rolls around inside and does more damage. The problem is Ratchet can't touch the things. He's got more repair tools than a hundred Swiss Army knives, but every time he tried to pick up the pellets or deactivate them, that tool's circuits got fried. He had to stop after a dozen or so tries because Sideswipe's spark chamber was damaged – "

"That's bad?"

"Very," Dad said grimly. "Sideswipe's spark was beginning to falter, and he'd die if it went out. If Ratchet kept trying to save Ironhide, he wouldn't have the means to save Sideswipe's spark. He had to choose."

"And he chose Sideswipe," I realized.

"We did," Dad answered solemnly.

I glared hatefully at him.

"Optimus had the final say," Dad added, "but Chromia and I were both part of the decision. You have to understand, sweetheart, Sunny and Sides are twins. Their sparks are two halves of a whole. If one dies, the other probably will, too. We were weighing both their lives against one. Ratchet knew how to fix Sideswipe, but there was nothing he could really do for Ironhide. So cut Ratchet a little slack, okay? He's had a rough time of it."

"Is Ironhide going to be okay?"

"We don't know. Johnston, he's on Ratchet's repair team, couldn't help with Sideswipe, so he took it upon himself to try to dislodge some of the shot pellets from Hyde's circuits closer to the surface. Using armor fragments from Arcee's damaged component, he realized he was able to handle the pellets without getting electrocuted or anything. Ratchet just about blew a fuse when he realized what Johnston had done, he was so mad. He doesn't like humans risking their lives to help him. He physically ejected Johnston from the med bay."

"But that didn't stop you guys," I said, smiling a little to know that they hadn't just given up on Hyde. Or 'Hide, I guess it must be.

"Once Chromia realized we could help, she wouldn't let anything stop us. We convinced Optimus to give us the go-ahead to work on Ironhide while Ratchet worked on Sides. Apparently the Decepticons hadn't figured on humans helping with repairs, so the radiation that shorted out Ratchet's hardware didn't do anything unusually nasty to us. A bunch of us humans have taken turns pulling the pellets out. Ratchet won't let us do more than one pellet or ten minutes at a time, whichever happens first. He's worried about the longer-term effects of the radiation."

"You helped, too?" I asked in surprise.

He gave me a sad smile. "Why do you think I sent Sunny instead of coming myself? I've got command authority, even over Ratchet. I've pulled three pellets, but Prime put his foot down and won't let me do any more."

"Could I do one?" I softly asked.

Dad stared at me, and I couldn't tell if he was more pleased, alarmed, or just plain surprised. Recovering, he said, "No, I doubt it. Ratchet's irritated enough that humans can do something for his patient that he can't do himself. Putting you at risk would be out of the question."

"Because I'm just a kid."

"No," Dad said solemnly. "Because he has a special place in his spark for you."

With the way I'd been acting? I raised my eyebrows in surprise, and Dad smiled gently. "They all do, Annabelle. You became their surrogate child in many ways, or maybe everyone's kid sister. They wouldn't let you endanger yourself, not because you're too young but because they love you too much."

I thought about that as Dad took a drink of his soda. One of the hardest things about finding out my friends were all alien robots was that it colored and warped all my memories. For instance, the cool cars they drove were actually themselves, and the people in the back yard were just illusions. So their friendship seemed like illusions, too. It was all part of the game, the deception necessary to blend in. The lie. How could a person not feel used and betrayed to learn that? But now I was starting to understand that the illusions weren't just illusions. I hadn't lost my friends; their soul or spark or heart or whatever you call it was still there, just…different, I guess. It was all pretty confusing still. But I realized that Dad was right – they loved me, and that was true whether Ratchet and Hyde were tough old soldiers or alien robots.

"Have there been other times humans could do things for Ratchet that he couldn't do?"

Dad shook his head. "Very rarely. You remember hearing about the Fallen?"

"Um, no."

"That was the Decepticon who made the world-wide transmission when you were two and half."

"Oh." Yeah. We learned about that in school. It was kind of weird to hear Dad talk about it as a memory when I'd read about it in a textbook.

"Optimus Prime died – they got there too late for Ratchet or any of the others to save him. That's why the Fallen had the power to attack Earth. A human boy sacrificed his own life to bring Prime back. Luckily for the boy, the same power that brought Prime back brought him back, too."

"Wow! How often does that happen?"

Dad gave me a grim half-smile. "About as often for Autobots as it does for humans. The only other one I know about is Megatron. We had a powerful piece of technology that some Decepticons broke in and…" He froze and then, jerking to his feet, bolted toward the door. "Move it, Annabelle!"

Confused (and, I'll admit, frightened), I ran after him. He hurtled down the hallway, throwing open the door to the Autobot hangar and sprinting across it to a huge doorway opposite the human wing. He paused there long enough to scan his access card and the door swished open just as I caught up with him. In the back of my mind, I realized as we passed through the enormous door that this must be the Autobot side of NEST. Literally.

Hanging a left, we ran two doors down. Dad skidded to a halt, catching me as I almost fell into him. "PROWL!" he barked.

The Autobot door in front of us opened, and a black-and-white robot crouched down to eye-level. "Report."

"Are we sure those pellets in Ironhide aren't Decepticons? Like the mini Insecticon marble-things that stole the All Spark Fragment?"

The Autobot blinked, and even though his eyes were basically glorified light bulbs, I got a sense that his gaze was distant. "Chromia says nothing in Ratchet's scans have indicated spark-energy – she's certain he would have said something – but his scans are about as effective as his repair tools with this new weapon."

"Recommend we contain the extracted pellets with Level One security."

"Agreed." Prowl straightened, his expression distant again. "Wheeljack will pick them up from the med-bay and seal them in his lab."

Wheeljack? Jack's Autobot name, I guessed.

"Jolt as an escort?"

Prowl tilted his head slightly. "And Prime."

Then he swiftly transformed into the familiar police car and opened the front doors – both of them. I climbed in and hung on for dear life when Prowl peeled out. No one questioned whether I would come along or suggested I should wait in the break room or go hang out with Skids and Mudflap. Dad was treating me like an adult, and I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about that.

Another hard part about learning the truth about the Autobots was that I didn't know where I fit. Like everything else in life, I was first and foremost Colonel Lennox's daughter, and the Autobots were my dad's friends before they were mine. Now all of a sudden they were a state secret, and with the magical tick of a clock on my fifteenth birthday, I was supposed to be a grown up capable of…what? Helping provide a human cover for them? Fighting with them? Was that why Chromia had spent so much time training with me? Did they expect me to contribute in some way? I was only a kid, for crying out loud!

But I didn't want to be just a kid – nobody does, and especially not teenagers.

Even knowing one of the most closely-kept secrets in the world, though, I didn't feel any different. The Autobots were still my dad's friends, for the most part, and there was no way I was an adult like him. In what universe was I on equal footing with them? The fact that they'd hidden the truth for so long made me feel kind of like they'd kept me in my proper place all this time. I was just a kid whose father was mixed up in the insanity. Why did they bother to let me into the club?

I couldn't make sense of my own feelings any more than I could make sense of the Autobots. Did I want to be a kid or an adult? Did I want to be a part of this or did I want to stay home and innocently watch TV and leave all this scary, strange, epic stuff to my dad?

Since finding out, I'd acted like a kid, but here, speeding across the base in Prowl's vehicle form…maybe this was something I really didn't want to miss out on. Humans could help the Autobots. They needed us. And maybe, just maybe, they needed me – Ironhide or Ratchet, if no one else.

They love you. My mom's words echoed in my mind, as did my dad's comments earlier. You're like a surrogate child or everyone's kid sister.

Even if, thanks to Chromia, I could shoot straight, they didn't expect me to be a warrior like Dad. I understood that now, especially after Dad's reaction to my offer to help Ironhide (and Ratchet's reaction to me in the med bay, though that still stung). It made me feel worlds better knowing they didn't expect me to do something I couldn't. I suddenly realized, though, that if there was any way I could help them, I would because Arcee was still R.C. and Ironhide was still Hyde. If they ran out of human helpers before they ran out of pellets, I would crawl into Ironhide's chest to pull out a radioactive bullet. And like Sunny and Sides, I'd flip Ratchet off if he gave me any grief.

Okay, so I wouldn't ever really flip off Ratchet, but I still grinned at the mental image.

Prowl squealed to a stop in front of a bunker with a huge door and opened his car doors for us. Climbing out, I was a little intimidated to see a group of vehicles bearing down on us, though Prime's red and blue semi had me the most worried. No way would they be able to stop in time. Dad simply stood at attention and I sidled up to him.

Prowl transformed back to his robot mode, but I barely noticed as I stared, riveted, at the oncoming semi. In front of my horrified eyes, the truck began transforming as its brakes squealed, pushing up from kneeling to stop about four feet in front of us. I looked up…and up. Of course the one with the biggest vehicle would be the biggest Autobot. Here was the real Optimus Prime. He turned, looking down at the green and white car that had also stopped and now popped its trunk – Wheeljack. A blue Autobot – Jolt – reached into Jack's trunk and picked up the cooler-looking thing I'd seen in the med-bay. Then Wheeljack transformed.

It was mind-blowing to watch so many transformations all at once – I had a hard time processing it. Fortunately, everybody seemed focused on the Decepticon ammo instead of on me.

"How many pellets remain in Ironhide?" Prowl asked.

"Eight," Wheeljack answered, taking the cooler from Jolt and carrying it toward the bunker. Everyone fell in step with him, and I hurried to keep up with Dad. "We have extracted thirty-six and have another twenty-one recovered from the battlefield in containment."

"I've asked Chromia to discreetly keep watch inside the med-bay," Prime said in his unmistakable voice. "Ratchet is agitated enough already."

"Chromia discreet?" Jolt muttered in disbelief.

"I'll join her as soon as these pellets are secure," Prime continued. "Jolt will stay with you and Wheeljack, Prowl."

"Do you think that's necessary?" Wheeljack asked, sounding more curious than annoyed. "My lab is the most secure facility on the planet."

"Level One security requires at least two escorts," Prowl answered.

"Right," Wheeljack sighed.

The tall garage door in front of us slowly rose, and as soon as it was high enough, Jolt ducked through. Prowl gestured for Wheeljack to go first, and then Dad and I followed with the Autobot second-in-command. The door began sliding down again, and I noticed that, instead of sheets of aluminum, the garage door was made of solid-looking metal strips six inches thick.

I gulped, suddenly remembering all the times Jack hadn't been able to come to the football games because he was injured and stuck on the base. Maybe tagging along hadn't been the best idea today. Still, too late to turn back now. I again hurried to Dad's side.

"Wait in the observation lounge," Prowl said to us. "Jolt and I will be there shortly."

Dad nodded and led us to another tall door, scanning his security key. As it lifted, I saw that this door was as thick as the one leading outside. What on Earth went on in this lab?!

"We're safe here," Dad said reassuringly as he led me into a concrete room with an enormous, dark window that took up most of one wall.

"From what?" And it annoyed me that he still thought I was a chicken. Learning about Ironhide and the rest of the Autobots had shaken me, but it hadn't scared me.

Dad chuckled. "Wheeljack. Or rather, his experiments. Brilliant scientist, but a little…"

"Cracked. Yeah, I know, Dad. I've known him for the last seven years."

"Anyway," he said, ignoring my attitude. (It drove me nuts when he did that.) "This observation lounge is heavily shielded. It's as safe in here as being outside, and probably a little safer."

He walked over to a computer console and tapped in a password. The window flickered to life revealing a cluttered room with various workstations, cabinets, and bits of machinery. I realized that what I thought was a window was actually a TV, or something like one, anyway. Wheeljack, Jolt, and Prowl filed into the room on display. Wheeljack rummaged around for something in a cabinet, while the other two stood back.

"Wheeljack's lab." Dad grinned sidelong at me. "There are Congressmen, Ministers of State, and five-star generals who have all wanted to stand where you are right now, and they weren't allowed in. Just so you know."

"Gee. I guess I should feel special."

"You should, Annabelle. You are."

The genuine warmth in his voice melted something in me, and I looked up at my dad. He was standing at ease, staring at the window TV as if I was a superior officer instead of his daughter. Everything about his stance and expression yelled 'guarded,' and I suddenly realized he was afraid. Of me. Of me hating him. That simple statement, 'you are,' was the first real chink I'd seen in his emotional armor since I freaked out over Ironhide.

Everybody's dad thinks they're special, I guess. My dad knew it. For as long as I could remember, most of my friends were grown-ups, but my best friend was always my dad. At the age of thirteen, I'd realized that the reason he fought and killed was for me – to keep me safe. I'd felt guilty that Dad had to leave because of me until Hyde…Ironhide…explained that they'd be fighting regardless. I just gave Dad and Hyde a face and a name to represent all the kids they fought for. And now I was beginning to realize that all the Autobots felt a little of that, too.

Everything they'd ever done was to keep me safe, including lying to me. Mom and Dad, Ironhide and Arcee and Chromia – they must have hated every second of it, but they did it to keep me safe. Because they loved me.

"Thank you."

Dad looked down at me in surprise. "For what?"

"For everything." I tentatively stepped closer, and he seemed to understand. Dad shifted his stance, suddenly going from soldier to father, and wrapped his strong arms around me. It was my first hug in almost three weeks, and I held him tightly, resting my head on his shoulder. It felt so good. "For putting up with me," I added. "I'm so sorry."

"It's what dads do." He squeezed me more tightly. "And I'm sorry, Annabelle. We didn't prepare you like we should have."

I bitterly chuckled. "I don't know if anything could have prepared me for this."

"Maybe not," he allowed, "but I could have handled it better. I should have known that my daughter wouldn't be scared. Your mom had to explain that you were feeling betrayed not afraid, but it was a while before I could calm down enough to listen. I shouldn't have let things get so bad. Forgive me?"

It was the first time in my entire life that I could remember my dad asking for my forgiveness. It was the first time that he'd even needed it. I lifted my head to meet his gaze. "I forgive you."

He let me go, his eyes twinkling. "Thanks."

Chapter Text

The garage door opener whirred to life and I stepped away from Dad. He went back to being GI Joe, but the whole feeling between us was different now. I wasn't sure how, but we were almost back to where we were before – him my best friend and me his pride and joy. It was a pleasant surprise that it was possible to get this back, to get beyond all that negative emotion. I wanted to talk with him more, really make things right between us, but I knew that would have to wait. I was just glad the process had started.

Glancing at the screen, I saw that only Wheeljack was in his lab now. When the door was high enough, Prowl and Jolt joined us.

"We're secure," Dad said into a microphone as soon as the door closed again.

Wheeljack opened one of the cooler-looking things and, using two splinters of metal – probably Autobot armor, though I still hadn't had a chance to ask what exactly was wrong with Arcee – carefully picked up one of the pellets. "Begin log, mark. Projectiles from Ironhide. Observed characteristics: radioactivity, moderate heat, extreme density. Ability to disable Autobot systems. Apparently, the only Autobot technology immune to the slagging things is armor."

He carefully placed the pellet in what looked like a wide dish and then he hastily set the lid on top of the cooler again. "Commencing scans. Transmitting data to observation computer in real-time for backup and verification."

Weird hieroglyphs started scrolling up half of the screen, superimposed on the image of Wheeljack working. Every now and then he'd adjust something with his eyes or move his hands in a funny way, like he had sensors there.

Jolt shifted his feet behind me – it was something a human couldn't miss or ignore. "Arcee or Ratchet would be the best ones to interpret all this."

"What is it saying?" Dad asked.

"Nothing," Wheeljack answered. "There's nothing to interpret. Just fine-tuned radiation and something really solid."

"Fine-tuned?"

"It's emitting at a frequency with an unusually narrow range of variance. It's pinpointed, my guess is to concentrate the energy on the frequency that's disrupting our personal systems. Considering the weapon's effectiveness, it wasn't developed by some amateur. The very best of Decepticon engineering went into this one. My money's on Shockwave."

Dad and Prowl exchanged an unreadable glance. "That was the hunch all along. Your conclusions are noted, Wheeljack. Are you detecting anything that would indicate further risk from the pellets?"

"Besides being able to slow roast you humans for the next half-a-million years? No. In fact, there's enough power in them that I could probably use these to build an efficient little tabletop nuclear reactor, if you…"

Wheeljack building a nuclear reactor? OI!

"No sign whatsoever of spark energy?" Prowl demanded, thankfully cutting off that train of thought.

"None."

"Good. Operate on the working assumption that it is a micro Insecticon and proceed," the black-and-white Autobot ordered.

Erring on the side of caution, I guessed.

"Right. Well, if this slagging thing," Wheeljack prodded the pellet with an armor splinter, "is a micro Insecticon, then it'd have to be in protective stasis. How you could get even a micro Insecticon inside that, I have no idea, because once it was in there…Wait."

"What?" Dad asked.

"If it was a drone, you could make it work, maybe. A spark's resonance frequency would be disrupted eventually under long-term exposure to the pinpoint radiation, even if it was low-level."

Prowl shifted, his doors straightening up. "Explain."

"Well, an Insecticon would die before…"

"No, the drone part," Dad clarified.

"Oh. Well, a drone is hardier, even if it is less sophisticated. You build it to spec and put it in stasis, then seal it in armor. Place a layer of the irradiated material on it – or place the material on it and then irradiate it. That would be an interesting process right there, getting the correct alloy with the proper amount of exposure to produce the pinpointed frequency without compromising the internals, because even a drone –"

"Stay with us, 'Jack," Jolt said. "You've got the drone inside the irradiated pellet. Now what?"

"Simple. Make a containment projectile out of armor with fracture-lines that will break open on impact. Aim for the head or upper-frame and gravity delivers the pellets to the mech's internal systems. Or if you're feeling particularly vicious, you could pack 'em into an armor-piercing casing, but it would still need to break open on impact to deliver the pellets. Their primary function is obvious; secondary function could be everything from reconnaissance to attack to theft. If it were me, I'd set the drones to simultaneously activate and do whatever they were going to do at a pre-arranged signal – anything from a timer to an external, remote signal like a comm, though that would require reception…"

"How do we know if that's what we're dealing with?" Dad demanded.

Wheeljack wandered over to a workbench and rummaged around for a second. "Simple. Break it open." He returned with another dish-shaped piece of armor and a couple of heavy-duty C-clamps. I shook my head in disbelief – it must drive Wheeljack nuts to be reduced to techniques this low-tech. Placing the second dish inside of the first, he began tightening down first one C-clamp and then the other on opposite sides of the dish – improvising an Insecticon nutcracker.

A truly horrific thought crossed my mind just then. "A signal like breaking them open?"

The room was silent for a beat, and then everyone looked at me. I wanted to crawl under a rock; that'd teach me to open my big mouth. Wheeljack's hand paused on the C-clamp and he looked at me through the camera or whatever. "Now whose protégé are you, Spitlet? Ironhide and Chromia certainly wouldn't have taught you to use your head half so well as that. They're great for practical things like physics – velocity, trajectory, force, and such – but nothing actually devious. Who taught you to be smart?"

I gulped and looked from Prowl to Jolt and then finally to my dad. He was fighting a smile, and I relaxed a little. With his weird face-mask, I hadn't been sure if Wheeljack was joking or not. "It was…Mudflap. And Skids. They're always telling me stories at the football games. I thought they were just cool sci-fi ones, but I realized a couple of weeks ago that they were true. True stories about them. And almost every story had booby-traps of some kind."

Jolt started quivering, and I worried that maybe I'd made him upset until he busted out in a roar of laughter. He was so loud in that echoing, concrete room that I had to cover my ears. Dad and Wheeljack laughed with him, but Prowl just twitched his doors again.

"Skids and Mudflap!" Jolt chortled. "Wait 'til I tell Ironhide and Chromia!"

"I certainly hope you have the opportunity to tell Ironhide," Prowl said over Jolt's continued guffaws. "Wheeljack, do not proceed until we have all the pellets in containment."

"Pause log, mark," Wheeljack ordered the computer.

"How many are left in him?" Dad asked, sobering a little.

"Two," Prowl answered.

"How do you know?" I'd been curious about it ever since we'd joined Prowl today and he seemed to know everything that was going on.

"Internal comm. It's analogous to your text messaging."

Wait. "So…I could text any of you guys anytime?"

"Yes. That was the purpose in giving you an Autobot-enabled phone."

I started giggling. Sometimes I wondered if Prowl was really as cold as he seemed or if he just had a very dry sense of humor and a killer poker-face. "Autobot-enabled?"

"Pre-programmed with all of our comm frequencies."

"It's a little upgrade I developed," Wheeljack said amiably. "It's not like we Autobots are on your family calling plan. Your cell phone is one of a half-dozen highly advanced and top-secret prototypes."

"Under the table," Jolt clarified.

Prowl made a sound suspiciously like clearing his throat. "A direct violation of one of our own stipulations in the Alien Autobot Cooperation Act."

"Yes," Wheeljack said, shuffling a little like he was embarrassed. "Well, you can make regular calls on it, but it also has a transmitter programmed with each unique Autobot frequency. And a boosted range."

"How boosted?"

"In terms of texting? On a clear day, you could reach cell towers in Mumbai from here."

My jaw dropped and Jolt chuckled.

"It also has a self-destruct subroutine," Wheeljack continued. "If you ever lose it, you must notify us immediately so we can terminate it and give you a new one. Even technology as innocent-seeming as your phone could be disastrous in the wrong hands."

Innocent? James Bond would be freaking jealous of it! "Sure. Makes sense." An idea struck me. "What if you're not home? Can I leave messages?"

The Autobots looked confused, but Dad seemed to catch my drift. "No. There's no server to store the message if they're out of range, and they usually turn off their comms before going into recharge, erm, going to sleep."

Or while they were unconscious in the med bay. That was probably just as well; Ironhide deserved to hear my apology in person. But there were two Autobots I needed to text. "Okay. Could you, um, excuse me a minute?"

"Sure," Dad said, approval in his eyes. "We'll need to just relax for a few minutes anyway until the last of the pellets get here."

They started talking in more detail with Wheeljack about the scans he'd run, giving me a little bit of privacy. I pulled my backpack off and rummaged around in it until I found my phone. Pulling up Chromia, I sent, //I was a complete brat and deleted your texts, so I don't know what you were trying to say. It was wrong of me. I was wrong. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Or if you can't do that, text me and cuss me out until you can. K? Please?//

I sent the same thing to Arcee. And then I anxiously began to wait. Nothing. I started to fiddle with my phone, playing with the settings. I changed the background, snapped off a picture of my backpack for practice, and curiously scrolled through the contacts. I was impressed – they had everyone programmed in, including Optimus Prime and Dad's office number. I even had both Sam and Mikaela Witwicky's numbers for home, work, and cell.

I checked the time – it had been two minutes.

Arcee's text came back as undeliverable, so I assumed that she was resting or something. "Is there any place on the island where an Autobot wouldn't be in range?"

Wheeljack made a snorting sound and genially said, "You're getting reception in here, what does that tell you?"

"Good point."

Well, at least Arcee wasn't giving me a taste of my own medicine. Yet. I sighed. Honestly, what did I expect? After being rude to everyone for the last two and a half weeks, would they all just break out in song when I deigned to speak to them again? Sure, they loved me, but I'd hurt them. The force of the knowledge made something in my chest ache. I'd really, truly, terribly hurt them. People who had loved me and been my friends my entire life, and I'd treated them like dirt. It wasn't even their fault that they had to lie to me.

Chime. A text from Chromia. I eagerly opened it. //You slagging little glitch. There. That's a good all-around insult in Autobot.//

Oh crap. She was pissed. But she had every right to be.

A few minutes later, my phone chimed again. I opened it with dread this time. //My mate's life is hanging by a thread, and you choose NOW to apologize. Great timing, femme.//

Well, at least she didn't swear at me this time.

A few minutes later – chime. //The last pellet's out. I'm on my way to give you what's coming to you, Spitlet.//

Fingers shaky, I texted, //My dad's here. Please make an excuse to get him outside if you're going to kill me. And for the janitors' sake, don't make it too messy.//

The door began to open beside me and I scrambled to my feet, pocketing the cell phone and putting on my backpack. Time to face my fate.

I'd never seen Mia actually get violent. No one was ever stupid enough to provoke her – until now. I wondered if she'd just slap me or if she'd go so far as to throw a punch. I was relying on the fact that she had loved me to keep me safe from her infamous arsenal. It would probably be enough. I mean, I'd invited her to my birthday slumber party – that had to count for something, right?

Before the door was five feet off the ground, a blue motorcycle carrying two figures streaked into the room. Mia – the human Mia – jumped off the back seat of her bike and threw her arms around me. I stiffened. I hadn't anticipated her tackling me before she pummeled me. But we didn't fall down. She was laughing. Hugging me so tight I could barely breathe, she happily laughed, swaying back and forth a little bit.

Letting me go, she took me by the shoulders and shook me just a little bit, grinning from ear to ear. "Say it, you scrapping squishy. Say it."

"Say what?"

"That you're a slagging little glitch."

"I'm a slagging little glitch," I dutifully repeated, "and I'm so sorry, Mia!"

Mia hugged me again, and I breathlessly laughed with her this time. As the other person on the bike took off her helmet, I realized she was Mom. Looking at Dad, she said, "Did she honestly think Mia was going to kill her?"

"With Chromia, you never know," Wheeljack said from the safety of his lab.

"Shut up," she amiably shot back.

"Here we are." The engineer turned as Prime and Prowl both walked into the lab, Prime carrying the last container of pellets. I hadn't even noticed Prowl step out. He was over fifteen feet tall for crying out loud. How did I miss that? Wheeljack dumped their container into the one we'd brought over and replaced the lids. "Good. Now if you two will go back up to the observation lounge…"

"Are you sure you don't want at least one of us down here?" Optimus asked.

"I may not be a melee warrior, Prime, but worst case scenario, I should be able to handle a few microCon drones. Besides, you'll be just a minute away."

Nodding, the Autobot leader and his right-hand man, er, 'bot left the lab. Once we were all sealed behind the garage/blast doors, Dad gave Wheeljack the go-ahead. "We're secure."

'Jack began tightening down the C-clamps again. "Resume log, mark. Fracture-testing the sample pellet to reveal internal composition…"

Funny how he could make it sound so cool and professional. I would have just said 'crushing the stupid thing to see what's inside.'

We waited in silence as he shifted from one side to the other, applying more pressure until the pellet gave way with a crunk. A split second later, the lid flipped away from the open cooler and several dozen black things came flying out. Micro Insecticon drones. The other cooler tipped over but the lid's seal held.

"OUCH!" Wheeljack cried as they swarmed him, shooting little orange projectiles at him. One splatted on an eye, short-circuiting it.

Beside me, the garage door began rising. "We're on our way," Prime declared.

"No – ow – stay there! Ow! I've got it."

Chromia transformed and made an unhappy sound, and both she and Prime waited anxiously by the slowly-rising door.

"Don't want to let – ow – them out!" Shielding his good eye, Wheeljack staggered to a steel cabinet and grabbed what looked like a couple cans of paint. Waving away the stinging drones, he sloshed one can into the dish-shaped armor pan on top of the crushed drone. Opening the second can, he bellowed, "Blast dampeners!"

"Cover your eyes!" Dad barked.

My hands flew to my face, but I still saw a flash of light through my clenched eyelids.

"REPORT!" Prowl demanded. I blinked several times, seeing after-images from the flash.

"Still functioning," Wheeljack said. "Those drones stung like the Pit, though."

Chromia ducked under the door.

"Activating ventilation systems," Dad said, pushing a few buttons.

"Filter protocol zeta 22," Wheeljack ordered.

"Copy that." Under his breath, Dad said, "Good thing the EPA doesn't know about this place."

Prime impatiently dropped back into his truck form and roared under the door, starting to transform again as soon as he was on the other side.

I looked back at the window TV and the smoky image on the screen slowly cleared. Wheeljack – covered in scorch-marks on the right side of his body and with one eye still lifeless – was now curiously poking one of the blackened, inert drones lying on the table. The tipped-over cooler was rolling around on the bench, an angry hum coming from under its secured lid.

"What happened?" I asked.

Jolt chuckled as he and Prowl ducked under the door. "Wheeljack discovered the cure for micro Insecticon drones: Autobot bug-bomb."

"Just call me the Terminator," Wheeljack joked back.

Chapter Text

Jolt helped Wheeljack limp back up to the surface, and Mom, Dad, and I walked with them to the main hangar. By now, the sun was starting to set. "What about everyone else?" I asked Dad, glancing over my shoulder at the lab. Even though she'd forgiven me, I still had a lot of making up to do with Chromia.

"Prime's going to study the terminated drones," Jolt said, and Wheeljack chuckled through his pain at the joke, "and Chromia's guarding the ones that are still online. Prowl's still there because, well, he's Prowl. He's guarding Prime."

"I bet Optimus just loves that," I muttered.

"Drove him nuts for the first thousand years or so," Wheeljack chuckled. "But he's learned to more or less ignore them – Prowl and Ironhide tag-team him. Optimus assigned Ironhide to Iron Will before Prowl arrived just so he could have a couple years of breathing room."

"Yeah, whatever," Dad amiably grumbled. "They just love my ladies so much that they can't bear the thought of them all alone and unprotected."

"Because your femmes need protecting as much as Optimus does," Jolt sarcastically agreed.

As we neared the med bay, a human in a mechanic's jumpsuit stood in front of the doorway, his arms crossed. I recognized him – this was Johnston again, minus the hazmat suit. He authoritatively pointed at the floor and said in his wonderful British accent, "What did you do this time, 'Jack? Haven't we enough damaged mechs for one day?"

"You should see the 'cons," Wheeljack said, sinking down to lie on the ground. "I single-handedly killed more than forty of them. My lab is a scene of carnage."

"Well, that's nothing new," Johnston dryly answered as he pushed a rolling tool chest toward Wheeljack. I guessed they were going to fix him up out here instead of disturbing Ratchet again. Not that I blamed them. "Although in fourteen years, I've never met a delirious Autobot before. Not unless he was overcharged. What did you have in the mix?"

After fiddling with something in Wheeljack's neck, Johnston rummaged around in one of the tool chest's drawers until he pulled out an unfamiliar tool and a spare Autobot eye. Wheeljack turned his head so that Johnston to could reach his face.

"He's not delirious," Dad explained. "The pellets in Ironhide were micro Insecticon drones. They attacked when he broke one of them open. And you'll want to be careful with that orange stuff – I think it's the same material that was on the outside of the pellets."

"You're correct," Wheeljack said. "It should be hardened enough now that you could remove it with tongs."

Johnston nodded and began removing the damaged eye. "Good thing you waited until they were all out of Ironhide."

I looked away, unable to watch.

Dad caught my eye and winked at me. "Yes, it was."

My heart warmed as I realized that I was the one who had made them wait. I had helped! But not much. Not enough. "How's Ironhide?"

I still couldn't look at Johnston, but I heard him answer, "He'll pull through, but it will be a long recovery. Everything is pretty mucked up. Unfortunately, his repair systems received the most damage. Arcee's working on him now. Ratchet's finishing his energon and then he'll recharge. I wouldn't try visiting Ironhide again, Spitlet, not until Ratchet gives the go-ahead after he wakes up."

Great, even the human NEST members were calling me that. "My name is Annabelle, thank you very much."

Johnston hesitated a moment. "Annabelle," he corrected himself and continued, "He was still grumbling about you going in there when he left to get his ration."

Another 'bot I needed to apologize to. And then I remembered what he'd said. "Arcee's the one working on him?"

"Yeah. She's…before the War, she and Ratchet worked together with Prime. They were both pretty skilled, but when the fighting broke out, Ratchet specialized in repair and she focused more on being a warrior. Arcee's a fairly decent medic in her own right. That's why she always goes stateside with Mrs. Lennox on her annual pilgrimage," he nodded deferentially at Mom, "so she can do a check-up for Bumblebee." (Mom caught a flight once a year to California to check on her ranch. There were some things that only the legal owner could do. And it gave the family friend who ran the ranch for us a chance to have a vacation.)

Fifteen years, and she'd never let on that she was a doctor, too. There was still so much I didn't know about them!

"There," Johnston said, "your optic's as good as new."

"That's because it is new," Wheeljack pointed out.

I wasn't sure if I should laugh or just shake my head in disbelief. Daring to look, I saw that 'Jack was turning his head to stare at the ceiling, both his eyes blue again. Johnston pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and consulted the screen. "Prime says you also have two burned out motor relays and a ruptured hydraulic line." Pocketing the phone again, he retrieved a pair of tongs and began prying the orange splatters off Wheeljack, dropping the stuff into another one of the thermos-looking things. "Any other damage you care to report? And don't try to pull another fast one, because Ratchet promised me I could turn your pain sensors back on for repairs the next time you lied to one of us."

Wheeljack sighed. "You mechanics always overreact. It's nothing that can't wait for Ratchet or Arcee."

Johnston menacingly hefted the tool he'd been using, but Dad stopped him. "Wheeljack, it's for Ratchet and his repair team to decide what can wait and what can't."

"Fine. But it's nothing, really. Just a minor energon line leaking."

"And a hydraulic line?" Johnston sputtered. "Where?!"

"Both in my right shoulder."

"And Murphy's Law dictates that they'll both near some exposed neural wiring." Pointing like he was commanding a dog, Johnston ordered, "Stay." Looking to Jolt, he said, "I might need your help with this for a minute or two. I can walk you through sealing those lines if you need me to, but it's a stop for me, Ratchet's orders."

"Just 'cause you're not covered in almost-indestructible armor?" Jolt lamely joked. "We all know about Quinn's Cocktail. Sure I can help."

"And that's our cue to clear out," Dad said, escorting Mom and me back toward the human side of NEST.

"What's Quinn's Cocktail?" I asked in a low voice.

"Some of the fluids in the Autobots' bodies don't react well together under certain circumstances. Quinn got some bad chemical burns a couple of years back. He's okay now, but only because Ratchet worked on him for several days. Ratchet's had the human repair team take a few more precautions since then. Just to be on the safe side."

"Where is Ratchet?" I abruptly asked, remembering again that he was still mad at me for barging into the med bay. He would be easier to apologize to than Arcee or Ironhide.

"He's had a rough day," Mom began, but Dad interrupted her.

"I think it might be good for him."

Giving me a cautious look, Mom nodded, and we doubled back, headed to the Autobot side again. We turned right this time, once we were through the giant door. The hall was short in this direction, and I was surprised that, instead of using his security key, Dad softly knocked on the door at the end of the hallway. After a moment, it swished open.

It was an enormous, concrete-and-steel barracks. The walls were lined with large platforms about eight feet off the ground, with shelves another twenty feet up that held what looked like personal belongings. Underneath each platform were several metal crates, some locked and some open. In the middle of the room, the floor was sunken by a drop of about four or five feet, marking off an area maybe forty feet in circumference. That space was open, and the floor of the circle was beautifully, abstractly painted. The only light in the room was a set of dim track-lights directly above the circle that pointed straight down. Sitting cross-legged in the circle of light and leaning against the low wall was Ratchet. His head was bowed, and in his hands, he held a…well it looked like a fifty-gallon oil drum, to be honest.

The door swished closed behind me. I gave Dad an uncertain look, and he nodded me forward. Mom gave me a little, encouraging smile, but they both hung back near the door. We all knew this was something I had to do by myself. My big, grown-up self. It was time to own up and start making things right. Squaring my shoulders, I stepped forward, making my way across the huge room toward Ratchet. It was impossible to not feel small here, and I was a lot less brave without Dad by my side or guiding me.

Ratchet didn't move or acknowledge me at all, and I wondered if he was already asleep. Nervously, I glanced again at the platforms, noticing for the first time that we weren't alone. A motionless silver Autobot was laying on one, and a golden robot was on the next platform over. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, I realized. Neither of them showed any signs of life; it was quiet as death in the room, except for the light clop of my sandals on the concrete.

I hopped down into the lit-up circle, landing rather gracelessly on all fours, but I was okay. The room wasn't cold, but my fingertips were, and I realized I was starting to hyperventilate. This was Ron Hatchett, I reminded myself. Same person, different form. That's all. He was still the kind doctor who cured my every ill. Still the man who brought me Christmas presents every year. Still the one who growled at Hyde across the scrimmage line and smacked Skids upside the head when he started fighting with his brother.

Autobot Ratchet was more intimidating up close. I stood at his feet, and even sitting down, he was much taller than me. He still didn't say anything or move, and I glanced back at Mom and Dad, but they were on the other side of the light, and I couldn't see their faces. Taking a deep breath, I rested my shaky hand on a smooth piece of armor, making physical contact with an Autobot for the first time.

Ratchet stirred, lifting his head ever so slightly but not looking at me. His voice was soft and tired. "Do you need something, Spitlet?"

I'd never heard him like this – the exhaustion and grief were quiet but unmistakable. "Can I see your holoform?" I asked in a voice even quieter than his.

"I'm worn out, child. Your curiosity can wait."

"But I don't know how to hug you in this form."

Two points of light on his face flickered to life and he slowly raised his head.

Feeling braver, I added, "And you look like someone who could use a hug."

He wearily chuckled. "I really am too tired to produce a holoform right now."

I nodded once to myself and, trying to not think about what I was really doing, started climbing onto his leg. He set down the barrel and extended one hand so I could climb up on it. Holding me up to eye-level, he smiled ever so slightly. "You are a tenacious little thing, aren't you."

"I'm the daughter of Will and Sarah Lennox. What do you expect? Now are you going to let me hug you or not?"

He shook his head a little, and I worried he was saying no, but then he moved the hand I was kneeling on up to his chest just below his neck. I reached my arms out and embraced the supple cables and the surprisingly-warm metal – as much as I could reach, anyway. "Thank you, Ratchet," I said softly, resting my head against him. "Thank you for saving Sideswipe and for helping Ironhide." I remembered then that he was angry about not being able to do anything for 'Hide. "We mere mortals wouldn't know the first thing about helping him if it weren't for you. And…I'm sorry I upset you earlier."

"You upset all of us," he gruffly reminded me.

My cheeks warmed in embarrassment. "I know. And if Ironhide survives long enough for me to say sorry to him, it'll be thanks to you.

"He will live, Spitlet. I don't know how long it will be before you can talk with him, but he will live."

"Thank you."

He chuckled again. "I didn't do it for you, but you're welcome. Now it's time for you to go. I desperately need to recharge."

I sat back on my heels, and he lifted me away and down to the ground, setting me outside of the circle. I was grateful for that – it would have been really hard to climb out. "You did it every time, didn't you," I said, looking up into the blue light of his eyes. "Every time Ironhide's been hurt, you were the one who patched him up."

"Since arriving on Earth, yes. Except for minor problems my repair team fixes."

And never once had we thanked him. Well, Mom and Dad might have, but I never did. I thought about how Mom and I always gave the truck a good wash after every deployment, and how often there was damage to the pickup somewhere.

Sudden inspiration struck. "When he's feeling better, come out to our place with him, and I'll give you a wash and a wax. It's your turn for a change."

He shifted uncomfortably. "You don't need to do that, Spitlet."

I gritted my teeth at the name but decided it wasn't worth ruining the moment. "I know I don't. And you didn't have to let me in or listen to my apologies or forgive me. So…get some sleep and dream of getting the royal treatment next time you're at our house."

"We'll talk about it."

I planted my hands on my hips. "If I have to hunt you down, I'm going to give you a proper thank you. Deal with it."

He rose to his impressive height and planted his hands on his hips. "Is that so?"

I gulped and then jutted out my chin. "Yes." The word sounded much more confident than I felt.

He slouched, no doubt too tired to put up much of a fight. "Then I'll see you soon. Now get out of here."

Placing my hand against his warm armor one more time, I said, "Sweet dreams."

I turned and was almost to the door when he said, "We don't dream."

Stopping, I looked back at him, but he was climbing onto one of the sleeping platforms. "We process the day's events," he continued, settling in, "but we don't have the nocturnal hallucinations you do. However, I will spend as much time as possible processing your hug. Good night."

Giving him a half-smile, I said, "Good night, Ratchet."

Chapter Text

When the door to the Autobot barracks closed behind us, Dad slung his arm around my shoulder. "I'm proud of you, young lady."

"Told you she'd come around," Mom said with a satisfied smile. "After all, who wouldn't want to hang out with Autobots?" 

"Someone who knew Skids and Mudflap?" I shot back, but then I frowned at myself. In a roundabout way, they were part of Ironhide surviving today, too. Even those immature punks deserved an apology from me. 

Dad scanned his badge and the door to the main hanger swished open. Someone up on the communications center hollered down to Dad, so Mom and I continued over toward the only Autobot we could see. Wheeljack was now cleaned up and sitting up, holding an oil-drum similar to Ratchet's in one hand. In the other, he held a cell phone, upon which he was apparently reading a text message. His shoulders were shaking. 

"What's the joke?" Mom asked. 

'Jack jerked his thumb down the wide corridor to the med-bay. "I'd forward it to you," he sniggered, "but it might burn your ears." 

We rounded the corner to see two dumpy little Autobots – one orange and one green. Johnston was working on the green one, but the orange one leapt to his feet at the sight of us. Mom's and my phones chimed simultaneously. Mom sighed. "Ah, boys. What are we going to do with you?" 

"Use their parts to repair Ironhide?" Johnston hopefully asked in his charming British lilt. 

"You know Prime would never go for that," Wheeljack said, sounding almost regretful. "We could use some more spare parts, too." 

"You turned their vocal processors off again?" Mom scolded Johnston. 

"And kept their pain sensors on," he answered. "Ratchet's orders. And if they keep it up, I'm allowed to turn off their comms, too." 

All three phones – mine, Mom's, and Wheeljack's – chimed and Wheeljack sniggered again as he read it. Johnston whacked Orange over the head in a lightning-quick wrench-strike. "I heard that." 

"Amazing," Wheeljack said. 

I felt like they were talking in some kind of code just to annoy me. "What?!" 

Mom chuckled. "Johnston has the preternatural ability to tell when the twins are bad-mouthing him while he's working on them. Even when it's just over their comms." 

Twins. These must be Skids and Mudflap. That explained everything. 

"I've scanned all six of the mechanics dozens of times," Wheeljack said enthusiastically. "I don't know how they do it!"

Johnston grunted. "Fourteen years of mucking about in their guts, and it's a miracle I'm not some kind of mutant Autobot myself." 

"Quinn learned it first and teaches it to the new recruits at the year mark," Mom murmured. "It's a repair-team thing. They won't tell anyone how they do it." 

"Except Ratchet," Wheeljack grumped. 

"So how'd you guys get hurt?" I asked the twins. 

Only my cell-phone chimed this time, and I pulled it out of my pocket. 

The first text was from Skids. //It's da Spits! We's saved!//

The Spits? Okay, that was a hundred times worse than 'Spitlet,' and not just because it was also insulting my mother. 

The second one really was from Mudflap. How did Johnston know that? I opened the text. //Prime-fragging mechanic! Dis is slaggin' TORTURE! He a slaggin' CON! DEY'S ALL CONS!// 

The third and fourth texts had arrived at the same time and were from Mudflap and Skids respectively. They both said, //He started it!// 

Yep. That was Skids and Mudflap for you. Just like Sunny and Sides, they were almost transparently the same knuckleheads I knew from the football games. I chuckled, thinking my life must be really insane when the twins (both sets) were my anchors to reality. 

"Don't listen to their sniveling, ladies," Johnston said almost casually. "They were duly warned. Ratchet said that if there was any infighting today we were to repair the perpetrators mercilessly. And if a merciless repair didn't teach them a little respect for us and the things the Autobots put us through, then we could repair them brutally. And if a brutal repair didn't cut it, then we could even escalate to a savage repair. We've only had to do that once, though today I'm tempted to try another go-round." 

Catching me staring at him horrorstruck, Johnston winked. My phone chimed with a text, this time from Wheeljack. //Merciless = no voice. Brutal = Pain-sensors on. Savage = no comm. Vicious = no motor relays. Ratchet repair = involuntary stasis. Primus repair = medically-defensible offlining. The code is also on display in the med bay on a poster the Vette twins made for Ratchet.// 

My shoulders shook with silent laughter. That was so mean, but then again, Skids and Mudflap probably deserved a 'brutal' repair on a good day. "If it's any consolation guys, all my repairs have been brutal ones. Be grateful you can turn the pain sensors off." 

"THANK YOU, Spitlet!" Johnston said appreciatively. 

"Annabelle," I corrected. 

With an apologetic sidelong glance, he said, "Annabelle." To the twins he said, "That little femme's got more circuits and steel to her than the both of you put together. If you could take it like a girl, we'd let you keep your voices!" 

I wasn't sure if I should feel flattered or insulted. 

"She's the one who figured out the pellets," Wheeljack interjected, sounding amused. "With a little help from you twins."

Skids looked at me hopefully. //We hepped?// 

Johnston tapped him lightly on the head but didn't make any overt threats. Wheeljack pushed a couple of folding chairs our direction. 

"Yeah," I said, settling into the chair with a grateful smile at 'Jack. "I remembered all the stories you guys told me about booby traps and thought that destroying one of the pellets might be a good way to spring a trap if there was one. Turned out I was right. Guess you two and whats-his-face think alike." 

"Shockwave," Wheeljack growled, his engine revving in a way that was disturbingly similar to Sunstreaker's. The sound made the hairs on my arm stand up just because it was so shocking coming from him. He may be one of the most easy-going of the Autobots, but I remembered with sudden respect that he'd willingly taken that blast in the lab. For being so likeable, he was damn tough. 

//We's as smart as Shockwave?// Skids broadcast, beaming. 

//'Course we is!// Mudflap sent, jumping up and gyrating exultantly. 

Wheeljack read both texts out loud for Johnston, and I realized belatedly that it must be the mechanic's phone. 

"I think it's more that you're both so slow that you all shared a thought when he lapped you," Johnston shot back, chucking a bolt as thick as my wrist at the still-dancing Mudflap. "You're distracting me." 

"Why does he need Wheeljack to read it for him?" I whispered to Mom. 

"Because they weren't insulting him," Wheeljack said. "He'd have heard it otherwise." 

It was like a sleight of hand magic trick. Of course Johnston would know if a text was insulting if Wheeljack only read the non insulting ones. "But…"

"Later," Mom said with a wink. "Boys," she said to the twins, "if you promise to behave like gentlemen, I could probably persuade Johnston to let you tell us another tall tale or two." 

//We's always good fo' Will's ladies!// Skids sent. Mudflap clasped his hands in a praying, pleading gesture and fell to his knees next to Johnston's step-ladder. Wheeljack read the text out loud for Johnston. 

"Primus, I'm going soft!" the mechanic exclaimed, climbing down and retrieving what looked suspiciously like a TV remote. "I'm giving you your voices back, but only if you're as tough as Spitl…Annabelle." Johnston pointed the device at Mudflap and punched in a series of codes, releasing the Autobot's voice. 

"Spitfire!" He walked across to us on his knees and caught Mom's hand up in his, pressing her palm to his cheek. "Primus sent yas two, I swear!" 

"Ya so full of slag, Spitlet," Skids said when Johnston turned his voice back on. "I knows Ratchet gives ya pain killers."

"Annabelle," I hissed at him. 

"That's not the same," Mom said authoritatively, ignoring me. "That diminishes the pain, but it doesn't actually remove it. At best, it'd be like having your pain sensors operating at 20% capacity. For anything more serious than a dent or scrape, we have to power down the systems in the area or go into stasis. And we don't pop pills for everything." 

"I'd say Johnston's humoring you," Wheeljack added. "He might just go vicious on you if you don't toe the line."

"Right!" Mudflap cut in, clearly not wanting his voice shut down again. "Will's liddlest lady wants a story."

… 

Dad had rejoined us, both the twins were fully repaired and we were into our third story of the evening when the med bay doors opened. Arcee stopped in her tracks seeing us there, and I launched myself at her. It was proof of just how much the twins and Wheeljack had set me at ease that I didn't even think twice. I grabbed her around the waist (she was almost exactly twice as tall as me), making her stagger back. 

"OH!" I stepped away. "You're wounded, too, aren't you!" 

Arcee stooped and caught me up in a hug. I sat on her overlapping arms just like I did when I was little and she was carrying me in her holoform, and I wrapped my arms around her neck, even more comfortable here than I was with Ratchet. "It was just my spark," she said gently, "and you healed it. Chromia said you were talking to us again." 

My eyes squeezed tight against the tears. "I'm sorry, Arcee. So sorry. Whether you're River or an alien robot warrior, I…"

She softly sang, " A part of me, yet all your own, mine until you're grown. You have nothing to apologize for, Spitlet."

"Aw," Mudflap said sarcastically before I could correct her on my name, "now ain't dat sweet." 

Skids added, "I didn know ya was such a softy, femme!" 

Arcee shifted ever so slightly, supporting my weight with one arm, and something clicked into place on her free hand. The twins started screaming and scampering out of her way. 

"You break it," Johnston drawled, "you fix it!" 

Arcee sighed and put away what I could only assume was a weapon. "Both your names are mud!" she shouted after them and then grumbled under her breath, "Ruining the moment for me." 

I grinned and she set me back on my feet, rumpling my hair a little. "And don't worry about me. One of my bikes got smashed – again – but I'm fine to just use one component for now." 

My brow furrowed. "You lost me." 

Arcee sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged with her back to the wall. (She often sat like that at home and I had to wonder if it was a gesture she'd picked up while acting human or an Autobot thing that she'd done in her holoform.) "I'm a base-form triple changer." At my blank expression, she explained, "Most 'bots have a single vehicle form and a single robot mode. Your typical triple changer has a base mode and two alt-modes, usually a ground vehicle and a flyer. You follow?" 

"Not really," I admitted.

"Okay, for example, Megatron can change into either a tank or a plane, depending on what he wants."

"Okay?" 

"That's your typical triple-changer. For me, I only have one alt-form, but I have two robot modes. My alt-form is three motorcycles. I can transform myself into three little bike-sized robots or the three components can combine into one larger 'bot. But it's always me." 

I blinked for a second, trying to imagine it. "Wow!" 

She chuckled. "So yeah, one of my bikes got smashed and the other one's pretty banged up. I pulled my consciousness out of the other two and am just using my one component right now. When we get around to fixing the other two, I'll use all three components again." 

"Wow," I repeated. "So how come I've only ever seen the one bike?" 

She smiled at me. "Because it raises a lot fewer questions if there aren't three of us wandering around talking in the plural all the time." 

I laughed. "Yeah, that would get you some attention." And just like with Dad, it was almost like Arcee and I were back to normal.

She looked at the rest of us. "So why are you all hanging out here?" 

"The pellets were drones," Dad explained. "They attacked Wheeljack before he took out half of them, so he came here for repairs. The rest of us were just waiting for official word about 'Hide." 

Arcee nodded, acknowledging Dad. "Ratchet says Ironhide will come around in forty-eight hours. I'd give the tough old slagger thirty-six, but we'll see. This was a new weapon with a new pattern of damage, so it's difficult to know exactly what kind of recovery we're talking about." 

"But he'll be okay eventually?" I said, not quite able to keep the worry and pleading out of my voice.

"Yes," she gravely assured me. "Eventually." 

Relieved, I took a deep breath, knowing she wouldn't lie to me about this. "Thanks." 

"Sure thing, Spitlet." 

"Would you please stop calling me that!" 

Arcee looked uncertainly at first Mom and then Wheeljack before turning her intense blue optics on me. "Okay…Annabelle."

Mom and Dad shared a meaningful look, and then all business-like, Mom said, "So who's staying overnight with Ironhide?"

"I am," I firmly declared. 

"You have school tomorrow," Mom pointed out. 

"All the more reason for me to be here now," I answered. 

"The med bay's only equipped with one cot," she argued. 

"We can get another one," Dad offered, trying to diffuse us. 

Johnston cleared his throat, getting all our attention. "That's why the twins were fighting – they were arguing over who got to play hotel room for whichever of Lennox women would be staying over." 

"It would help keep the peace if you both stayed," Wheeljack added. 

"And peace is something we could use a little of right now," Arcee said under her breath. 

Mom looked at me, a question in her eyes, and I nodded. Yes, we would both stay.

"Get the twins back here, then," Mom said. "And we'll need a ride home to pack overnight bags. Annabelle will need to pick up her homework for tomorrow, too."

"I can give you a lift," Wheeljack offered. 

"You sure? I could just borrow a car." 

He chuckled as he transformed. "Positive." 

… 

Mom packed her bag more quickly than I did, and so she joined me in my bedroom. "Annabelle?"

"Yeah?" 

"Spitlet is your Autobot designation." 

I froze. "My what?" 

"Your Autobot name," she said in quiet reproof, "to make you part of the tribe. Bumblebee named your father Iron Will, and Arcee gave me the designation of Spitfire. Mudflap designated you Spitlet. Every time you tell them to not call you that, it's a slap in the face." 

I sank down to sit on the bed, putting my face in my hands. "But the name sucks ." 

She chuckled. "I guess it doesn't suit you anymore. I'll discretely suggest to Optimus that they should come up with a new one. But in the meantime, they think you're rejecting your place with them." 

Is that what they really thought, that I was rejecting them? Of course, that's what I'd been doing for the last two and a half weeks, so I could kind of see where they were coming from. Great, another reason to feel guilty. 

Mom put her arm around my shoulder and hugged me to her side for a second. "Come on. Actions will speak louder than words, and we'll keep watch over 'Hide. Just…don't do it again." 

I heaved a sigh and then picked up my duffle. "I won't. I promise."

Chapter Text

It's amazing how many lumps and bumps are on an Autobot's chest – all gears and wires and tubing and armor plates. It's also amazing how, if you're persistent enough, you can find a comfortable place next to the spark of someone whose chassis is as unforgiving as Ironhide's. Ratchet helped a lot with that, I have to admit, positioning Ironhide's arms so that his front tires were exposed a little more. It was marginally softer than the surrounding gears, but I took what I could get and perched there, my hand resting on the foot-thick armor that protected his spark. Ratchet thought the contact close to 'Hide's spark might be helpful in some vague way. 

I suspected it was more that Ratchet didn't know what else to do. The external injuries were almost insignificant (especially for Ironhide who, I'd been told, was quite literally tough as nails), and the damaged internal parts had been replaced. It was the electrical relays and circuits that had taken the most damage, and that was all so minute and wide-spread that Ratchet didn't even try to repair it all. He'd replaced the relays that needed it, repaired the most critical circuits, and then just placed his trust in Primus and in Ironhide's own repair systems. Every day, Ratchet did a little more work on him, but he didn't like to keep Ironhide sedated for long, because the slagger should have woken up already. It had been two and a half days now. 

So Mom and I became like lucky rabbits' feet – comforting but useless. We took turns, and Dad did, too, when he wasn't on duty, cuddling up to Ironhide's spark chamber. We'd go through the motions of life – eating, showering, going to school, working shifts – but one or the other of us was always with Ironhide. 

Time passes slowly when you're keeping watch with the dying. Ratchet and Arcee both assured me that Ironhide would come around, but I until could see the light in his eyes, um…optics, and apologize for being such a brat, it felt like my life was teetering on the edge of some terrible brink. Each passing second weighed heavily on my heart. 

Mom was dozing on the med-bay cot; she hadn't slept well last night. Lost in my worried thoughts, I stroked the warm, silvery metal that protected Ironhide's spark. What was taking him so long? 

Arcee came into the med bay and glanced up at me. "How are you doing, Annabelle?" 

I half-laughed. "Okay. You?" 

"Me?" she asked coyly. "I'm suspicious." 

"About what?" 

"About you. I'll bet you're bored to tears." 

I shook my head. This was part of my penance for treating them all so badly. If boredom was the worst they would let me endure, I was getting off easy. Way too easy. 

"This might cheer you up," she said, walking back into a storage area of the med bay. A moment later she returned with a smudged-up and worn cardboard box in her hands. Climbing the platform to where she could reach me, she offered it to me. "If nothing else, it should bring back some memories." 

Curiosity got the better of me, and I took the box, pulling back the folded flaps that closed the top. It was full of cars – toy transforming cars. A Christmas present from Ratchet and the younger twins many years ago. 

Tears filled my eyes as I picked up the black truck that sat on the top of the pile. Memories rushed over me of playing with them when I was little. Two of them – the matching orange and green cars – had been lost when I left them on the beach one night. Still gritty, they were both safe and sound near the bottom of the box. Dad had accidentally stepped on and broke the red-and blue semi and claimed that Ratchet wasn't able to repair it. Only now did I appreciate why he had burst out in laughter when he realized that he'd stepped on the truck . It was in one piece, sitting next to the green car. The pink motorcycle I'd left in California one year when Mom and R.C. and I went to visit the ranch. It and the yellow sports car and the ambulance and the silver-and-blue truck and the matching Corvettes…they were all there. "I always wondered where these went." 

"We gathered them up over the years," Arcee said gently. "Prowl felt that it was too much of a risk for you to keep them – you weren't supposed to know about us and these toys came dangerously close to revealing the truth. But we kept them, hoping to return them some day." 

And Ironhide was on top because I'd kept him the longest. I still remembered the day I wanted the truck to haul a load of "hay" for my horses (I was on a Black Stallion kick at the time) and couldn't find it. It was one of the few times I'd voluntarily cleaned my room, but I never did find it. "Mom had to steal Ironhide, didn't she." 

"Yes," Arcee admitted. "You never even noticed when you 'lost' Prowl or Wheelie, but Ironhide hadn't been gone a week before you missed him." 

I shook my head in disbelief, tipping Ironhide up to reveal the robot. "Now I feel really stupid." 

Arcee lightly laughed. "I don't know why you should. You were only nine when we finally confiscated Ironhide." I'd freaked out because they'd lied, but…"You were trying to tell me all along." 

"No." 

The firmness of her tone made me look up in surprise. "The twins and Ratchet were trying to make you happy. That's all. Mudflap and Skids were watching the actors' commentary on a movie and one of the actresses jokingly complained that her action figure made her look fat. They thought that they would be the coolest action figures ever and bribed Ratchet into helping them make transforming toys of themselves." 

Wiping away the tears, I asked, "How in the world did the twins pull that off?" 

"They promised Ratchet that as long as he was building the toys – and for an equal number of days afterward – he wouldn't have to repair them, that they wouldn't fight at all." 

"Wow. How long did that last?" 

"The twins were true to their word, and that's why Ratchet made cars of all of us. He figured it was a public service." 

I chuckled and reached into the box to pull out Motorcycle Lady. She was near the top of the pile, too. Glancing up again, I smiled at Arcee. "Thank you." 

"My pleasure, little one." 

… 

The third day, Mom sent me to school despite my protests. 'Hide should be waking up any minute – he was overdue. Something was undeniably wrong with him and they expected me to go to school? 

I refused to go until Arcee finally transformed into her alt-mode, pulled out her holoform, and physically escorted me to her bike. "Ride with me or with Sideswipe, but we're taking you one way or another. Ironhide would be angry if you skipped out on your studies because of him." Deciding it was better (both less attention-grabbing and more pleasant) to ride with Arcee, I'd smashed the helmet on my head with poor grace and swung up behind her holoform, trying to ignore the fact that she'd said 'Ironhide would be angry' instead of 'will.' Funny how little things like that made a world – a universe – of difference. 

Just like with the last two days, I didn't learn a thing at school. Arcee picked me up again afterward and brought me back to the med bay. Seeing us, Mom stood up from her seat on Ironhide's front tire and stretched. "I'm beginning to feel like an actual mother hen," she joked, "brooding up here in an Autobot nest." 

I rolled my eyes and groaned. "Good grief, Mom! How many puns can you cram into a single sentence?" 

"I thought it was rather witty," Ratchet said behind me, and I did a double-take when I turned. Even in this setting and after spending several days here, I still associated that voice with the human-looking Ron Hatchett, not the twenty-foot-tall Autobot medic. This would take a while to get used to. 

Climbing the platform up to the repair berth, I asked Ratchet, "How's he doing?"

He turned away from the other berth where he was working on Arcee's purple component to run a scan on Ironhide. "Neural processor activity is approximately 80% of normal. His spark stability isn't quite where I'd like it to be, but as long as he doesn't see any action or excitement for a while, he should be fine. Diagnostics were still detecting some problem areas in the repair systems and motor functions, so I performed surgery again while you were at school." He stepped over to Ironhide and removed two disks that had been magnetically attached to 'Hide's head; they were neural processor dampers, the Autobot equivalent of general anesthesia. "I was just waiting for you to arrive to see if he'll come around this time." 

"I'm going to grab something from the break room quick," Mom said as she passed me on the stairs. "Do you want anything?"

"A package of those cheese and crackers would be nice." 

She grinned. "You got it." Touching Ironhide's helm lightly as she passed, she said, "Feel better." 

I shrugged into the modified parachute harness that was required when working near injured 'bots. It was similar to the one Johnston had been wearing that first time I came into the med bay. If Ratchet needed to snatch you out of the way in a hurry, he needed an easy handle. Quinn had developed it years ago after nearly being squished – first by a semi-conscious Prime and then in a hasty grab by Ratchet. All the repair crew wore one while working. 

Finding a hand-hold on some of the armor on his side, I scrambled up onto Ironhide's chassis. "Come on, you lug," I said, resting my cheek on the warm steel above his spark. "What's the hold-up?" 

No answer. 

I sighed, idly tracing lines on the steel for several long minutes. "Tell me about him, Ratchet. Something you weren't allowed to tell me before." 

"You will have a chance to ask him yourself," he pointed out. "It's taking longer than I anticipated, but his repair systems are slowly overcoming the damage." 

"But I don't know hardly anything about him." 

"That's a double-negative," he absentmindedly corrected me. 

I huffed. "You know what I mean. I hardly know anything about him." 

"What do you want to know?" 

I thought for a second. "How did you meet him?" 

He half-smiled. "The first time I met him was when he defected to the Autobots." 

"He was a Decepticon ?!" 

"Almost." 

Arcee and Chromia came in then and Arcee jumped right into repairing the purple component. I wondered briefly what it would be like to repair yourself like that. 

"He was part of the Cybertron defense forces back before the war," Ratchet continued. "I may have helped repair him at some point – I honestly don't remember – but I didn't really get to know him until after the war broke out. Megatron declared a war of aggression against another species, but Optimus rose up in defiance against him, saying that it went against every principle of our civilization. Most of the science division sided with Optimus, while most of the planetary defense forces sided with Megatron. Ironhide was one of the few exceptions." 

"He and I both were," Chromia put in. 

Ratchet nodded in agreement. "Megatron declared Optimus' faction traitors and turned on his fellow Cybertronians. That was the beginning of the end for our entire species." 

"Ironhide was the first to choose the Autobots," Chromia admitted. "He was convinced that Optimus and the others weren't guilty of the things Megatron accused them of, but I wasn't so sure. Megatron made some very convincing arguments. Ironhide left, but I stayed – with reservations. If Optimus was guilty, then I wasn't going to remain a neutral, but I didn't like some of the things Megatron was tolerating and encouraging among his ranks."

"At the same time," Arcee cut in, "Ironhide was known for being an efficient and enthusiastic warrior, and he knew that we would be distrustful. So he wandered for a while, eventually finding his way to Autobot territory and Optimus. I was part of the contingent that captured him." 

Ratchet snorted. "Would you believe he pulled his cannons on Prime during their first interview? Nobody…" he elbowed Arcee, "thought to put stasis cuffs on him or to deactivate his weapons." 

I tried to imagine it, Ironhide threatening Optimus like that. "You're kidding." 

"Nope," Chromia sniggered. "It let him prove his point, though. They weren't fighters, and they would need mechs like him. Once Optimus was convinced of 'Hide's sincerity, he allowed Ironhide to contact me. I brought two other femmes with me – Firestar and Flareup." 

"Decepticon ranks are not a safe place for femmes," Arcee explained. "They're considered too weak."

Chromia snorted. "Until we blow their afts off." 

Arcee tipped her head in acknowledgement. 

"Slagger," a rough, familiar voice mumbled. 

I jumped to my feet and Ratchet literally dropped what he was doing to hurry to the berth. I protested when the medic picked me up by the harness, but he only moved me as far as the platform. "Ironhide?" 

"Ne'er…was…a…'con. Slagger ." 

Chromia was at his side, her fingers lightly caressing his face. "You're too tough to be a 'con," she soothingly agreed. "Too strong." 

I started toward him again, but the medic's hand blocked my way. "Ratchet," I whined. 

"Spitlet?" 'Hide asked, the light in his optics flickering as he tried to bring them online. 

" Annabelle is right here," Ratchet said. "You've not been left without a Lennox at your side for the last three days."

He turned his head, looking for me. "Annabelle…" 

I hopped over Ratchet's hand and climbed up Ironhide's shoulder to my place by his spark. Ratchet gave me a warning look but didn't stop me. Resting my cheek against the silver armor again, I said, "I'm so sorry, Ironhide. So sorry. I was stupid and mean and childish, and I'm so sorry. You were so excited to tell me and I ruined it for you. Tell me how to make it up to you? Please? Please forgive me?" 

Slowly, he lifted the hand on the other side of his body and brought it to rest lightly over my shoulders. "Little one," he sighed. His thumb gently stroked my hair. "I frightened you, little one. It's my fault, not yours." 

"I wasn't scared of you," I firmly declared. "Never. I was upset because you had lied to me, but I understand now why you had to. You were as honest with me as you could be. But I was never afraid that you'd hurt me." 

Chuckling, he stroked my hair again. "My little one," he said, pride in his voice. "A Lennox through and through, with your mother's fearless fire." His hand rested a little more heavily on me then – holding me close to his spark. 

Again I felt…small. Not like when I was in the Autobot barracks – that was intimidating and the enormous size of everything just put my short, fragile human life in perspective. Here, cradled by Ironhide, I felt almost like how I imagine an infant feels in her daddy's arms. Safe, cherished, warm. Of course, even when I was an infant, I was never as small as I was here in Ironhide's hand. "Forgive me?" I pleaded again. 

"On one condition," he said softly. 

"Anything." 

"Never tell anyone else that you're not afraid of me. Bad for the reputation." 

The femmes and Ratchet laughed with me at that one.

"Deal." With a contented sigh, I said, "Missed you, 'Hide."

"Missed you, too, Spitlet," he softly answered.

"She goes by Annabelle, now," Arcee gently corrected. 

I bit my lip, realizing that however Ironhide might interpret that, it was bound to be hurtful. I almost took it back and told them they could call me by my Autobot name. But it really was a humiliating nickname. They were a bunch of advanced sentient robots – they couldn't come up with something better for me? 

"What's this?" Mom's voice demanded, and I could hear her shoes tapping on the cement floor as she crossed the med bay. "I keep watch for the last three days and you decide to wake up during one of the few times I leave?" 

"I could go back into recharge," Ironhide threatened. 

"Slagger," she cheerfully insulted him as she climbed the platform. 

Ironhide let me go, and I climbed down from his chassis. As soon as I had the harness off, Mom handed me my food and climbed up onto his chest, but this time she stood defiantly on the tire with her arms crossed and looking down at him. "Who gave you permission to get wounded, anyway?" 

"Won't happen again," he assured her. "What did happen, anyway?" 

All the happiness drained from Mom's expression. "Shockwave." 

"Frag," he muttered. 

"There's time enough for that later," Ratchet interrupted, gingerly picking unharnessed Mom up and setting her beside me. She and Dad were probably the only humans on the planet who could ignore Ratchet's safety procedures and get away with it. "The repair team could handle the pellets without injury, so they pulled them out. Annabelle helped in her own way, too. But that's all for later. You need rest." 

Turning to Mom and me, the medic said, "You've seen him now. He's awake and will be fine. Now both of you – out. Visiting hours will resume at 19:00 hours." 

"Thanks, Ratchet," Mom said warmly as she led the way toward the med bay doors. "Feel better, Ironhide." "Already do," he rumbled. 

"Oh," I said, turning around to point at first Ironhide and then Ratchet. "You and you – there's a wash and wax with your name on it. We'd better see you both within a week." 

Ironhide chuckled again. "Yes ma'am."

Chapter Text

The next day was Friday, and I was all but bursting with excitement when I was finally released from the clutches of public education. No school to interrupt – I could live in the Autobot hangar this weekend! Ironhide was still bedridden last night after dinner…well, he was strapped to the repair berth and swearing up a storm, but regardless, I hadn't even seen him sitting up yet. Ratchet sent all three of us Lennox's home for the night, telling Mom that Ironhide wasn't in the hospital so much as he was in time-out for trying to walk off earlier. 

I was a little disappointed when Mom showed up in the minivan to pick me up, but I guessed it was unreasonable to expect the Autobots to play chauffer for me all the time. "So have you heard if he's up and about yet?" I asked as I hopped in the front seat. "Ratchet's got to be sick of his cussing by now and I was hoping 'Hide could show me around a little bit more. Does he have an office?" 

"That'll have to wait, Annabelle," Mom said, checking her blind-spot before merging onto the main road. "They're all in a meeting right now." 

"Meeting? Autobots stuck in a meeting ?! You've got to be kidding me." 

She wearily smiled. "Afraid not." 

"What's it about?" I asked. 

"Classified." 

I delicately snorted. "I thought I had clearance." Sudden hope swelled in my soul. "Are they choosing a new Autobot designation for me?" 

Mom smirked. "Not everything's about you, Annabelle. I'm just guessing, mind you, but this is the first major powwow they've had since Ironhide's injury, since he got hurt with Shockwave's weapon." 

And then I connected the dots, too. "This is about him. Who is he, anyway? Besides being a Decepticon, of course." 

She pursed her lips for a moment before answering. "They haven't told me much, but I gather he's one of the few Decepticons who could give Megatron a run for his money. The 'cons have been on the defensive for roughly the last eight years, so Shockwave turning up now…it just doesn't bode well. Is he going to challenge Megatron or reinforce him?" She pensively shook her head. "Regardless, it's an all-hands-on-deck kind of thing. You dad will let us know when they finish, and 'Hide will probably come down to the house tonight." 

"But I want to visit him on the base," I whined. 

She gave me a look of strained patience. "Annabelle, it was special circumstances for us to sleep in the Autobot hangar. Things have to get back to normal now." 

I rolled my eyes. "There is no such thing as normal anymore, Mom. My dad's best friend is a monster alien robot warrior." 

She half-smiled. "Yes. And that's been normal for me for the last fifteen years. Trust me, we can and will get back to something resembling normal. Like homework. And all of us sitting down together for dinner tonight, 'Hide included, with any luck." 

I sighed heavily and stared out the passenger-side window. Grown-ups. What was their infatuation with normal?

... 

That evening, Dad was the first one through the door and I ran to him like usual, catching him in a hug. "How's my little lady?" he asked, squeezing me tightly. 

"Happy to be on speaking terms," I giggled, realizing it had literally been weeks since we'd had a moment like this.

"Me, too," he said, kissing the top of my head. Then he let me go so he could plant a kiss on Mom. I'd tell them to get a room, but knowing them, they'd take me literally. 

And then Hyde was there, standing awkwardly in front of the door leading to the garage. I could see his Topkick – his alt-form – parked behind him, and…. You know those pictures that just look like blurry patterns of color until you stare at them long enough and then suddenly you can see them as three-dimensional seascapes and stuff? Seeing Hyde there felt like that, but it was like everything had new dimensions. And like those blurry pictures, I felt a little dizzy because of what I could now see. 

It was like there was some kind of dual reality with dimensions and layers that hadn't existed before. Here was the man I loved like a grandfather, the man who indulged me and, frankly, spoiled me rotten. But here, also, was a being who was utterly, unimaginably alien, who was a walking weapon, who made my brief lifespan look like the blink of an eye. Which was the illusion? Which was the reality? The two seemed impossible to reconcile, and yet…and yet I could feel it bone-deep that Aaron Hyde and Ironhide were one and the same. 

With a start, I realized that, just as he lived longer, he loved deeper than any human could ever hope to. That was the link between the two people standing as 'Hide before me. The walking weapon killed to protect me because he loved me like his own child. His own sparkling. 

I'd always liked the sparkle in his blue eyes, but with the clearance I'd been given, I understood the light in them so much better now. 

"Hello…Annabelle," he nervously rumbled as I stared, careful to not accidentally use my old name. I threw myself into his arms, knocking the wind out of him with an "oof." "Welcome home, Hyde. Ironhide." After a breathless chuckle, he held me even tighter than Dad did, resting his cheek on the top of my head. "Thank you."

"Thank you ," I softly said, "for putting up with me." 

"I could say the same," he answered, letting me go but holding my gaze with his own. "And it's good to be home."

Feeling all sappy, I gave him a little smile, and he returned it with a nod. 

Looking at Mom, he said, "Smells good, Spitfire. You made enough for Will to have some too, right?" 

She laughed and swatted at him with a kitchen towel. "Enough for you and Will and the femmes when they get off duty. Go wash up; dinner will be ready in a few minutes." 

And just like that, life resumed the rhythms and patterns I'd known for as long as I could remember, carrying us all on to what was now to become 'normal.' 

Dinner conversation revolved around holoforms – what they could sense, what they couldn't, what happened to the food they ate…. You know, normal stuff. 

It turns out that holoforms were about as accurate as alt-forms when it came to mimicking the real thing – with a few upgrades of course. The Autobots' awareness stayed connected to their processors, so they kept their communication and sensory abilities, but they had to focus to access them. This showed up as a blank, spaced-out expression that I'd noticed before but never really thought about. It also explained how they were such know-it-alls; they had constant Internet access. Couldn't be because they were so ancient I couldn't quite wrap my mind around it. 

(Oh, and by the way, human food could be processed just like any other energy source, but it took a long time and wasn't really worth the effort as fuel. They just ate because Mom was a good cook and holoform tastebuds work as well as human ones.) 

R.C. and Mia roared up the driveway on their alt-forms just in time for dessert. "Hey guys!" I called out when they let themselves in through the front door. "You up for cheesecake?" 

R.C. came in and gently squeezed my shoulder. "Sounds great, Spit…fire…made it? Or did you, Annabelle?" 

"Nice save," I grumbled, giving her a dirty look. "It's not like I'm gonna smack you if you slip up. It's just an annoying nickname – I'm not angry about it. And Mom made the cheesecake." 

Hyde pushed the chair beside him away from the table, inviting Mia to sit there. Her fingers trailed lightly over his shoulder and then she sat down. That was the most demonstrative I'd ever seen them. "Cherries?" she hopefully asked. 

Mom grinned as she rose to her feet. "Of course."

"Here, let me help," I offered, grabbing a stack of small plates from the cupboard. Mom dished out the pieces and I served, while Dad opened a can of cherry pie filling and scooped it into a bowl. 

"So how was your day?" Mom asked them as she sat down again. 

R.C. casually said, "Prime had to restrain Ratchet when he saw what Sunny and Sides did to Skids and Mudflap." 

It was the sort of thing I'd heard pretty much daily my whole life, but the words brought to mind a very different scene now. "Oh dear." 

"They had it coming," Hyde said as he spread cherries on his slice of cheesecake. "The younglings superglued the warriors' heads to their berths. Everyone who wasn't strapped to a berth in the med bay woke up to them flailing around and cussing." 

I started sniggering at the mental images. 

Mia rolled her eyes. "Sunny and Sides hacked their berths to bits trying to get free, and now they'll have to sleep in their alt modes until 'Jack gets around to fixing them. And this cheesecake is heavenly, Spitfire." 

Mom grinned. "Flattery will get you seconds." 

Dad took both her hands in his and staring deeply into her eyes, declared, "My lovely, witty, beloved wife, Helen of Troy was a hag compared to you." 

She giggled. "Sorry guys. Will just took the cake." 

We all groaned at the pun. 

"I'll arm-wrestle you for it," Hyde offered. 

"Not a chance," Dad said with a smirk. 

"But what did Sunny and Sides do to the younger twins?" I interrupted. 

"Oh, nothing much," R.C. answered. "Just hacked off their arms and legs and hid them randomly around the base."

"OH JEEZ!" I snorted. "That's HORRIBLE !" 

"It was worse for the poor people who randomly stumbled across amputated limbs," Mia dryly answered.

"Had it coming," Hyde repeated. 

Shaking her head, R.C. said, "They were still looking for one of Skid's arms when we left." 

"Are they gonna be okay?" 

"Oh yeah," she assured me. "They'll be sore for a few days and their energy levels got depleted enough that they'll need to spend the rest of the day recharging in the safety of the med bay, but they'll be up to their stupid twin tricks all too soon." 

Dad added, "They'd be in the brig except that's where the other twins are right now." 

"Just another normal day with Autobots?" I asked with a grin. 

Dad sighed, his expression troubled for a brief moment. "I wish." Straining to lighten his own mood, he said, "But then, what's normal with these knuckleheads around?" His gaze went from the femmes to Hyde before he managed a smile for me. "As soon as I think I have them pegged, they sucker-punch me with something as insane as an amputated-limbs scavenger hunt." 

"Oh the stories we could tell you, Annabelle," Mom said, grinning. 

"Will tell you," R.C. promised with a smirk. 

"Like what?" I eagerly asked. 

"Like the scare Ironhide and Chromia gave Will when she first arrived on Earth," Mom said, already sniggering at the memory. My first recollection of Mia was her coming to a football game. R.C. introduced the newcomer as her sister, and it was years before I figured out there was something between her and Hyde. "What happened?" 

Through her giggles, Mom said, "They triggered every alarm on the base by slipping away for…an intimate chat on the beach."

"Holy crap!" I choked on my own laugh. "You didn't!" 

"Ten-thousand years apart makes a femme desperate," Mia said with a shrug. 

Dad leaned back in his chair, grinning. "I put the fear of Primus in them if they ever did something like that again, at least if it was within sight of our house." 

"Wait!" I exclaimed, incredulous. "You two were doing the horizontal tango on my beach? Where I innocently frolicked in the surf all while I was growing up?" 

"You weren't frolicking at the time," Hyde said defensively. 

"We were," Mia murmured, mischief sparkling in her eyes. 

I choked again on my laughter. 

"They were horrible for the first couple of years," Dad said, shaking his head at Mia. "We had to build a special facility for their… chats so that they wouldn't keep lighting up the sensor nets." 

"And so that your perverted government liaisons wouldn't try to play peeping tom," Mia snorted. 

Chat. A light bulb switched on in my head and, looking at Hyde, I said, "So that's why you freaked when I was eleven and told you I was chatting online with 'Bee?" 

R.C. almost fell out of her chair she was laughing so hard. "You…said…that…you were…?!" she wheezed.

"Yep," Hyde matter-of-factly said, taking a bite of cheesecake. I wasn't sure if he was answering me or R.C.

"… Primus !" R.C. gasped through her guffaws. 

"So if you two were doing-it-on-the-beach serious, how come I've never seen you kissing or anything?" I asked Mia and Hyde. 

Swallowing his cheesecake, Hyde answered, "Like your father said, he put the fear of Primus in us if we ever corrupted his daughter with our heathen ways." 

"But…Mom and Dad kiss all the time in front of me. It's annoying sometimes." 

"It's good for you," Mom said firmly, though she was still smiling. 

"That's different," Hyde curtly answered me. 

"Because they're married?" I wondered. 

Hyde looked offended. "Marriage is a weak, fleeting echo of what Mia and I share. It's different because they're human." 

"So are you right now – kinda. I'm sure you must have kissed in your holoforms at least once." I wracked my brain trying to remember. 

Mia chuckled. "Nope." 

"Not once?" 

R.C. smirked. "Nope." 

"Not even under mistletoe?" I pressed. 

"Terrible tradition," Hyde righteously answered. 

"Not even a little peck on the lips?" 

Hyde started to turn a little pink – blushing. "No."

"Why not?" I demanded. 

"Because we're in our holoforms." 

"So?" 

Grimacing, he answered, "So…it'd be…kinky." 

Even the femmes busted up laughing at that one. 

"So let me get this straight," I chortled. "It's perfectly normal to traumatize my beach, but a chaste little peck on the lips is kinky?"

Hyde awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah." 

Mia surprised Hyde with a sudden kiss on the cheek. "I'm so glad you're mine, Ironhide." 

The scandalized look on his face was priceless. 

… 

The Autobots didn't leave until almost midnight. I quietly neglected to tell my mom I didn't get my homework done, planning on finishing it during English first period instead. No way was I going to miss out on a night like that for a few math problems. I was pulling a low A in the class – I could afford to miss a few points. 

The next day after school, Ironhide and Ratchet showed up at the house for their promised "spa treatment," as Mom called it. I'd helped wash the truck countless times, but it was a completely new experience to talk with 'Hide and Ratchet via the radio instead of speaking to their holoforms. Just another weird way that reality changed for me. Mom and Dad took on Ironhide while I scrubbed Ratchet until he shined, and all the while, the two 'bots amiably bickered like an old married couple. 

I'd need some help with the waxing, so while Mom and Dad buffed 'Hide, I got out the Black Magic and started wiping down Ratchet's leather seats. Abruptly, his engine revved and then spluttered. "Sweet Cybertron!" 

I sat back on my heels in surprise. "What?" 

"That…is extremely pleasant. I'd forgotten how good it feels." 

Fifteen years of helping to wash the truck...things I'd never thought about before. I grinned as I sprayed some more of the cleaner on his seats. "I'm glad - you earned it!"

Chapter Text

School was more boring than ever – I just couldn't focus on my studies, not with thoughts of awesome alien robots running around in my head. I found myself drawing sketches of the Autobots when I should have been writing essays or solving equations. I started to miss assignments, forgetting to write them down because I was too busy daydreaming. I mean, honestly, how could anyone expect me to focus on memorizing Spanish vocabulary when I'd visited the proving grounds the night before to watch Ironhide and Chromia training? How could plain old terran Biology be interesting when Skids and Mudflap spent hours showing me holos of lifeforms from distant planets? How could I possibly care about what human leaders were doing when I had Optimus Prime on my speed dial? 

When parent-teacher conferences rolled around two months after my birthday, I knew I was toast. I hadn't told my folks about my plummeting grades, so they got the news from my teachers' mouths while I shrunk down deeper into the chair after each interview. By the time we left the building, my parents were giving me the silent treatment. 'I may as well have Ironhide shoot me now,' I thought as I climbed into the back of Mom's minivan. (That was the one saving grace of the night – Ironhide and the rest of the Autobots didn't know. Yet. I didn't want to think about what their reactions would be.) 

When we turned down the long driveway to home, I mumbled, "Say something?" 

"Like what?" Dad demanded. "That we're disappointed in you?" 

"That we're going to ground you from the Autobots?" Mom threatened. "Your grades started taking a nosedive exactly when Ironhide got hurt." 

I miserably sunk down into the seat, unable to offer any real defense for my actions. When we pulled into the garage, I was half tempted to just stay in the minivan and mope. 

"Go to your room, Annabelle," Dad ordered. "Your mother and I have a few things we need to discuss." 

"Yeah," I grumbled, sulking past them toward the stairs, "like my life sentence." I locked the bedroom door behind me and – after hemming and hawing for a moment – pulled out my phone. I probably wouldn't have the privilege of using it again for a while. 

To Ironhide, I sent, /promise u luv me?/

/Of course./

/im failing geo n bio/

/WHAT?!/

/yeah folks r mad/

/What happened? You're sharper than half us 'bots./

I hesitated. Maybe I should just call him, but then Mom and Dad would hear me and think to take my phone away all the sooner. /cant focus not since my bday/ 

It was a couple of minutes before he answered. /We're distracting you./

/not ur fault/

/It's not yours either. I'll talk to your folks./

/thx hide ur the best/

/lol No, that'd be Optimus. You'll probably not like the solution we come to, though. Prowl will be an exacting tutor./

I swore under my breath. /pit no/

/LOL Slag yes. You've got to pull those grades up, and I know your dad. He'll brig you in your room until you turn things around. You want to be able to see us still or not?/

Gritting my teeth, I grudgingly sent, /yes/

/Well, then, you'll have to see us on our terms. You think your teachers are demanding? None of THEM has ever been a drill sergeant like me./

What had I gotten myself into? 

"Annabelle!" 

I sent off one last text. /tattler/ Tossing my phone on my bed, I went to the top of the stairs. "Yeah?" 

"Get down here." It was Dad's not-happy voice. The same tone of voice I imagined him using right before he blew the spark out of a Decepticon. 

Trying to look appropriately penitent, I walked into the living room where Dad was waiting. Mom was in the kitchen talking on her phone – to an Autobot, I assumed. 

"I don't like you going behind my back," Dad growled. 

"I didn't, I promise," I answered, ducking my head a little. "I just told 'Hide I was in trouble and why." 

He glowered at me so angrily I felt like my heart was breaking. In clipped, Colonel Lennox tones, he said, "I'm beginning to regret ever letting you get clearance." 

Tears welled up in my eyes. "Please, Dad. Don't." 

"I don't know you anymore, Annabelle. I can understand that learning the truth about them threw you for a loop. I understand you not liking your designation of Spitlet. But that's all Autobot stuff. I'm your dad and three months ago you would have come to me for help. Why in the name of all that's holy did I have to find out from your teachers that you're struggling in school? It's like you don't trust me anymore." 

Crossing to him in two steps, I threw my arms around his ribs. "Of course I trust you! I was just embarrassed and I didn't want to get in trouble." 

He sighed, holding me tightly. "But if I don't know you're in trouble, how can I help you?" 

He had a point. "Sorry," I mumbled. 

"And now 'Hide has organized the universe's best fighting force into a tutor rotation for you. Ratchet for bio, Prowl for geometry, Arcee for Spanish…He's even roped Prime into helping you with world history. Optimus Prime playing tutor for my daughter. I could have helped you with most of that, Annabelle. All you had to do was ask." 

And he was right – one hundred percent right. 

Softly, he said, "I just feel like I'm losing you." 

"Never." I lifted my head and met his wounded gaze. "I'll call 'Hide right now. What subject do you want to tutor me in? Or I could tell him that I don't need any of them to…" 

He chuckled ruefully. "I don't know any Spanish." 

"Okay. I'll keep Arcee for that." 

"And Ratchet will be able to tell you more about terran biology than any human scientist alive." 

Now he was the one moping and it mildly irritated me. I was the teenager – I was the one who was supposed to have the monopoly on angsty. "Well, pick one, Dad. Or several." 

"The 'bots can teach you better than I could," he admitted. 

"But that's not the point. I slighted you and I'm trying to make it better. Let me? Please?" 

He hugged me tightly again. "You have your mother's insight, you know that? She's brilliant that way. Fine. I'll teach you about world history and let Optimus Prime worry about other things." 

"Thank you." And I just rested my head on his chest for a long minute, remembering again why I loved him so much. He loved me first – and last. 

… 

Would you believe that Skids and Mudflap ended up as my English tutors? My jaw hit the floor when they showed up with Mudflap holding the Oxford edition of The Complete Works of Shakespeare in his hands. 

"Wha?" Skids demanded reading my expression. "Ya don' think we's stupid , do ya? 

"Um…" I hedged, trying to find a diplomatic way to handle this. " Shakespeare? " 

And then in a perfect mimic of Johnston's accent, Skids quoted, "Lord, what fools these mortals be!" Reverting back to his normal speech, he added, "We's got Cybertronian processors for brains, squishy! We's can compute circles 'round ya!" 

"Ya think it easy ta talk like dis?" Mudflap laughed. "Any 'bot can learn English. Dis an artform. "

"Yeah," Skids agreed. "An' it drive Ratchet nuts. " 

… 

The second week in November, I was called out of Spanish and brought to the principal's office, and so naturally I thought it was related to my grades. 'Hide was right that Prowl was a tough tutor, but he had nothing on Ratchet and bio. I got a hundred percent on my bio test the day before and I wondered if that's why I was being summoned to the principal now – because they thought I cheated. 

But that wasn't it at all. There were two military police officers waiting for me. "What's going on?" I wondered.

"We'll need you to come with us, Miss Lennox," one of the MP's said. 

I looked at the school secretary, but she just nodded. "They have the proper paperwork. I've excused you from your classes for the rest of the day." 

Taking a deep breath, I looked from one burly, intimidating soldier to the other. "Okay, then. I guess I'm going with you." 

As we rode in the unmarked car toward the base, a memory from a backyard football game not even a year ago came to mind. Skids and Mudflap were going on about how witty one of their story characters was under interrogation, and Hyde had overheard us. 

"Don't listen to a word of that slag, Spitlet," he'd said, interrupting them. "If you're ever captured by the enemy, use your head not your mouth. Don't say anything you don't have to, and pay close attention. They'll never directly ask the question they want answered – they'll lead you to it by a noose of almost-innocent questions. If you're gonna say anything, address it to the real question, not the noose." 

Whatever was going on, they weren't hauling me to base under armed escort because of bad grades. This had something to do with the Autobots or Dad. Maybe both. And whatever was going down wasn't friendly toward the people I loved. I was just a pawn then, stuck in the middle like before, too old to stay out of the thick of things anymore but too young to do any good. Suddenly remembering how I'd helped with Shockwave's pellets, I fought my sly smirk as I glanced at the soldier beside me. That's what you think. 

We entered an office building and the MP's escorted me down a corridor to our left. Dad burst into the other end of the hallway, bearing down on my escort. "What the hell is going on here?" 

"I just had a few questions for Miss Lennox," a plain-clothes man said, emerging from the door the guard had just opened.

"Mr. Marshall. What is this about?" 

That would make him Senatorial Liaison Joe Marshall, and I instantly hated him. 'Liaison' was a dirty word in the world I grew up in. 

Marshall quipped back, "Your reports the first three weeks after she received security clearance, that's what this is about. They are…inconsistent, and we want answers."

Dad's eyes hardened as he stared down the shorter man. (Of course, most men were shorter than him.) "She is my daughter and a minor. You have no right …" 

Marshall extended a piece of paper to my dad. "I have every right under the compromise we negotiated fourteen years ago. She's old enough for clearance, which makes her old enough for questioning." 

Dad frowned, and I thought hard. Of course he would have had to file reports about me. And I was a brat for those two and a half weeks…was the man digging for dirt on the Autobots? Or maybe he was trying to get Dad discredited – his own daughter reacting badly to the aliens? 

"You're not questioning her alone," Dad said flatly. 

"I'll have them as witnesses," Marshall answered, tipping his chin at the men on either side of me. Yeah, because armed guards were obviously neutral witnesses. 

"You're treating her like a criminal." 

"We're doing this for her own protection," Marshall snapped back. 

"Could another woman be in there?" I asked quietly. 

Marshall looked at me sharply and then his expression melted to kind indulgence. "If that will make you feel safer, Miss Lennox, of course." 

"And it'll be videotaped, right?" I asked, a sudden idea occurring to me. After all, no one could hack like an Autobot, and Jolt was wicked-good even for them. If anything in that room was linked to the servers, they'd know. 

"Of course, Miss. You have nothing to fear. We just want you to ask you a few questions." 

Translation: we're twisting a noose. 

I took a deep, steadying breath. "Okay, then." It wasn't really like I had much of a choice, anyway. I unslung my backpack and pulled out my cell phone. "I probably should leave this here, though, huh." 

Dad nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that would be a good idea." 

With the speed only attainable by teenagers, I shot off a quick text to Ironhide. /c ths/ Handing the phone to my dad and putting my backpack on again, I smiled bravely and then walked into the lion's den. I heard the phone chime, announcing a reply, as the door closed behind me.

Chapter Text

After they locked the door behind us, Mr. Marshall gestured to a chair and had one of the MP's call for a woman to assist them. "Do you mind if we get started while we wait?" 

"Sure, I guess," I hesitantly answered. "We can start." 

There were the basic information questions – my name, age, date of birth. A woman I didn't recognize joined us as he was getting to the more pointed questions – verifying what date Ironhide first revealed himself to me, asking if they'd ever given any indication before about what they were, and then the open-ended, "So tell us what happened that day." 

The smart-aft answer or the terse one? Deciding I'd better follow Ironhide's advice for now, I said, "We went to the backyard and Ironhide transformed." 

"Just like that?" 

"Pretty much." 

"And how did you react?" 

"Badly." I grimaced at having to acknowledge the truth. 

"It's okay, sweetheart," Marshall said gently, misinterpreting my expression and scooting a box of tissues my way. "Don't worry about what the others will think or do. You're safe here with us." 

Buying myself a second to think, I accepted the box and reached for a tissue. I was safe with these guys? Implying that I wasn't safe when I was away from them? That I wasn't safe with the Autobots? I pretended to blow my nose. Definitely digging for dirt on somebody. It was probably best to play along. "Thanks." 

"I'm sure it's difficult to relive such traumatic experiences, but your honesty will help everyone." 

'Yeah right,' I sarcastically thought. But I nodded my head. "Okay." 

"So when you say badly…?" 

Where exactly was he going? And how could I outmaneuver him? Looking down at the tissue as I twisted it in my hands, I repeated, "Badly." 

"Yes, but can you elaborate?" 

"I screamed like a girl. It was humiliating ." And that's how I could divert him, I suddenly realized. Make it all about me. I fought back the evil grin, with only a flicker of a smile slipping though. 

"Because you were scared?" 

"No, it was humiliating that I screamed." 

"But why did you scream?" 

"Because I was surprised. It's not like I was expecting my dad's truck to be a sentient robot." 

Marshall looked down at the report in front of him, reading, "Miss Lennox appears to be deeply frightened of the Autobots." Looking back up, he asked, "Are you saying this report is inaccurate?" 

"Hello. He's my dad and I'm a teenage girl. Of course it's inaccurate! When it comes to me, he's really clueless sometimes. I mean, like you wouldn't believe. He didn't want me to get earrings – ever – and when I turned twelve, we had this huge argument and…" 

"Thank you, Miss Lennox," he interrupted. "I believe I'm getting a clearer picture now." He took a deep breath. "Backing up a little. You say the Autobot Ironhide gave you a cell phone for your birthday. What can you tell me about the phone?" 

Boys bragged about features; girls just used their electronics. This man must have zero experience with teenage girls. I critically looked over his sagging physique and coffee-stained teeth – even when he was a teenager, he probably didn't have any experience with teenage girls.

"Yeah, it's a sweet phone!" I gushed. "I can talk for a full day – and I mean a full day non-stop talking and websurfing – without needing to charge it. And great reception. Mom and I went on a daytrip to Mumbai and even on the plane I could still get reception!" 

"But what about the phone itself?" Marshall persisted. "What features does the phone itself have?" 

Like I'd just blurt out that it was Autobot-enabled. "Qwerty, video calling, satellite internet, and the pictures and video are as crisp as a real camera. And it'll survive anything. And I mean anything . I even dropped it in the ocean at one point, but it still works like a charm." 

"So what upgrades and enhancements have the Autobots done on it?" 

"None that I've seen. But I'm not a techie at all. Jolt had to set everything up for me when Ironhide got me a laptop and wireless office last Christmas. I can use the stuff okay, but when you start taking off the panels and mucking about with the hardware, that's all way above my head." 

"They gave you a laptop?" he asked, and a weaselly light glinted in his eyes. 

Slag. I saw the question behind that noose coming a mile off – he wanted my Autobot-enhanced laptop for himself. But practically everything I owned was Autobot-enhanced or at least Autobot-purchased. Every stitch of clothing I had on right then came from Arcee…That gave me an idea. 

I walked right into the noose just for kicks. "And the wireless office, don't forget. Printer, monitor, keyboard, mouse. It's great!"

"Would you mind if I examined the laptop?" 

"Actually, I kind of do. It was a Christmas present, after all. I mean, he gave me one of those new Wii's the year before. You're welcome to come over and play it – I kick even Chromia's aft on virtual boxing – but if you want to take everything of mine the Autobots have ever touched, I won't have anything left." 

"I don't care about the Wii," he hissed. 

I pouted, enjoying the fact that I was getting to him. "Well I do! It's passé now, but he had to pull a lot of strings to get it to me that year and in time for Christmas. It was very nice of him. And they've all given me stuff. I mean, Arcee gave me the bra and panties I'm wearing right now. Do you need to see those, too?" 

He kind of choked, and I looked down, hiding the smirk. No wonder Mr. Witwicky wanted to make a living playing politics. It was fun! 

"That will be unnecessary, Miss Lennox," he finally said. "Just the laptop." 

"Frankly, sir, I'd find confiscating my bra to be less intrusive. And less inconvenient, too. My class notes are on that laptop, and all my music and pictures and…" 

"I'm not confiscating anything," he answered, trying to sound pleasantly patient – and failing. "I just wanted to see it. I'm sure it's top-of-the-line. Nice webcam?" 

There was an edge to his voice this time; he'd set his sights on the laptop and I knew I wasn't going to be able to distract him away from it. Not if the bra and panties thing didn't do the trick. I could feel the weight of it in my backpack resting against my leg, and I suddenly wished I'd left it with my dad, too. I'd be a lot more confident with it safely out of Marshall's reach because, if Wheeljack hadn't upgraded it, I was a Decepticon. "Yep," I answered, switching back to Ironhide's tactics of one-word answers. 

"Anything else special about it?" 

"Great speakers." 

"Why don't you pull it out and let me hear? What's your favorite music?" 

"Battery's dead," I improvised. 

Marshall gave me a stern look and then glanced at one of the MP's. "Get it." 

The man moved toward me, and I felt a flash of terror…until I remembered Ironhide was watching. He'd bust through the door if they tried anything. Kinda made a girl feel bold, knowing that. To the MP, I said, "You know who my father and best friends are. Do you really want to risk roughing me up?" 

The man hesitated and looked uncertainly back at Marshall. 

"Any other questions, or am I free to go?" I prompted him. Round one goes to Annabelle Lennox! 

"Going back to 'reacting badly,'" he said, and I could feel the shift in his strategy. No more Mr. Nice Guy. Too bad for him that Mudflap could be more intimidating. "You didn't speak to the Autobots for two and a half weeks, and then suddenly you're best buddies." 

"We made up," I cautiously said, trying to figure out where he was going with this. 

"Ah yes. The day they brought you to the hangar. Tell me about that day." 

"It was a day right from the Pit," I said, echoing my dad's words. 

"Explain." 

"Well 'the Pit' is the Autobot equivalent of hell…" 

" Why was it a day from hell?" 

"Ironhide almost died." 

"And you suddenly saw the light after they hauled you into that so-called medic's repair shop?" 

Where in the world was he going with this? I blinked a couple of times, completely baffled. "What do you think happened?"

"None of your attitude. Just answer it." 

"No attitude," I said slowly. "I'm genuinely confused." 

"I'm the one asking the questions, young lady." 

Now who was copping an attitude? "Yeah, I know. And I've answered them all. It's your turn. What do you think happened?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. All I want is the honest truth from you." 

I sat back, studying him. Ratchet, he was the key. The man was particularly hostile toward Ratchet. Why? Maybe I could make him show me where he was going. Besides, all I was telling was the truth. "I saw Ratchet working on Ironhide and I realized that I still cared about him." 

"Cared about him?" he pounced. 

Sweet Cybertron, the man wasn't thinking that , was he! "He's my adopted grandpa, of course I care about him."

That caught Marshall flat-footed. "Adopted…grandpa?" 

"Well, not officially, but yeah, that's how I think of him. Aaron Hyde's been there for me for as long as I can remember. It's not like I can have extended family here on Diego Garcia, so the Autobots have kind of taken over that role. When I didn't talk to them for two and a half weeks, it was just a family spat. Of course I came around. Even when you're angry with them, you still gotta love family." 

Understanding lit his eyes. "Aaron Hyde was there for you, but what about Ironhide? Didn't you feel a little…betrayed?" 

The little fragger – he was trying to turn me against them. "Of course I felt betrayed, until I was around them enough to realize Hyde was the same no matter what shape he's in. People are people. Like you. You could turn into a toad and nobody would have any trouble knowing it was you. Besides, it was slimy government liaisons that forced them to lie to me in the first place." 

He narrowed his eyes at me, his frown bordering on a sneer. "Aren't you a little firebrand." 

"I'm the daughter of Will and Sarah Lennox and I was raised by fembots and Ironhide. What the slag did you expect?"

"A little more respect," he said shortly, "what with you being a military brat ."

"Whoa. Knife to the heart with that one," I smirked. Round two goes to Annabelle with bonus points for reducing him to name calling! "Any other questions, or can I go now?" 

"What happened in the med bay," he flatly demanded. 

"Like I would know," I shot back. "I'm failing biology and I didn't take Auto Shop." 

"What happened to you in the med bay?" 

"I saw Arcee, climbed a platform to look at Ironhide and then got kicked out. Then my daddy took me to the cafeteria and bought me some apple juice." 

"Tell me about getting kicked out. Why?" 

"Why should I tell you?" I asked, intentionally misconstruing the question. "I'm not sure." 

"Why did you get kicked out?" 

"Because Ratchet didn't want me there." 

"Why didn't Ratchet want you there?" 

And again my dad's words echoed in my mind. "Because he loves me." 

"He loves you?" A greedy, triumphant smile spread across his face. 

Oh, I was so going to yank his chain over that one. "Yeah, we're betrothed and you're going to be the main course along with Han Solo for the engagement party – what do you think? Did you miss the memo? I'm the Autobots' collective kid sister." 

"Of course." He was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. "So…being their medic, I understand he's treated you frequently over the years." 

"Sure." 

"And did any of that treatment involve anything…unconventional?" 

Unconventional? Is that what he was driving at? "I think you're confusing the Autobots and the Borg. I'm one-hundred-percent organic and Ratchet himself would slag anybody who wanted to make me otherwise." 

"I meant something…intimate." 

My hands clenched into fists and I reined in my temper. Snarky, I reminded myself. Snarky teenage brat – that's who I needed to be. "When's the last time your car touched you intimately?" I said sarcastically. And then I couldn't help adding, "Or maybe you're the one doing the touching?" 

"Oh. Defensive." 

"No, I'm incredulous. For the record, I have never been treated with anything other than respect and kindness by the Autobots." Except Skids and Mudflap, but that's different, I added to myself with mentally-crossed fingers. "I wish the same could be said of you governmental jerks." 

He clasped his hand to his chest and mockingly exclaimed, "I'm wounded!" 

"No," I answered, a Lennox edge to my voice. "Wounded is what you'll be if you don't either let me go or ask some questions worth answering. I've seen Ironhide on the proving grounds, and if you had seen him, too, you wouldn't be keeping me here against your best interest." 

"Tough talk," he sneered. 

I cockily tipped my head in a "bring it" attitude. "Tough walk, too." Arcee and Chromia may have been training me on a lark, but I knew enough dirty tricks to make short work of him if it came to that. The guys with the guns were another story, though. I'd just have to trust my 'bots to take care of them. "You gonna ask something reasonable or am I free to go?" 

He sat back, appraising me. "Where did you go after you left the med bay?"

"I told you. We got a snack in the break room or whatever it is." 

"And then where did you go?" 

Wheeljack's lab. I hesitated, nervous again. Answer the question, not the noose, Ironhide's words echoed softly in my mind. 

"If you want to know, ask my dad. He was there. I don't know that part of the base at all." Which wasn't true. I'd lived here for days on end when 'Hide was still in stasis. But I'd only seen the lab and the area with the offices once. 

He leaned forward on his elbows. "Your father has already reported that you went to Wheeljack's lab. Tell me about it," he pleasantly invited. 

"No," I flatly answered. 

"Why not?" 

"Because I was given to understand it's classified. You want to know about it, ask someone with clearance to answer."

"Surely you can tell me about the observation lounge." 

"Surely you know what classified means," I shot back, rising to my feet. "And you know what? I'm done. Either let me go or do something official to keep me here." 

"Sit down," he snarled, looking meaningfully at one of the guards. "Or I'll make you." 

I slowly sank to my seat again, a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. The Autobots weren't watching. They would have blown through that locked door just now if they had been. I was on my own. 

"That's better," he almost purred, no doubt seeing the dismay in my eyes. "Now. About Wheeljack's lab…describe the observation lounge for me." 

I resisted the urge to nervously bite my lip. "No." 

"I'm not going to ask again." 

"Good," I snarked back, "because I'm tired of repeating myself all the time." 

"Just the exterior. I've seen it myself and the doors intrigued me…" 

I'd wager Ironhide's cannons that he hadn't. And if I was going down, I may as well do it with flare. I lifted my hand, palm out, and looked away. Talk to the hand. 

"If you want to play it that way…" He pulled out an official-looking piece of paper and pushed it across the table toward me. "You are hereby served with a subpoena of deposition – " 

He paused mid-sentence, staring at something past my shoulder. Turning I saw R.C. and Hyde standing on either side of the door. Hyde menacingly crossed his arms, while R.C. coolly said, "As per section twelve, sub-section E, part 2a of the NEST Spouses and Dependants Code, all court proceedings regarding minor dependants such as Annabelle Lennox – military and civilian, criminal and administrative – must be in accordance with the appropriate jurisdiction's legal code. You have violated applicable restrictions regarding minors, and you have just violated Miranda requirements." 

"Come with us, Annabelle," Hyde said, opening the locked door and holding it for me. 

It was evil. It was immature. It was probably not the Autobot way. But I gave Marshall a gloating smirk as I stood and shouldered my backpack. Without a word, I turned and sauntered out the door. From the corner of my eye, I saw R.C. reach forward and snatch up the official paper like it was a gauntlet before following me out.

Chapter Text

R.C. handed the official-looking paper to Hyde. "Raquel?" 

Barely glancing at it, he nodded and gave her a cocky little smile. "Raquel." 

"Who's she?" I asked. 

Hyde chuckled softly. "She's my number-one fangirl." 

"After Chromia," R.C. reminded him with a smirk. To me, she said, "She was a lawyer in Mission City, and Ironhide saved her life the day the All Spark was destroyed. She's been on the Autobots' payroll, courtesy of Samuel, for almost ten years now." 

"Fangirl?" I incredulously repeated. 

"Uh-huh," Hyde answered, grinning. "She's great." 

"And she'll be able to tell us more quickly and probably more accurately than the normal NEST lawyers if this," R.C. gestured at the paper in Hyde's hand, "is going to be garbage or a headache." 

"Probably both," Hyde grumbled. Glancing at me, he said, "You humans and your legal system." 

"Hey, don't blame me!" I said, throwing up my hands defensively. "I just live here!" 

R.C. chuckled as she opened a door that led to a parking lot. A Topkick and a trio of motorcycles (two of which had riders lounging idly against them) were parked near the back of the lot. 

"You brought the whole trio?" I asked her incredulously. 

"Didn't know how much firepower we'd need," she said with a wink. 

More seriously, Hyde asked, "Are you okay?" 

I shrugged. "Sure. They never even laid a hand on me." 

"Good," Hyde rumbled. "The slaggers were smart and didn't have anything connected to the servers. We were reduced to just standing in the hallway like this," he gestured to his holoform, "and listening." 

Opening the passenger side door of his alt-form for me, Hyde helped me into the cab and then walked back around to sit behind the wheel. Putting the Topkick in gear, he said, "Impressive performance, though. R.C. just about keeled over when you cracked that line about the bra." 

I sniggered, remembering. "It was fun to get his goat like that. Didn't work as well as I'd hoped, though."

He shrugged. "Still. You did good in there, Annabelle. You made us proud." 

My cheeks burned in embarrassment at his praise. "Thanks. I remembered what you'd said about being interrogated by the enemy. It helped." 

"I'm glad it was just a liaison and not a real enemy, then." His eyes seemed to blaze with fury at the mere thought of me in Decepticon hands. 

"Me, too," I answered in a small voice. 

…

In the main hangar, Ironhide transformed and led me and Arcee into the Autobot side. The door to their barracks opened automatically for him, and the sight that greeted me was the exact opposite of the last time I'd been here. The lights were up, making the whole, enormous room bright, and there was a pleasant babble of voices. It looked like every Autobot on the island was here. Dad ran over to us and caught me up in a hug, swinging me around. Setting me on my feet, he beamed proudly at me. "Good job, Annabelle." 

I blushed. "Thanks." 

"Yes," Optimus rumbled. "Well done." 

I ducked my head a little at the praise, awestruck as usual by the Autobot leader's imposing presence. 

"The liaison's going to try again," Jolt announced, his head cocked the side as though listening, and I realized he must have tapped Marshall's phone. Nosy, gossipy Autobots. 

"Like hell," Dad growled. 

"Let me handle this," Ironhide said to him. "Raquel." 

Dad's sly grin echoed Hyde's smile earlier. "Do it. Send her after him." 

I needed to meet this woman. 

"In the meantime," Ratchet said, "Annabelle should return to school." 

"OH! I got a hundred percent on my bio test," I told him. 

"That's more like it," he nodded in approval. "You're in rare form today, femme." 

"Thanks." My heart glowed with happiness – that was the first time any of them had called me a femme since the day Ironhide got hurt. 

… 

Freedom! It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving – the beginning of the holiday vacation – and I practically skipped out of the school at the end of the day. We had plans for a huge Thanksgiving dinner at our house, complete with an Autobot football game. I felt lighter than air. 

When I got outside, though, I saw an unmistakable yellow Camaro waiting in the pick-up zone. A couple stood leaning against the car – Sam and Mikaela Witwicky! I hadn't seen them in a year and a half, what with them living in D.C. for his ambassadorial work. Grinning, I ran to them, throwing my arms around them both. "Hey you guys!" 

Mrs. Witwicky chuckled, holding me tight. "Hey yourself." 

"No one told me you were coming," I scolded, stepping back and smiling like an idiot. "Where are your kids?"

"At the base daycare," she said. 

"We wanted it to be a surprise," Mr. Witwicky explained, turning to open the door for me. 

I hesitated for a split second before climbing into the back seat. Another Autobot, but which one? The person I'd known as 'Bee was Mr. Witwicky's best friend. His name was always included with the Witwicky's Christmas presents and he IMed me pretty regularly, but I barely knew Wheelie. The 'bot peeled out, leaving the school behind us. "Wheelie or Bumblebee?" I asked once we were on our way. 

Mr. Witwicky chuckled, and a toy truck on the seat beside me suddenly transformed, making me yelp. "Whaddya think, squishy?" the little Autobot grumbled, sullenly crossing his arms. "That I would be yellow? For someone who's supposed to be smart, you ain't too bright." 

"Oh." I blushed. "Hi, Wheelie." In a louder voice, I added, "Hi, Bumblebee." 

The engine made the frame rumble in a familiar Autobot laugh. The voice from the radio was not what I expected, sounding like an adult talking to a toddler. "Well, hi there." 

"He lost his voice in battle," Mr. Witwicky explained for the mech. "He talks through quotes."

"…or text us," a female voice-over said from the radio. 

"Or he can text you," Mr. Witwicky continued with a grin. 

"OH! I forgot to turn my phone on." Pulling it out of my backpack, I powered it up. "There. Sorry about that, 'Bee."

My phone chimed, announcing a text. /np/ 

I grinned. Most of the 'bots didn't use netspeak, but I'd always thought 'Bee was younger at heart than the others – with the obvious exception of Skids and Mudflap. Bumblebee careened around corners and zipped across the island, reminding me of Sideswipe but less scary. Fun, I thought with a grin. That was 'Bee in a word – fun! 

He slowed only marginally as we entered the Autobot hangar, instead taking us directly to the barracks. Hmm, that was odd.

Everyone was already assembled, sitting on the edge of the circle cut into the floor. Optimus sat facing the door with several spaces to his right. Then there was a group of Autobots I didn't recognize. An off-white 'bot with the armor of a femme but a bit boxier than I was used to in a female Autobot sat beside a dusty-green mech with a shoulder-launcher like Wheeljack. Beside him was a black mech even bigger than Ironhide but with silver features under the armor. Then there was a royal-blue mech who reminded me oddly of Bumblebee except he was taller and a little leaner through the body but with broader shoulders. And lastly there was an orange-and-white mech with helicopter rotors who was around the same height as Ratchet. Beside them were Arcee, Ironhide, Chromia, Mom and Dad (who sat exactly opposite Optimus), Skids and Mudflap, Jolt, Wheeljack, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, Ratchet, and Prowl (who sat at Prime's left). The lights were dim like they had been that first time when I came to thank Ratchet, and the whole thing had a formal air. 

With every optic and eye on us, I nervously got out of Bumblebee's cab. 

Optimus stood as Bumblebee transformed behind me. "Welcome. Come take your places." 

The Witwicky's began skirting the ring of Autobots, but Dad gestured for me to join them. I hurried over, watching Bumblebee curiously. Doorwings. The only other Autobots I knew with doorwings were Prowl and Mudflap, and with both of them, the tilt and motion of the wings were like unique windows into what they were feeling. I wasn't sure how to interpret the angle and movement of 'Bee's wings. Would they be here long enough for me to learn how to read him? 

Mr. Witwicky sat down beside Optimus, with Mrs. Witwicky, Wheelie, and Bumblebee filling the rest of the gap. Turning to the human beside him, Prime said, "The floor is yours." 

Mr. Witwicky nodded and hopped off the ledge into the circle. "Come here please, Spitlet." 

I pursed my lips, wondering if he was using the name to annoy me or if he'd just missed the memo. Taking a deep breath, I hopped down and crossed the wide, brightly-painted floor to him. The Autobots had never been this imposing – not even when I first touched Ratchet. 

When I was a couple of steps away from him, he solemnly said, "You have learned the truth about Ironhide and the others, but there is another truth you must know before we can call you an Autobot. Prowl?" 

The enforcer stood and placed an ornate metal box at Mr. Witwicky's feet. Using senses I couldn't perceive, Prowl unlocked the clasp and lifted the lid. Inside was a…I wasn't sure what it was or even how to describe it. It was a metal thing, elongated and pointed on either end. The exterior was a silvery web of some kind, and inside it something was glimmering with a pale blue light. 

"The Matrix of Leadership," Mr. Witwicky said. "You know that Optimus is the leader of the Autobots, but do you know the significance of the name of Prime?" 

I shook my head uncertainly. 

"The Primes were the first of our race, a dynasty of leaders," Optimus explained. Gesturing toward us, he said, "The Matrix of Leadership belongs to the Primes and will only activate for them. Do you understand?" 

"I think so," I softly answered. 

Mr. Witwicky smiled a little and then picked up the Matrix. It flared into a vivid, brilliant blue, the light glowing violet between his fingers and filling the darkened room to flicker on the walls. It was beautiful . In the back of my mind, I noticed a low murmur from the new Autobots. When my gaze finally met Mr. Witwicky's again, he asked, "Do you still understand?" 

It was the Primes' Matrix…it activated for him…he was a Prime ? A human Prime ? My jaw dropped and it was a long moment before I could stammer, "I think so." 

He nodded, satisfied, and placed the Matrix back in its box. "Then you understand that the name you receive today is not a whim or an indulgence. It is a mark of honor and responsibility as a sentient who has aligned herself with the Autobots." 

I swallowed hard and nodded again. 

"We have thought for a long time about what designation to offer you, but in the end, it was the grudging respect of your adversary that was most appropriate. I am Samuel Prime, and I give you the designation Firebrand. As your human name honors your father, your Autobot name continues to honor your mother. Is this acceptable?" 

Firebrand – it was worlds better than Spitlet. "Yes," I solemnly answered. 

"Good. Then report to Ratchet within the next twenty-four hours to receive your Autobot insignia. Tomorrow morning, we'll give you a full briefing, explain your duties, and begin your training. Until then, I commend you to the care of Iron Will and Spitfire." 

"Thank you," I murmured, bobbing my head in a slight bow before turning and quickly walking back to my parents. Duties? I hadn't anticipated duties. They were serious about this. But then again, so I was I, and I felt a growing excitement at the thought of really, truly, officially being an Autobot. That was just so cool ! By the time I sat down beside my folks, I was grinning like an idiot. 

Mr. Witwicky returned to his place beside Optimus. "I yield the floor." 

Optimus rose to his feet again. "You all know that Ironhide was injured by a new weapon. It was our best guess that Shockwave was the one who developed it. Our guess has now been confirmed. Trailbreaker?" 

The large, black Autobot rose to his feet. Tilting his head to acknowledge both Optimus and Mr. Witwicky, he said, "Hound, Mirage, Evac, and I were initially under the command of Hot Rod.  We have followed Shockwave here. It was our mission to offline the mech if possible, and if not, to disrupt his operations." He paused and looked directly at Ironhide. "I'm sorry we failed you." 

"If you can apologize to my face, then you didn't fail," Ironhide gruffly answered. 

Trailbreaker bobbed his head, acknowledging 'Hide's forgiveness. "We lost first Springer and then Hot Rod in battle since leaving Cybertron, but we have been able to destroy a number of Decepticon development and munitions facilities." Looking back at Optimus, Trailbreaker said, "With the loss of Hot Rod and his second, I have led us as best I could, but I place the leadership of our squad at your feet, Prime. As always, our allegiance is to you. To you both." 

Mr. Witwicky smiled when Trailbreaker included him and then glanced up at Optimus. The Autobot leader's optics grew distant for a moment and then he stirred, lifting his head slightly. "We commend you and your squad for your efforts and sacrifice. By continuing their mission, you have honored your fallen comrades. I will not disband your team nor revoke the commission I gave to Hot Rod and Springer. After consulting with my brother, we have decided that you will continue their work. With the arrival of Shockwave and the escalation of hostilities we believe he will bring, we have decided that Bumblebee should have reinforcements to protect the human Prime. Your team will be well suited to an urban unit in Washington D.C. RadioFlyer," Optimus gestured toward the off-white femme, "has been our informal homeland security agent. For years she has been engaging in espionage and recon around the globe. She, too, will be joining your team under Bumblebee's command, bringing your unit to six members again." 

Trailbreaker bowed his head before sitting down. "Yes, Prime. Thank you." 

Optimus resumed his seat, and Mr. Witwicky hopped down into the circle again. Addressing the new Autobots, he said, "My human faction – my nation – celebrates a day of gratitude and thanksgiving soon. We are all of us grateful for the arrival of four new friends and companions-in-arms. Spitfire and her mate Iron Will have extended an invitation to us to celebrate both the holiday and your arrival with their family. Attendance is not required, but I would urge you to come and acclimatize yourself to human company. We will depart for D.C. in five days. In the meantime, you have your assignments." Turning, he sat down again and began speaking with Mrs. Witwicky, and the Autobots took that to be a dismissal. 

Most of them went to speak with the newcomers, though Prowl, Optimus, Mr. Witwicky, and Bumblebee left together, and Dad ducked out to join them. Looking a little lost, Mrs. Witwicky eventually wandered over to us, Wheelie in tow. "Hey Spitfire, Firebrand." 

I grinned to hear her address me by my new name. "Thanks. But what do we call you? I mean, Mr. Witwicky is…" 

"Samuel, if you want to be formal," Mrs. Witwicky answered. "Human friends still call him Sam, but of the Autobots, only Bumblebee and Optimus call him that."

"She's the Warrior Goddess," Wheelie spoke up, looking almost adoringly at Mrs. Witwicky. "I gave her the name," he added proudly. 

She blushed a little and affectionately nudged the little 'bot with her foot. "He's the only one who calls me that. I go by simply Warrior most of the time." 

"Yeah, and I've named the kids, too," the little mech said. "Rugrat and Anklebiter." 

Mom shook her head at Wheelie. "Daemon and Beatrice would love that." 

I sniggered. "Even those are better than Spitlet! At least they sound wanna-be tough. My old Autobot nickname was a reference to the fact that I drooled as a baby."

Chapter Text

"A tattoo?" I warily asked. I was in the med bay, it was 07:00 hours, and I was reporting with my dad to Ratchet for my Autobot insignia. I had thought it would be a bracelet or something. 

"It won't hurt," he assured me, "and the ink is laced with a compound that will practically shine on Cybertronian sensors. Even on a passive scan and with your insignia hidden under clothing, any Autobot would recognize you as part of their faction. Both Trailbreaker and Optimus have indicated that more Autobots will be arriving in the relatively near future, so having you properly identified could be very important." 

"Spitfire has hers on her ankle," Arcee pointed out. 

"And Dad has his on his bicep," I answered, glancing over at him. He didn't go half-way with anything. He'd had it for as long as I could remember, but I didn't realize Mom had one, too. "Okay, but make it small and inconspicuous. I do occasionally go swimming with people who aren't supposed to know who the Autobots are." 

"It can be as small as a dime and still serve its function," Ratchet said. "And we Autobots understand hiding in plain sight."

I grinned. "True. How 'bout on my hip? That way even a bikini will cover it." 

One of Arcee's hands transformed into something that looked almost like a rubber stamp and she stepped closer. I pulled the waistband of my shorts down a little bit so the tattoo would be hidden, and she pressed the stamp thingy firmly into my skin. I winced a little because she was pushing so hard, but Ratchet was right, of course, and there was no sting afterward. I lightly ran my thumb over the dark-crimson symbol, but the ink didn't smudge. This mark was much more than skin deep. 

Taking a deep breath, I looked at them both. It was official now – I wore the brand. I was an Autobot.

… 

Dad escorted me to a conference room where Mr. Witwicky was waiting for me. Samuel Prime. Seeing him here was almost as dizzying as seeing Ironhide in his holoform after he was injured. For being an important grown up, Mr. Witwicky had always seemed a little…goofy. I just couldn't reconcile the idea of Sam and Mikaela Witwicky kissing under the mistletoe in our living room two Christmases ago with Samuel Prime holding the Matrix of Leadership while his mate Warrior Goddess looked on. 

'Well,' I thought to myself as I took the seat Dad pulled out from the table for me, 'at least I'm not screaming at him for being an Autobot, unlike with Hyde.' 

Mr. Witwicky looked at me expectantly. "Bra and panties?" 

I blushed scarlet and ducked my head. 

He chuckled. "No, don't be embarrassed. It was a great line. Much more fun than I usually come up with. It's one of the advantages of being young – you can be a smart-aft a lot more easily. But that's something that will have to change, I'm afraid." Seeing my face fall at that, he added, "Eventually. But we'll start you out easy. First things first. Your official Autobot title is junior officer of terran acclimatization and human integration." 

"Um…" My eyes widened. "Can you repeat that please, Mr. Witwicky?" 

He chuckled. "Sam. If you can call the true Prime and Leader of the Autobots Optimus, you can call me Sam. You're serving under me, Firebrand, but Optimus considers all Autobots brothers and sisters. We are equals. If you chose to follow me, you submit to my authority, but I am not inherently better than you. Call me Sam, and call Mikaela by her first name, too. You're welcome to continue to use parental titles for Spitfire and Iron Will, though." 

"Okay…then…Can you repeat that title for me, Samuel?" (If most of the Autobots refused to call him Sam, I wasn't going to be the slagger who broke rank.) 

He chuckled and passed me a tablet – another piece of Autobot-enhanced technology, I was sure. "Sorry. Prowl likes Autobot titles to be precise and inclusive. Here's everything you need to know about your duties and assignments. Your mother is the senior officer, you're the junior. Terran acclimatization means you help the Autobots adjust to life on Earth generally by being the first person they can go to when they have questions." He smiled a little ruefully. "We humans are pretty hard to understand sometimes, even by ourselves. I'll warn you now, though, that they'll ask some crazy questions. Tough ones, sometimes, and often embarrassing. Just remember that they don't understand. Put your embarrassment on a shelf and be honest."

The most recent arrivals on Earth before Trailbreaker's group would have been Mia and 'Jack, and I remember 'Jack in particular asking some weird questions, but Mom had never batted an eyelash. "I think I can do that." 

"Good. Human integration means you help them adjust their holoforms' mannerisms and expressions to blend in better. They've developed a library of subroutines for things like smiling and body language, so the new 'bots will pick up being human a lot more quickly than Optimus' original team. Because of the titles you and Spitfire share, the mechs will expect correction from you. You are a human Autobot and I expect you to do your part." 

"Yes, sir," I automatically answered. 

His smile was genuine this time. "Remember your protocol, Firebrand. I'm not your superior." 

I bit my lip and tried again. "Yes, Prime?" 

He nodded, accepting that. "Now…the new Autobots will be coming back to D.C. with me at the end of the holiday weekend, so your duties will be virtually non-existent while we're gone. I have a secondary assignment for you, though, if you're willing." 

Remembering my wish to do something, anything to help when Ironhide was wounded, I said, "Anything I can do, I will." 

"I'd also like you to be the assistant civilian Autobot ambassador here on Diego Garcia. It would be your responsibility to accompany civilian human dignitaries on the base, along with their military escort. As long as you keep your grades up, you will be excused from school to perform your duties as ambassador." 

"Ambassador?" I squeaked. "Me? After verbally flipping off the Senatorial liaison?" 

He grinned widely. "I'd say that makes you uniquely qualified. You handled yourself well. You kept your head, thought before you spoke, and were willing to lock horns with Joe Marshall, a person of authority who was outright antagonistic. And best of all, you're young. You can get away with saying things I can't. Not anymore. They might not listen, but you'll still be able to speak freely." 

"But…won't they think less of the Autobots if they have a kid speaking for them?" 

"Not if that kid is you. In the last week, I've heard your name spoken on Capitol Hill, Firebrand. Some people were derogatory, many laughed behind their hands, and one even asked to  meet you. That one will be arriving here Saturday morning." 

"Whoa." 

He chuckled. "You're rolling with the big boys. We've shielded you from that as much as possible, but when your life is tangled up with Autobots, you find yourself in places and doing things you wouldn't dream of in a million years. I know." 

I just stared at him, thunderstruck. 

Mr. Witwicky glanced at Dad. "Does she know my history?" 

"No." 

"Then maybe this will help you, Firebrand. When I was sixteen, my dad bought me a car. A piece-of-crap yellow Camaro with racing stripes." 

"Bumblebee?! You bought Bumblebee?" 

His eyes were distant, nostalgic, and he leaned back in his chair. "Yeah. I'm still not sure how that slimeball of a salesman made that one look legal, but he did. After picking up my friend Miles, I drove my new-old car to a nearby lake…" 

He told me all about the adventures that followed – how Bumblebee got him and Mrs. Witwicky together, the All Spark, the Matrix of Leadership, college with an Autobot, and many other adventures he'd shared with Bumblebee and Optimus over the years, including the time Bumblebee landed him in jail for weeks . 

"When I first got involved, Firebrand, I was only a year older than you, and I killed Megatron. You won't have to face anything anywhere near as big as that. I have confidence that, even at fifteen, you can handle Marshall and his ilk. So...let's begin by taking a look at your interview with him. Ironhide gave you some good advice, but more important was that you followed it pretty well." 

"What was Marshall really after?" I interrupted. "I mean, his questions were all over the place. Did he really think Ratchet and I...?"

Samuel laughed. "No. He was after the same thing he and his cronies are always after – Autobot technology."

"Wheeljack's lab." 

"Exactly. And your phone and laptop. As for the rest, he was trying to win your confidence at first and then the part with Ratchet was him trying to fluster and provoke you. People are more likely to say things they shouldn't if they're upset. But he miscalculated. He underestimated you. He saw 'frightened and betrayed fifteen-year-old girl' and thought you'd be easy prey. He didn't expect you to come out with both guns blazing, so to speak." 

I grinned at his praise. I'd been able to fight for them – for Ironhide and Ratchet! 

"He won't make that mistake again," Samuel said thoughtfully. "He's already pressing to get another crack at you, but with his multiple violations last time, I think we can hold him off indefinitely. But you still need this training. I'm sorry I wasn't able to get out here sooner for it. We'd planned on taking care of it over Christmas, but Marshall moved in more quickly than I expected. It's all part of the compromise; you know about the Autobots now, which means you're fair game to anyone who wants to interview you. I'm sorry we can't really go back on that now – like it or not you're going to be part of this – but you seem to have a knack. Fate gave you Will Lennox and Spitfire as parents for a reason." 

"I want to be part of it." I made that decision weeks ago when I climbed into Sunstreaker's alt-form. Granted, I didn't know everything that would happen because of my choice, but I wouldn't go back and change it even if I could. "The Autobots have done so much for me...they're my family. I'd do anything for them." 

"Thank you, Annabelle. Firebrand. Now back to the compromise." He touched the tablet. "It's all spelled out here, but the basics are this. Anyone with Autobot-awareness clearance can interview you, but there are limits. You are free to leave any interview at will, and you can have an advisor of your choice on hand if you wish. Also, any interview has to be during reasonable hours. They can't show up at two in the morning and haul you off to the base or whatever. We've modeled the rules about interviewing you on regulations regarding criminal interrogations and warrants – but you're not a criminal. Remember that, because guilt is another common interrogation tactic. You have done nothing wrong. Ever. These people will twist your words and the Autobots' words – including those of your parents – trying to manipulate you." He frowned. "I feel like we're throwing you to the wolves." 

I could handle them. If I could hold my own against Marshall without any training from Samuel, then I'd be kick-aft after the Autobot ambassador and human Prime was done with me. "You're not. You're giving me the weapons and training I need to fight them." 

Samuel shook his head and then glanced at Dad. "She is your daughter, isn't she." 

"Damn straight," he answered, smiling proudly. 

Samuel returned his smile. To me, he said, "So the first weapon is the truth, and a close second is silence. Whenever you're faced with questions from humans, always tell the truth, but only barely enough of it. There are a lot of things the other humans just don't need to know. Sure, people are curious, but that doesn't mean they have a right to every detail about the Autobots' lives. And then be silent. Silence does far less damage than shooting off at the mouth. And don't ever be the first to break a tense silence." 

"Got it." 

"Now…interrogation techniques. Like I said, there are limits so they won't be waterboarding you or anything. But there are some tricks you need to be aware of…" 

… 

We spent hours going over what to watch for in interviews, what information was classified ("When in doubt," Samuel said, "assume it's classified") and how to talk the talk of political warfare. By the time we broke for lunch, my brain was fried. Samuel seemed to sense this and said we'd do something a little more practical in the afternoon, like roleplaying me giving a human dignitary a tour of the base. Practice for this visitor who would be coming on Saturday, I supposed. 

On the way to the mess hall for lunch, I was surprised at how easily Samuel moved through the base, almost like he was military, too. He really was one who could adapt to just about anything. No wonder the Autobots wanted him to be their man. 

"They were really lucky you bought Bumblebee," I said over my sandwich. "It could have been your dad. Or the glasses could have belonged to a different relative." 

He half-smiled. "The Autobots are firm believers in two contradictory things – free will and fate. Optimus values choice above all else, but he has believed all along that his fate and mine were intertwined. He's right on both counts."

"But you could have made different choices…wouldn't that have messed up your fate?" 

He shrugged. "But I made the choices I did because I am who and what I am. Sure, I could make other choices, but I wouldn't and that's why it's my fate. Like you. Your…spark, your heart is uniquely yours, but you're the daughter of Will and Sarah Lennox, so you're fated to be one tough little femme when push comes to shove. Maybe you'd be girly and prefer pink. Maybe you'd be a total tomboy. But when you knew Ironhide was injured, you would have the courage to go to him no matter what. It was your fate, which also means it was your fate to help save his life. At least, that's how I understand it. It makes perfect sense to Optimus, but I haven't been able to wrap my mind around that one entirely. All I know is that when he starts talking about fate, I've learned to listen. You should, too." 

Listen to Optimus – that was the best advice I'd gotten all day. "I will."

Chapter Text

“Slag,” Mom grumbled, shuffling around bottles in the fridge.  “Tell me we have green olives for the relish tray.  They’re Arcee’s favorite.”

I checked the cupboard, pulling out an unopened glass jar.  “Here you go.”

“Whew,” she grinned, placing it on the counter beside the cans and bottles of black olives, cranberry sauce, beets, and dill pickle spears.  “Gotta make a good impression on the new guys.”

Alien robot warriors coming for Thanksgiving dinner, and she was worried about the olives and lamenting that she didn’t have enough place settings in her fine china.  I shook my head at her.  Only my mom – the Autobot den mother.

A half a dozen pies sat on the counter cooling, and they would soon be joined by three more pies that Mrs. Epps was baking in her oven for us.  Ironhide and Dad were setting up two turkey fryers in the back yard, and I was just about to put the yams in.  When Mom baked for the Autobots, she went all out. 

“Was there ever a time when you doubted?” I asked her out of the blue.

“Doubted what?” she replied, setting out the frozen dinner rolls to rise.

“The Autobots.  I mean, you let them into your home, into your family.  Did you ever worry about…well…Ironhide going postal or dropping me on my head or something?”

She sniggered.  “Who says he didn’t?”  I rolled my eyes, and she answered more seriously, “No.  Not since the first time I gave Ironhide a wash and wax.  To be honest – and I’ll deny it if you ever repeat it – I pitied them.  Their home world was destroyed, Annabelle.  They’re refugees .”  She threw the empty bag for the rolls in the garbage can and pulled the plastic wrap out of the cupboard to cover the rising bread. “For all their metallic nature and soldier mentality, they’re stray puppies at heart.  They needed not just a planet – which they had thousands to choose from – but a home .  I might be a primitive, alien organic to them, but the things that make a house a home are universal.”  Putting the plastic wrap away, she turned to face me.  “I opened my home to them and they responded.  Probably wouldn’t work with every ‘bot, and I’m sure some humans wouldn’t have the patience for them, but…”

“But you can see below the surface.”

She tilted her head curiously.  “That’s what your dad says.  And he says you have that ability, too.”

“He’s correct on both counts,” Hyde said from the kitchen door.  “And Spitfire or not, you’ll have me to answer to if I ever hear you call me a stray puppy again.”

“Who said I did?” Mom asked, smiling sweetly and innocently batting her eyelashes.  “Tough old fragger of a walking cannon a stray puppy?  Pshaw!”

“That’s more like it,” he rumbled in approval.  Glancing at the counter, he said, “You do have ice cream for the apple pie, right?”

“Not for a tough old fragger of a walking cannon, I don’t,” Mom teased.  “But for my husband’s best friend who takes refuge in my kitchen, yes.”

Amiably grumbling about going elsewhere to be insulted, he stalked back outside – but not before snatching a cookie off the plate Mom had sitting out.  

…

The new guys arrived a few minutes later, and Mom and I went to the front yard to greet them.  It was always interesting to see what they came up with for their various holoforms.  Jolt went for African-American (he was close with the Epps’) and Wheeljack had gone for Chinese.  Three of the unfamiliar holoforms were Caucasian, but one was African-American and the other looked surprisingly Indian – he’d blend in on the streets of Mumbai just as easily as he would here on the base.  R.C., ‘Bee, and Mia were with them, though Mia went in search of Hyde almost immediately. 

Mom walked right up to the unfamiliar femme who had green eyes and an Italian look about her and extended her hand.  “Glad you could make it.  My name’s Sarah Lennox.”

“Rebecca Segretti,” she softly answered, shaking Mom’s hand with a very feminine bend to her wrist.  “But you can call me RaFly.  It’s my nickname.”

“Nice to meet you.”  Turning to the male holoform with light-brown hair next to her, Mom smiled and said, “Welcome.  I’m Sarah Lennox.  And you are?”

“Caleb Kuhn,” the mech answered, awkwardly taking Mom’s hand.  “My other designation is Hound.”

“Name,” she corrected.  “We humans generally use the word ‘name’ when referring to sentients.  Designations are for things, though people will understand what you mean.”  She added, “And Caleb is very appropriate, Hound.  Good job.”

The next mech, the African-American, shook her hand with a little more confidence.  “My name is Troy Breaker.”

“Very nice,” Mom answered in approval as she released his hand.  “That’s as close as Aaron Hyde.”

“Amir Raja, at your service,” the Indian-looking mech graciously said, taking her hand with both of his.

I fought a giggle and Mom was clearly flustered.  “That’s a little over the top, Mirage, though the name works very well.  You might want to throttle back on the charm.  Something like, ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’  And only one hand unless you’re attempting to initiate a mating relationship.”

He dropped her hand like it burned him while the other ‘bots chuckled, but Mom caught his right hand again and modeled shaking it.  “No offense taken, friend.  You’ve been watching movies, haven’t you.”

Nodding guiltily, he tried again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lennox.”

Bobbing her head once in approval, she looked at the other mechs.  “Did you catch that?  Mirage was exactly right there.  If there’s any apparent confusion regarding body language or relationships, go with being more formal in US culture.  But please, call me Sarah today.  Or Spitfire.”

Turning to the last of the newcomers, a lean blond holoform who was built like a surfer, she extended her hand.  “Thank you for coming.  My name is Sarah Lennox, though my friends call me Spitfire.”

“Evan Call, though my friends call me Evac.”

Mom smiled.  “Taking a page out of Jolt’s book.  It suits you.”  Gesturing me forward, she said, “And you all know my daughter, Annabelle.  She also goes by Firebrand.  She and I are both happy to field any questions you might have.  Watch us for social cues as needed.  The children – younglings – who will be coming today don’t have clearance to know about you, so this will be a good test-run of your integration readiness.  If you have to jump in or out of your holoforms, do so from within a closed bathroom.  And try to use human terminology as much as possible.  Today you can get away with using ‘slag’ and ‘sparkling,’ but it will make you stand out in a real-world setting.”

Squaring her shoulders, Mom continued, “For your next assignment, you’ll be in an urban setting surrounded by humans, and you’ll be using your holoforms extensively.  We don’t have much time to train you on human interaction, so ask every question you can think of and don’t be afraid to practice on the adults.  R.C. and Mia have spent a lot of time in their holoforms due to the nature of their alt-modes, so practice with them, too.”

Mom glanced at ‘Bee, er, Cam Romero, for approval, and he nodded.  There was nothing he wanted to interject just yet, so she said, “One last thing.  To my human faction’s leaders, you are refugees.  To other humans you might visit while on assignment, you will be guests.  But here, under my roof, you are family.  Now…”  Looking over Bumblebee’s team, she smiled warmly and invited, “Won’t you come in?”

…

The next hour was spent watching my mom play human-training drill sergeant.  She went over everything from basic body language to how humans value their privacy to what topics weren’t socially acceptable.  (When Evac asked why humans were sensitive about things like sex and bowel movements, Mom chalked it up to the bit about privacy.  Didn’t quite seem adequate to me, but it apparently made sense to the ‘bots, and that’s what really mattered.)  

Then I brought in the plate of cookies, a stack of glasses, and a jug of milk and Mom coached them on eating.  They were all amazed by the flavor and texture, but they got crumbs everywhere.  I mean, Hound…Caleb looked like Cookie Monster.  I’d have to vacuum as soon as we were done here.  Except around RaFly…er…Rebecca.  Just like the feminine handshake, she had cultured, dainty nibbling down to a science.  She must have been watching movies, too, though I’d bet money they weren’t the same ones as Mir…Amir.  Half-way through, Arcee sent me a text.  //You should have seen Wheeljack when he tried to swallow for the first time and choked.  Ratchet couldn’t resist showing off and used the Heimlich on him.//

I fought the snigger, but R.C. was openly grinning at the memory.

The rest of the gang started showing up while we had the ‘bots practice walking. (Mom was modeling a feminine walk, Dad showed them what a soldier’s bearing looked like, and Ironhide demonstrated the stride of someone who was furious and about to slag somebody.)   As soon as three more ‘bots arrived, Bumblebee organized his team for a football game.  Hyde, Mia, R.C., Prowl, and Skids and Mudflap were the first ones to face off against them, while Mom refereed.  Dad would have been in the game, but somebody had to babysit the turkey fryers.

“They’re not so different from us,” Dad murmured to me as he watched Rebecca and R.C. face each other across the scrimmage line.  “Playing together helps them work better together, too.  That’s part of why Prime has encouraged these get-togethers over the years.”

I glanced at him curiously.  “What’s it like, working with him?  With them?”

He gave me a half-smile.  “I can’t even begin to describe it, Annabelle.”  Looking back at the game, he said, “The ‘cons are evil, plain and simple.  And then you have the Autobots who are…”  He paused for a moment, deep in thought.  “You know what it feels like?  It feels like being one of those ancient Greek heroes – Hercules or something.  I’m just a puny little mortal walking among the gods.  Doing battle with them.  Helping them.  That’s what it feels like.  Every now and then, I kind of wake up and look around me and think, ‘Holy slag!’ and then Ironhide or Optimus will crouch down and talk to me like I’m important and it just blows me away.  And then there are the days I have to deal with the twins and I think they’re just a bunch of overgrown tin cans.”

I smiled.  “You got shortchanged with your name, then.  Iron Will – how uncreative is that?  Definitely should have called you Hercules.  I mean, Mikaela’s name is Warrior Goddess.”

He grinned again.  “Don’t go knocking the name.  Bumblebee gave it to me.”  More seriously, he said, “What do you think about working with them?”

I considered that for a second.  “I’m with you 100% on the ‘Holy slag!’ bit whenever I see them in their base forms.  I never thought about them like that – as gods or as angels and demons – but then, I grew up with the ‘bots and I’ve never seen you fight a ‘con.”  I half-smiled at him, and I could see in his eyes that he hoped I never would.  “I still feel like I’m getting my feet under me, but honestly, my primary duty is something I’ve been doing my whole life, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.  They’d used me for practice at acting human all along.

I shrugged.   “As for the ambassador part, I guess I don’t have much of a choice, regardless.  People will interview me whether I want that or not, so I may as well learn to do it right.  I just don’t get why I’m the one being trained.  Wouldn’t Samuel’s kids be the better choice?”

“Notice that your position is assistant ambassador,” he pointed out, amused.  “Besides, who says they won’t be?  But Daemon’s only seven years old.  You are the first of a new generation of human allies for the Autobots, Annabelle.  They will outlive us many times over, but our alliance must and will live on.  You represent hope to the Autobots, and you have from the time you were a baby.  When we are gone, you will be there to assist both them and the next human Prime, and you must be prepared for that.” 

“The next human Prime?”

He shrugged.  “It’s hereditary.”

I blinked, trying to absorb the picture of the future he was painting.  “Wow.  I never thought of it like that.”

Serious again, he said, “Start thinking about it.  Optimus and Sam don’t want to overburden you, but you’re stronger than I think they realize.  Talk to them as your peers, because eventually they will be.”

I snorted.  “Well I’ve got some advice for Samuel right now – ease your kids into this!”

Dad laughed in answer and squeezed my shoulders in a one-armed hug.  “That’s my girl!”

…

Hyde’s team won the football game, and he and Cam lead their mechs and femmes over to the coolers of soda, amiably talking smack (Hyde out loud, and Cam via a public comm frequency that also came through on my phone).   By this time, Jolt had arrived with the Epps’ family and the charade of a human Thanksgiving celebration was on.

After greeting the Epps’, R.C. moved through the crowd and caught my elbow, dragging me toward the house.  “Come here. ‘Bee has something he wants to show you.”

“Okay…?”

He was sitting on the couch in the living room, and he had my laptop open with a website up.  I sat beside him, and he passed me the computer, the speakers declaring, “Welcome aboard, ma’am.”

Huh.  So he could talk through any nearby speakers.  Cool.  Glancing curiously at the website, my jaw dropped.  It was a blog – The Daily Buzz operated by a person with the username Camaro76.  “You’re slagging kidding me.”

R.C. chuckled.  “Nope.  He’s had it for years, and now you’re allowed to get a username, too.”

On my IM, a window popped up and ‘Bee wrote, “It was part of the compromise that got you security clearance.  I made sure that blogging rights were written in, and I wanted to give you access in person.  It was supposed to be your Christmas present, but now I’ll have to find something else.”  He grinned happily at the thought.

I just glowed to realize he’d worked so hard to make sure I felt included right down to this little detail.  Giggling, I threw my arms around him.  “Thanks so much, ‘Bee!  This totally counts as an early Christmas present!”  

“Welcome,” he mumbled, returning the hug.  On the IM, he typed, “We’ve given you the username Firebrand and your password has been sent to your email already.  I know you’ll be stuck babysitting during the football game after dinner, but hopefully this will keep you entertained.”

Glancing again at the accumulated years of blog entries and comments, I said, “I’m sure it will.”

He and R.C. stood and headed for the kitchen, leaving me already sniggering at some of the comments for the most recent post.  Unfortunately, Mom interrupted me before I’d finished reading a third entry.  “Annabelle,” she called from the kitchen’s back door, “Mrs. Epps needs her diaperbag.  She left it in Jolt’s car.”

“I’ll get it,” I hollered back, wistfully setting aside the laptop.  I’d be able to read during the game, but for now, duty called.

Stepping onto the porch, I paused, taking in the sight before me.  The front yard was crowded with kick-aft alt-forms, from the familiar Topkick (with Mia’s blue motorcycle positively cuddling up to it) to the most outstanding of all – Evac’s violently orange helicopter.  As I walked through the maze of alien robot alt-forms toward Jolt, one car in particular drew my attention.  There, with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe on one side and Jolt and Bumblebee on the other, stood the most eye-catching vehicle of all – a soft-top dusty-green Jeep Wrangler Unlimited.  

Tearing my eyes away from the Jeep, I hurried over to Jolt and retrieved the diaper bag, carrying it around to the backyard where one-year-old Akeela Epps had spit up all over herself and Mudflap, who had been tossing her in the air.

Mrs. Epps put Akeela in clean clothes from the diaper bag, and Mom conscripted me to toss the nasty ones into the washer for her.  Disgusted and mildly disgruntled, I started a load of laundry and then decided to reward myself with another visit to the front yard.  For some reason, I felt like I hadn’t gotten my fill of Hound yet.  

Walking over to his alt-form again, I wondered why I liked him so much.  Maybe the obviously-not-pristine exterior was part of his draw.  Even Prime’s semi, arguably the most practical alt-form, had a glossy customized paint-job.  Sure, he could crumple Decepticons, but I would have been terrified to go off-roading with him because I’d be worried about chipping the paint.  Same thing with Ironhide.  And don’t get me started on Sunstreaker or Sideswipe.

But not Hound.  

I already had visions of this alt-form bouncing along the rutted tracks that passed for roads on Mom’s ranch, gleefully kicking up mud behind him.  Or maybe he’d be somewhere in the Appalachians on a scenic byway, with leaves whipping the side-panels as patches of sunlight filtered down through the trees to play across the hood.  With the top down like he was now.  Always with the top down and reveling in the sheer freedom of the wind and sky.  I sighed with longing as I sidled closer to Hound’s alt-form, suddenly envisioning me in the passenger seat and flying down the beach, two tires in the surf and kicking up a wall of sandy water as we went.  Bumblebee was fun in a flashy way, but I could just feel that Hound would be full of down-to-earth fun.  No mech who had issues with mud and grime would choose this alt-form.  There was just something about a Jeep!

I let my hand rest on his roll-bar, and a voice behind me said, “Can I help you?”

I jumped, heart in my throat, and whirled to see Caleb, Hound’s holoform, looking at me with polite curiosity.  

“I…I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to…I’ve touched other ‘bots alt-forms when they’re in their holoforms, and nobody seemed to notice before.  I didn’t realize…”

He chuckled.  “That’s okay.   I’m a tracker, so all of my sensory systems are sharper than most ‘bots.  Old Ratchet’s the only one who could give me a run for my money in sensory processing; his range of sensors is wider, but mine are more honed.”

“Oh.  Well…”

“Humans are very fond of physical contact.”

I flushed in embarrassment.  “Yes.”

“But I’m still trying to decipher motives behind some of the various touches.  What is the significance of touching an unoccupied alt-form?”

Blushing even deeper, I truthfully answered, “Admiration, usually.”

Caleb nodded, smiling a little.  “Thank you.”  He curiously tilted his head in a motion that unexpectedly reminded me of his namesake.  “But I’m not picking up heat or DNA traces on any of the other alt-forms.”

Remembering Samuel’s training, I tried to shelf my embarrassment and answer honestly.  “That’s because I was admiring your alt-form in particular.  I like Jeeps.  They look like fun.”

Caleb perked up at that.  “And what would be appropriate fun for a Jeep?”

I giggled, having visions again of tearing up the beach.  “Would you like me to show you?”

He chuckled.  “Yes, actually, I would!”  The holoform disappeared and his driver-side door popped open in invitation.  

I hesitated, somewhere between awestruck and intimidated.  None of the Autobots had let me sit behind the wheel before.  “I don’t have a driver’s permit.”

“I won’t let us get damaged,” he assured me.  “Come on!”

Squealing like some ridiculous fangirl, I dashed around to the open door and hopped in.  “You don’t mind mud, do you?”

He chortled.  “Not at all.  I like to live on the wild side.”

I knew it!  “Well then, let’s make a few waves.”

Hound started the engine and, lightly holding the steering wheel, I guided him around the house and football field toward the beach.  He accelerated as we neared the water, and we barely slowed as his tires splashed into the surf and turned to follow the shoreline.  I let out a whoop as the water curled away from Hound, the wave almost as high as his hood, and then the Autobot went even faster.  When we’d gone maybe a hundred yards, I turned us up onto the beach again, throwing in a donut for good measure and grinning like an idiot.  Hound added another couple of three-sixties before diving for the ocean again and tearing back the way we’d come.  Yeah, he had the hang of it now!  

We zipped back and forth, splashing and kicking up sand, and it wasn’t long before Skids, Mudflap, Chromia, Ironhide, Arcee and Trailbreaker all joined us in their alt-forms.  Then it was an all-out mud war.  (Thankfully, Hound put the soft top up for me and even thought to turn on the A/C.) The femmes were quick and light and were able to dodge the tracker most of the time, but Trailbreaker could throw the most sand, and Hound seemed to revel in it the entire time. When he got really plastered, he actually dove into the water so deeply that it was over his roof, and I yelped in surprise.  “You do know I have to breathe, right?”

“Yes,” he answered, sounding like he was having the time of his life.  “And the cab is air-tight right now.  Just had to dodge Trailbreaker so we could do this !”  Roaring up out of the ocean, the tracker actually jumped over the SUV and landed with his wheels spinning, kicking wet sand all over Trailbreaker.  I whooped again, grateful for the off-roading harness that kept me from falling out of my seat laughing.  Sweet Cybertron, but Hound was fun!

Eventually we all returned to the front yard, after Hound took another dip in the ocean to rinse off.  Mom was there to greet us, glaring at Hyde when he climbed out of the cab of his Topkick.  “I’m not washing that,” she informed him.  “It’s obviously self-inflicted.”

“But I’ll rust!”

Pursing her lips, she marched over to the hose, turned it on, and handed it to him.  Without a word, she turned and went back inside, leaving a slightly-stunned Hyde in her wake.  The other ‘bots sniggered and most went with her into the house, but as I went to follow them, I saw Mia step over to Hyde, whisper something in his ear, and then snatch the hose out of his hand.

“Oh no you don’t, femme!” he bellowed, but she had already skipped beyond his reach and was rinsing down the bed of his truck.  He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her off her feet, trying to wrestle the hose away from her, but she planted an elbow in his gut, making him grunt in pain and knocking the wind out of him.

“I’ll break your arm if you try that again,” she cheerfully stated, dousing him once with the hose before turning it back on the truck.

And this was why it had taken me forever to figure out they were mates.  Flirting between Autobots looked like brawling to me.  Deciding I really didn’t want to see where this might go, I went inside with the others, sniggering even harder.

Chapter Text

Dad and the guys had a couple of picnic canopies set up over the four banquet tables in the backyard.  Mrs. Epps and I started setting the tables, and Evac…Evan offered to help us.  The Epps and Witwicky kids were all playing with Skids and Muflap, so I quietly explained the various utensils and their uses to him.  The other newbies drifted our way, and I found myself giving an impromptu lecture on table etiquette.   A little thrill went through me to know that these were aliens who had lived tens of thousands of years and they were all listening attentively to me – and learning from me.  That was why Samuel had shown me the Matrix, I realized, so I would understand that I was not just a pet or a tag-along or whatever.  I really, truly was a valued part of the Autobot team, even if I was short-lived, primitive organic.  

I saw Thanksgiving dinner through new eyes this time, and it was funny to watch everyone go through the motions of human tradition.  We all gathered around the tables and, one by one, said what we were thankful for.  Some were mundane, like Jolt being grateful for good food, good friends, and the occasional good fight.  The twins were goofy – like Sunstreaker being grateful his car wasn’t boring silver and Skids being grateful for a brother who made him look smart.  RaFly said she was grateful for hordes of oblivious humans, and the special few who notice.  Johnston said he was happy to finally be able to do something Dr. Hatchett couldn’t.  Mrs. Witwicky – Mikaela – teased Samuel by saying she was grateful to be married to the most famous man alive.  Trailbreaker’s was kind of sweet; he was thankful for a gracious hostess and newfound family.  

When it was Bumblebee’s turn, he placed his cell phone on the table and the ringtone sang, "Got no checkbooks, got no banks/ Still, I'd like to express my thanks./ I've got the sun in the morning/ And the moon at night.”  I grinned as I recognized it from the play our school did last year: Annie Get Your Gun.

Hound said he was grateful to be able to stand in the rain without fear, flashing Sunny and Sides a grin.  Ratchet gave a pointed glare to Hyde and said he was grateful that everyone who was here last year was still here.  Hyde leaned back in his chair, dodging Mia who was trying to hold his hand.  “Me?  I’m grateful for cannons!”  Everyone groaned and his smirk widened.  “Seriously, I’m grateful for ‘Jack-enhanced TOW missile systems.”  His eyes twinkled mischievously and he gave Chromia a knowing look.  “And for a shielded weapons storage facility.”  Everyone reacted to that one – R.C., ‘Bee, Mom, and Ratchet sniggered while Dad, Johnston, and both sets of twins groaned.  I didn’t get it, but based on their reactions, I didn’t think I wanted to.

And then it was my turn.  I looked at the faces surrounding the table – some more familiar than my own and some, like Hound, completely new to me.  “You’ve been my family for a long time.  My whole family – big brothers, aunts and uncles, grandpa.”  Hyde harrumphed at that one, and I gave him a quick smile.  “I’m grateful that I can finally, truly know you.  Even if I wasn’t very nice about it at first.”

Optimus went last and his was surprisingly simple – he was grateful for the sun above, for a place to call home, and for his brother.  It wasn’t until then that I put two and two together.  The way my family knew the Witwicky’s was because Samuel was Optimus’ brother.  This was Samuel’s first visit since my birthday, so it really hadn’t clicked for me that Sam and Optimus weren’t actually blood-related.  But Optimus didn’t call any of the ‘bots his brother, and he didn’t call any other human a brother either.  I could just feel that there was a lot more to this story than I knew.

Like usual, Dad deferred to Samuel to say grace, and I realized with a start that it was because he was a Prime.  I also realized that his carefully-neutral prayer took non-denominational to a whole new level.

“To the beneficent Providence that makes us all brothers, we offer thanks for safety and guidance in battle, gratitude for an increase in family and friends, praise for bounty in sustenance and joy, and ask that these blessings continue.  Until all are one.  Amen.”

Amid the chorus of ‘amen’ I made a mental note to ask Hyde or one of the femmes about Autobot beliefs.  The kickin’ alien robot warriors had a religion?  WOW!

Beside me, Trailbreaker dished a small portion of yam onto his plate and passed it to his left, just like I’d told him.  I accepted the bowl and, though his holoform’s smile was a little stiff still, I could feel he meant it.  When I passed the dish on to Mirage, his brow creased as he stared at it.  “What is this?  It’s an unhealthy orange. ”

“Yams,” I explained.  “A tuber, I think.  My mom made the sweet version with brown sugar and marshmallows this year.  It’s really good.”  

He still eyed it doubtfully but spooned a small piece onto his plate before passing on the bowl.

Across the table from me, Mom and Mrs. Epps were explaining cranberries and turkey to Hound and Evac.  “I think I’ll pass,” Hound said when offered the meat platter.

“You sure you don’t want just a little taste?” Mom coaxed.  “Just to know if you’ll like it or not.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it’s delicious,” Hound answered diplomatically.  “It’s just…it…was alive, you know?  A beautiful, stately, brightly-colored avian.”

I fought a snigger at his description, instead pointing out, “Turkeys aren’t sentient.”

“That’s true,” he hesitantly said, “and I’m sure that to you there’s a significant difference between various organic life forms, but…

Mrs. Epp’s eyes danced in amusement.  “Hound, are you turning vegetarian on us?”

He ducked his head a little before nodding, and she chuckled.  “No problem.  We won’t try to ply you with turkey or gravy.  What about eggs and milk?  Both are in the pumpkin pie.”

“What about them?”

“Google ‘Vegan,’” Mom said.

After a pause, Hound focused again on Mom.  “Naw.  Milk and eggs were never alive.  Besides, if I took it to that extreme, what could I eat here?”

“Not much,” Mom admitted, and I wondered if Hound knew what kind of demon he’d just unleashed.  Mom prided herself on having everyone’s favorite foods, which meant tofu turkey and soy-milk ice cream for Hound next year.

He shrugged, untroubled.  “Besides, I’m looking forward to your pie.”

Dinner continued like usual, and we humans let the ‘bots kick back while we cleared the main course to make way for dessert.  It had always seemed random in the past which people helped clear and serve and which ones were allowed to relax and be waited on.  Like so many other things in my life, this was another mystery that being in the know finally solved.  

After pie and ice cream, most of us found a quiet spot under the shade of the palms to relax for a while.  I was happily digesting on a chaise lounge, half-listening to Skids and Mudflap as they told the little kids a story.  Ratchet, Johnston, Quinn, and ‘Jack sat on camp chairs up on the deck in the shade from the house, amiably arguing.  Mia tried to coax Hyde to join her and R.C. and Cam Romero on a blanket in the shade, but he insisted on staying by Optimus and Samuel, who were still sitting at one of the tables under the canopies and talking.

Both Samuel and Optimus were leaning forward conspiratorially like they were whispering, forearms resting on their knees, while Hyde sat back and away a little bit, talking with Prowl.  If I didn’t already know that both Hyde and Prowl were sometimes Optimus’ bodyguards, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but like so many things these days I was seeing new layers and dimensions.  The faithful bodyguards stood watch over their Primes – brothers who were born leaders, apparently – even in the middle of this safe little get together.

Mom, Dad, and Mr. and Mrs. Epps eventually joined Mia, R.C. and Cam and they began a game of penny poker.  Hound convinced Trailbreaker to go for a walk with him so they could explore a bit more, and Mirage sat near Evac and RaFly, all three of them silently observing the squishy aliens.  Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were looking bored and giving each other a hard time, which meant a smackdown sooner or later.  That or they’d try to get Prowl’s goat somehow.

Laughter – booming, regal, unfamiliar – burst out under the canopies, and I looked back to see Optimus and Samuel belly-laughing.  “You’re on!” Optimus chortled, shaking Samuel’s hand to seal whatever deal they’d just made.  Then Optimus clapped Samuel on the shoulder and rose to his feet.  Prowl took this as a sign and he began calling the teams together for the big Thanksgiving Day football game.  (This morning’s game between Cam’s and ‘Hide’s teams had just been a warm up to get the newbies familiar with the rules.)  People came and went in a swirl of motion around them, but it was like Samuel and Optimus stood in their own little bubble.  I’d never noticed it before because I thought it was just that Optimus liked his space, but seeing him interact with Samuel made me realize exactly what that bubble was – respectfulness.  No one clapped him on the shoulder except Samuel or leaned close to confide with him like that.  They all respected him too much.  It was a lonely place to be, that bubble of respect.  It made me glad Samuel was here for him today, but I wondered how Optimus dealt with it when his brother wasn’t around. 

‘Bots and humans alike took down the canopies and moved the banquet tables to make more room for the game, and I started shepherding the kids inside.  They would get bored during the two-hour-long game, but Mrs. Epps was refereeing and there was no way Mrs. Witwicky would accept someone telling her to sit on the sidelines.  And if Mrs. Witwicky was playing, Mom wouldn’t be kept out of the game, either, so that left me babysitting the kids.  I didn’t mind too much this time, not with The Daily Buzz to entertain me.  I started a movie, popped some popcorn for the kids, and settled in to read.

About half-way through the movie, Daniel Epps and Daemon got in a fight over Danny’s plastic lightsaber (they were the same age), and I had to put away the laptop so I could break it up and make them come back to the living room.  Apparently they needed more supervision.

Even more dizzying than seeing Hyde and knowing it was his holoform, even weirder than seeing Samuel hold the Matrix of Leadership, was looking at a six-year-old boy pick his nose and play Star Wars with Danny and know that he might be a future Prime.  Not only that, but I was supposed to help him and his sister somehow by being a…what?  Not just a babysitter, but what exactly?  A friend, definitely.  Someone who knew the kind of insanity they were born into and could show them the ropes?  A human they could rant to when the ‘bots drove them batty?  

It sounds crazy, but it was easier to wrap my mind around my relationship with the alien robot warriors in the backyard than it was to figure out who these little kids and I were supposed to be to each other.  The ‘bots were my family.  They took care of me and mine.  Except for Skids and Mudflap, of course – they were more like obnoxious cousins.  Seeing them play with Daemon and Beatrice today reminded me, though, that I hadn’t always thought the twins obnoxious.  I’d outgrown them.

I smiled ruefully at the children as they settled in again to watch Disney cartoons.  If the twins were cousins and ‘Hide was like a grandpa, then shouldn’t I have at least as close a relationship with them – like cousins?  Of course, the Witwicky children were human like I was.  Maybe it should be even closer, like step-siblings.  The thought made me smile.  I was an only child, and it would be nice to have a little brother and sister.  At least on loan.  Occasionally.  

“Need more popcorn, kids?” I asked.

“Yeah!  Yeah!” Beatrice exclaimed, jumping on the couch and punching the air triumphantly.  “Popcorn!”  Graham Epps joined her and they both shouted and giggled as they jumped.

Shaking my head at the enthusiasm of preschoolers, I picked up the empty popcorn bowl and headed back to the kitchen.

The remainder of the game, I was able to read more on the blog posts.  There were quite a few usernames I couldn’t figure out, though ‘Optimust’ and ‘NurseRatched’ were pretty obvious.  Some of them I could figure out by the way they wrote or the things they said, like Skids and Mudflap and Mikaela.  They had all been in an uproar over an article about Samuel in a tabloid that called him “Public Enemy Number One, Take Two.”  I was so engrossed that I didn’t realize the game was over until I heard Mrs. Epps and Mrs. Witwicky in the kitchen.  Beatrice ran to her, arms wide, and caught Warrior Goddess’s knees in a bear-hug, shouting “Mommy!  Mommy!” the whole way.  

“Thanks, Annabelle,” Mrs. Epps said, picking up her daughter Akeela who had crawled to her and was now trying to stand up and steadying herself against her mom’s leg.

The boys – Daemon, Danny, and little Graham Epps (who was three) had already bolted out of the house in search of Skids and Mudflap.

I smiled at Mrs. Epps as we all headed toward the backyard again.  “Anytime.”

Optimus’ team had won, despite the fact that all of Bumblebee’s squad made up most of their players, and so there was lots of grumbling about beginners' luck and cheating.  For some reason, Sunny and Sides were convinced Mirage had done some sneaky stuff, though he struck me as a little too noble for that sort of thing.

Mia was talking with RaFly’s holoform, but I didn’t see R.C., and I really wanted to ask her who BrassEagle was.  When I asked Johnston if he knew where she was, he pointed toward the trail that led to the seashore.  I headed that way, wondering if I wanted to change into a swimsuit and play in the water a bit after everyone left.  Stepping onto the beach, I saw R.C. and Cam sitting together on a palm trunk that was horizontal for a few feet, forming a natural bench.  They were straddling the tree and facing each other, Cam casually lounging against the trunk where it grew straight up again.  R.C. was holding one of Cam’s hands in two of hers.  Mom’s words to Mirage echoed in my mind… only one hand unless you’re trying to initiate a mating relationship.  They glanced at me, and Cam quickly slipped his hand out of R.C.’s, blushing furiously.

Turning, I numbly wandered back up toward the house, my face frozen in shock.  Mom was laughing and talking with Mia, Mrs. Witwicky, and Mrs. Epps, but they all stopped when they saw my expression.  “What’s wrong?”  Mom asked.

In a low hiss, I said, “I just saw holoforms holding hands!”

Mrs. Epps was puzzled.  “So?”

I shuddered.  “So…they’re getting kinky on my beach !”

Mrs. Epps just looked really confused, but Mia’s eyes narrowed and she growled, “That’s it !  I’ve had it!”  Turning on her heel, she marched over to Hyde and grabbed his hand, glaring up at him and just daring him to try to pull away.  He glowered right back, but his eyes grew unfocused as some kind of silent communication passed between them – Mia filling him on how her sister and Cam were getting frisky was my guess.  Focusing again, a positively wicked light flickered in his eyes.  Roughly grabbing Mia, he tipped her back into a low dip and gave her a quick peck on the lips.

Every conversation in the backyard fell silent, but a shocked heartbeat later, Bumblebee let loose a wolf-whistle behind me, which was followed by cheering, more whistling, and jeers from Skids and Mudflap.  The new ‘bots hadn’t recovered yet and just stared in total disbelief, but every other ‘bot and human thought it was a riot.  Hyde lifted the rather dazed-looking Mia back up to vertical and smirked.  Crossing his arms (and hiding his hands), he looked down at her with an expression of amused satisfaction.  

Out of Hyde’s and Mia’s line of sight, Prime passed what looked like some folded cash to the waiting hand of a smug-looking Samuel.  

“Hey, Mom?” I asked, shaking myself out of my shock.  “Where do you keep the brain bleach?”

Chapter Text

Author’s Note:  The Welcome sign for the Diego Garcia restricted area mentioned in this chapter is real – I kid you not.  :)  Google Earth never lies, right?  (However, other descriptions are my invention because, well, it’s restricted and no photos are available.)

It was Saturday morning and I waited anxiously beside Samuel as the helicopter landed just outside the base entrance.  A corporal from NEST stood at attention by our side – Samuel’s aid and our escort on the base. This person we were meeting today, US Senator and Head of the Defense Appropriations Committee Jonathan Ellis, was here because he specifically requested to meet me.

As he got off the chopper and walked toward us, I sized him up.  On the outside, he wasn’t a whole lot different from Marshall – a bespectacled middle-aged white man (but he was in much better shape) in a dark suit with a flag pin.  I guess politics has its own uniforms.  But his history made him worlds apart.  About four years ago, Mr. Ellis and Samuel had been saved from a Decepticon by Bumblebee, and the politician had devoted his career to helping the Autobots ever since.

“Jon,” Samuel greeted the man with a warm handshake.  “Allow me to introduce Annabelle Lennox.”

“Ah yes, the infamous Miss Lennox.  It’s a pleasure to meet the lamb who routed the lion,” he said, taking my hand to shake it.  It was a firm, practiced handshake that felt disturbingly fake coming from someone who was supposed to be sympathetic to us.

“Welcome back to Diego Garcia, sir.”  He had visited once, three years ago, and had been introduced to Optimus Prime, Prowl, and Wheeljack at that time.

Releasing my hand, he chuckled.  “What?  No insult for me?”

“Not unless you insult me first,” I seriously answered.  “Autobots are never the aggressors.”

He barked out a laugh at that one.  “Sam was right – you have a crack-shot wit.  Well, Miss Lennox, I’m a Northern boy and I’m melting in this heat.”

“Of course, sir.  Right this way.”  

With a nod of approval from Samuel, I led them to the human side of the Autobot headquarters.  Butterflies filled my stomach as we entered a conference room.  Officially, Mr. Ellis was here for a briefing on the new Autobots, and Samuel and Prowl had spent a good part of yesterday morning coaching me in making a Powerpoint for today.  But first, I had to be the gracious hostess.  Gesturing toward a basket of fruit, muffins and bagels, I said, “Refreshment, sir?  We can get you something to drink, too.”

“Looks great,” he said.  “My last meal was on the flight over, and it wasn’t much.  Any orange juice?”

I nodded to the corporal, who ducked out.  

Peeling the paper off a muffin, Mr. Ellis said, “So tell me about these new guys.”

Turning on the projector, I pulled up the Powerpoint.  “Their names are Trailbreaker, Hound, Mirage, and Evac.”

“All mechs?”

“Yes.”

He looked a little relieved.  “Proceed.”

“They were part of a special ops team prior to arriving here, so they have a few more upgrades than most ‘bots.”  Advancing to the slide with a picture of his base-form and stats, I said, “Trailbreaker was Optimus’ defensive strategist on Cybertron, but in battle, he’s very valuable because he can produce a virtually impenetrable forcefield.”  The next slide had a picture of his alt-form – an enormous black armored SUV that would blend in with any government convoy.  “On Bumblebee’s team, he’ll fill a similarly defensive role and will be his second-in-command.”

Clicking to the next slide, I continued, “Hound is a tracker – the best the Autobots have – and his specialty is holograms.  Every Autobot can produce holoforms, but Hound can produce holograms that are much larger and more elaborate and he has a longer range.”

Swallowing his bite of muffin, he asked, “How much longer?”

I bit my lip.  “I’m not sure, sir.  I can find out for you, though.”

“Please do.”

I pulled out my cell phone and made a note to myself.  Feeling even more nervous, I returned to the presentation, advancing to the slide of Hound in his alt-form.  “On Bumblebee’s team, he will have a more offensive role.”

“What’s he like?” Mr. Ellis interrupted.

“Sir?”

“You said he’ll be one of Bumblebee’s heavy hitters, but they’re going to be based in the middle of Washington, D.C.  I don’t need another Sideswipe or Sunstreaker wreaking havoc – ”

“OH!  No, sir, he’s nothing like the twins.  He’s…He actually reminds me a lot of Bumblebee, but he’s...he’s a Jeep, sir.  He’s a nature-lover who likes to get a little muddy.”

“A lot muddy,” Samuel corrected, jumping in to help me.  “My biggest concern with placing him on the team was that it would be too urban, but ‘Bee assures me Hound will enjoy exploring the concrete-and-steel jungle of D.C.  He’s very personable and, unlike some mechs, doesn’t get queasy about our organic nature.  He’ll be a genuine asset.”

Satisfied, Mr. Ellis nodded for me to continue.

Flipping to the slide of his base-form, I said, “Mirage’s training is mostly in covert ops.  His mission prior to arriving on Earth was to eliminate the Decepticon Shockwave.  His upgrade is that he can render himself invisible.”

Mr. Ellis let out a low whistle.  “Invisible as in a hologram that makes it look like he’s not there?”

“No, as in invisible. Or so I’ve heard.  I haven’t had a chance to see it yet, personally.”

Looking at Samuel, Mr. Ellis eagerly said, “I’m not leaving until I get to see these guys’ upgrades in action.”

Samuel’s answering grin told me he’d be just as eager to see them.  “You’ve got it.”

Then to me, he said, “Sorry, Miss Lennox.”

“That’s fine, sir.”  The next slide had Mirage’s alt-form – a sleek blue-and-white race car.

Ellis chuckled.  “What is it with Autobots and racing stripes?”

“What is it with politicians and suits?” I answered without thinking.  Trying to cover my tracks, I said, “They have their own sense of fashion.”  Blushing furiously, I advanced to the next slide.  “Evac is their medic.”

“How does he compare to Ratchet?” 

Samuel came to my rescue again.  “In terms of Cybertronian medicine, he’s competent but half Ratchet’s age, so he doesn’t have anywhere near the experience.  Since he’s a new arrival on Earth, let’s just say I’ll still be seeing a human doctor.  At least for a while.”

Clicking forward through the presentation, I went to Evac’s alt-form.  “He’s also one of the Autobots’ few fliers.  On Earth, he’s taken the alt-form of a Coast Guard helicopter.”

“That will definitely be an asset,” Mr. Ellis murmured with approval.

“The final member of Bumblebee’s squad will be Radio Flyer, who you’re already familiar with, I understand.”

“Yeah, we’ve met.  The only sane femme on the planet, in my opinion,” he easily said.  “So we’ve got the bodyguard, the femme, the forcefield, the Jeep, the invisible one, and the helicopter.  That’s everyone, right?”

A little stiffly, I corrected, “Their names are Bumblebee, RadioFlyer, Trailbreaker, Hound, Mirage, and Evac.  Yes.”

He fought a smile and glanced at Samuel.  “I see what you mean.”  To me, he said, “Good girl.  Tell ‘em off loud and long anytime someone tries to reduce them to tools like that.  They have metal bodies, but they’re people and you know it.  Don’t be afraid to say so.  That’s what Sam does, and we need a few more like him in this world.”

I blinked in surprise, my heart swelling a little at his words.  “Thank you, sir.  I will.”

…

After the presentation, I led Mr. Ellis into the Autobot hangar toward the med bay.  Ratchet had consented (under duress) to a brief tour of his domain.  Naturally, Skids and Mudflap were just leaving as we approached.

“Yo!  Firebrand!” Skids hollered in greeting.

“Couldn’ get ‘nuf a us, huh femme!” Mudflap added.

“Nah,” Skids answered, whacking his brother on the shoulder.  “She couldn’ get ‘nuf a me!”

“Guys!  GUYS!!” I shouted, fortunately catching them early enough in their brawl to distract them.  “I’m not here on a social visit.”

“Right, femme,” Skids continued with a wink.  “Yous jes here ta study.”

“No, actually…”

But Mudflap was already into it.  In his perfect British accent, he quoted, “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?”

I rolled my eyes.  “Romeo and Juliet, the balcony scene.”

Reverting to his usual way of talking, he demanded, “Line an' speakah.”

“Fine.  Romeo, Act 2, scene 2, line 2.  But seriously, guys…”

Placing his hand over his spark, Skids gallantly quoted, “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead.”

I sighed, realizing they wouldn’t let us go forward or change the topic until they got bored with their little game.  “Henry the Fifth , King Henry speaking, Act 3, scene 1, lines 1 and 2.”

“Beware the ides of March,” Mudflap shot.

“Julius Caesar, the Soothsayer speaking, Act 1, scene 2, line 18.  Satisfied?”

“Uh-uh,” Skids answered while Mudflap said, “Not yet.”  With a light that even I recognized as mischief in his optics, Skids quoted, “Shall we their fond pageant see?  Lord, what fools these mortals be!”

I smirked at him.  “A Midsummer Night’s Dream , Act 3, scene 2, and the speaker is Puck.”

“Ya forgo’ da line numbahs,” Mudflap scolded.

“Considering we’re not studying the comedies and I had to Google the slagging line to find it, you can darn well accept that.  Now, you’re keeping me and Samuel and Senator – ”

“Senatoh!” Mudflap exclaimed, interrupting me.  Instantly their demeanor changed from playful to aggressive.  Skids leaned in threateningly.  “Dis fraggah o’ a squishy marchin’ yous two ‘round?”

“No,” I growled back in my pathetically non-threatening-human voice. “He’s on our side and I’m taking him to see Ratchet.”

Mudflap covered his head with his hands.  “Wha’ ya doin,’ Firebrand?  Killin’ off da ones wha’ is on ah side!”

“Da Hatchet!” Skids shook his head at us mournfully.  “Da squishy gonna be off ah side aftah meetin’ him!”

I glanced sidelong at said Senator, and he was looking up with wide eyes at the apparently-schizophrenic twins.  “Mr. Ellis, allow me to introduce Skids and Mudflap – Scout-class Autobots, twin brothers, and closet linguists.  They know at least a half a dozen insults in every language known to man.”

Mudflap said something completely unintelligible, and I added, “Don’t ask.”

Samuel cleared his throat.  “Actually, that one was in Cybertronian.”

The twins locked their optics on him and froze.  Finally Skids asked in an awe-struck whisper, “You speak Cybertronian?”

He snorted.  “I’ve spent enough time with Ironhide over the years to recognize cussing when I heard it.  Now come on, Annabelle, Jon.  Ratchet is a phenomenal medic, but the twins are right that it’s not a good idea to keep him waiting.”

Recovering, Mr. Ellis nodded at the ‘bots.  “It was a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen.”

I just about keeled over.  In fifteen years of life, I’d heard those two called just about everything under the sun, but not once had anyone called them ‘gentlemen.’  I guess that was part of the politician lingo, just like slagger and astrosecond were part of the Autobots’ way of talking.  Everyone is ‘gentleman’ and ‘miss,’ even if you’re trying to rip their heart out and stomp on it.  Maybe I didn’t want to be a part of that world, not if it meant I had to call Joe Marshall a gentleman.

...

I knew Ratchet had put up a fuss about letting even a friendly politician into the med bay, but the ‘bot was surprisingly pleasant when Mr. Ellis was standing in front of him.  Maybe it was because Ellis talked to him like a person and didn’t ask any stupid or overly-prying questions.  Samuel introduced them, and Ellis thanked Ratchet for making time for him, complimented him on his ability to keep such advanced and battle-worn Autobots functioning so well, and asked if there was anything in particular the Autobot Chief Medical Officer wanted the appropriations committee to consider.  And then he listened with apparent interest while Ratchet ranted for the next twenty minutes.  

About fifteen minutes in, I finally thought to look away from the energetically lecturing Ratchet and study the politician.  At least half of what Ratchet was saying was going over my head, but Jonathan Ellis raptly watched his every gesture and made the occasional encouraging comment or question.  I grew up with the ‘bots and knew a lot more about them than even some of the NEST soldiers, but I never suspected for a second that Ellis was lost like I was.  Either he was an expert listener, or he was far more knowledgeable about the Autobots than I’d have thought possible.

It wasn’t until Wheeljack showed up with a damaged Chromia that Ratchet finally cut short his list of wishes and complaints.  Mr. Ellis thanked Ratchet again for his time and we beat a hasty retreat as the medic launched into Wheeljack for his stupidity in designing whatever went wrong and into Chromia for her stupidity in testing the malfunction’s invention for him.  Just before the doors slid closed behind us, Ratchet bellowed, “Let him get his own arm blown off and he’ll think twice next time!”

“Not likely,” Mr. Ellis muttered, and I grinned.  He did know more about the ‘bots than he’d let on.  That train of thought took a sudden tangent; Samuel hadn’t denied that he knew Cybertronian.  If I wasn’t standing beside one of the better politicians in the US, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but Samuel had sidestepped that question neatly.  In politician-speak, he’d practically admitted it.  Samuel knew the ‘bots’ native language!  Wow!

…

“You’re kidding,” Mr. Ellis said from the seat in front of me.  It was late afternoon and we were riding in Bumblebee to the proving grounds with Wheelie beside me.  It had taken a little while to get a suitable demonstration planned, approval for the schedule, and round everyone up.  Dad was riding with Optimus ahead of us and we had just arrived at the checkpoint.  

“What?”

Pointing at the sign beside the road, Mr. Ellis read, “ Welcome to the Restricted Area . Gotta love the military – someone not only wrote that with a straight face but posted it alongside the road on an isolated, island naval base.”

I chuckled softly, now that I thought about it.  

The checkpoint guards let Optimus pass with a deferential nod, and the rest of our convoy followed – Trailbreaker, Hound, Mirage, RaFly, Ironhide, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.  Evac had flown ahead.

The proving grounds consisted of a firing range, an urban warfare training area affectionately known as Boom Town, and a versatile open field that could be used for everything from racing to sparring to obstacle courses. The destination for us squishy humans was a shaded observation platform on the edge of the field.  Epps, Dad, Mr. Ellis, Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky, Wheelie and I all climbed the cement stairs and sheltered under the pale canvas awning, grateful for the light breeze coming off the ocean.  The ‘bots drove around to the open field between Boom Town and the firing range and transformed.  

Even though I’d seen the ‘bots transform probably a dozen times now it was still an awe-inspiring thing, especially when it was so many of them at once.  

To Samuel, Optimus said, “So that you will be familiar with them in their base-forms, I present your warriors:  Bumblebee, Trailbreaker, Hound, Mirage, Evac, and Radio Flyer.”

They each approached the observation platform in turn, calling him Prime.  Bumblebee couldn’t, of course, but even I knew Sam didn’t need to hear what Bumblebee felt about him.  Mirage made a point of formally bowing and saying, “You have my allegiance, Samuel Prime.” 

RaFly hurried to catch up with the mechs after acknowledging Sam.  Dad turned to Mr. Ellis and said, “All of the Autobots’ ranged weapons will be set to stun-strength today with the exception of Ironhide during this first demonstration.”

“Then what’s the point?” Mr. Ellis muttered under his breath, and I smothered my grin of agreement. 

Bumblebee’s team dropped back into their alt-modes and scattered, beating a hasty retreat into Boom Town.  Ironhide strode forward bringing his arms up, his cannons rolling with their menacing hum.  

“Fire!” Optimus ordered, and even in broad daylight, the flash was brilliant.  Buildings collapsed, exploding away from the blast – all except one.  Half of it remained standing, the surviving part intact without even a broken window pane.  I could see the yellow of Bumblebee in his base form and a little bit of green that must have been Hound.  Mr. Ellis eagerly stepped forward to the safety railing.

“Again!” Prime commanded, and this time we could all see the impact of the weapons’ fire on what I realized (after the fact) was Trailbreaker’s forcefield.  The blast flowed around the protecting globe he had enveloped them in, rippling slightly but otherwise invisible to us humans.

“Nice,” Wheelie murmured appreciatively.

Ironhide looked up to Prime, and the Autobot leader nodded once.  His battle mask engaged and he unsheathed a wickedly-cool blade of some kind from a compartment in his arm.  Striding forward, he raised his sword-arm and viciously sliced down.  His arm glanced to the side, sliding away and leaving behind ripples of power in the forcefield.

“Wow!” Mr. Ellis breathed.

Optimus straightened, retracting both the sword and the mask.  “Bumblebee.  Sideswipe.”

The silver mech skated forward, while Bumblebee almost swaggered into the sparring field.  They paused across a small space in front of Optimus, and then, without any apparent signal, Sideswipe lunged at ‘Bee.  His movements were downright predatory – catlike – but ‘Bee dodged him in a neat roll before bringing his own cannons online.  His blasts made Sideswipe’s shoulders jerk, but didn’t stop him as he brought his own swords into play, slicing at ‘Bee horizontally and cutting into him from the sound of it.  ‘Bee spun away from the blow and followed up with a roundhouse kick that Sideswipe deflected with his arm, though I could see the damage that kick caused.  Sideswipe swung his blade again at ‘Bee, this time vertically, and Bumblebee jumped back once before he flipped forward over Sideswipe, almost landing a blow on the larger mech’s back.  

They continued this lethal dance for a good five minutes, and I realized that they were showing off Bumblebee’s defensive abilities.  That, or they were showing off all of Sideswipe’s killing moves.

“Disengage,” Optimus commanded, and Sideswipe and Bumblebee both took a few steps back.  I could see some kind of fluid staining the gashes in Bumblebee’s paint, but Evac went to Sideswipe first, working on the arm Bumblebee had dented.  

While Evac tended to them, Optimus called, “Mirage.  Sunstreaker.”

The blue mech strode onto the sparring field, somehow managing to give off an air of boredom, and he and Sunstreaker stood across from each other.  Again without any obvious signal, Sunstreaker launched himself forward – at nothing.  Literally, Mirage was just gone.   Not like a holoform that flickered or like he’d used a cloaking device where you shimmered for a second first.  Just…gone.

Sunny froze, tilting his head ever so slightly before he whirled, firing a rifle shot that got lost over in the firing range somewhere.  A puff of dust and disturbed sand showed where Mirage had been, but I didn’t have the slightest clue where he might be now.  Apparently Sunny didn’t either; his head swiveled as he searched the ground – probably for Mirage’s footprints or something.

Sunstreaker’s foot caught on thin air and he staggered to his knees. Snarling, he rolled to his feet.  Blades like Sideswipe’s slipped forward into his hands and he whirled, slashing at nothing.  Again he froze, apparently listening closely, until some sign tipped him off and he lunged again.  Something increased his momentum, though, and he jerked forward head-first to face-plant in the sand. Mirage reappeared on the twin’s back, pinning him, and he pressed a blade like Optimus’ but smaller and more dagger-like against something in Sunstreaker’s neck.  “Do you yield?” Mirage calmly asked in a voice that easily carried to us.

With one last snarl, Sunstreaker growled, “Yes.”

As abruptly as the match began, it was over.  Mirage sheathed the blade and stood back, allowing Sunstreaker to rise to his feet again.  “Not a scratch,” he casually told the twin.  “Just like I promised.”

Sunstreaker snorted, unimpressed, as the two of them headed toward Sideswipe.

“Radio Flyer,” Optimus called, and the femme rolled forward in her alt-form. I wondered who she would spar with; Arcee or Chromia would have been a natural choice but neither of them was here.  She transformed and stood almost awkwardly in front of her audience.

Optimus’ face mask engaged and his sword rang as he unsheathed it again.  RaFly was going up against him ?!

She took a few steps back, her arms out like she was guarding a basketball player instead of an armed mech three times her size.  He thrust his sword-arm forward, and as fast as ‘Bee, she dodged, but unlike ‘Bee, her movements were less energetic and more deliberate.  Graceful almost, she twirled and planted an elbow on Prime’s wrist before slipping out of his range.  Pressure points, I realized, as Optimus idly rubbed the wrist and sized her up.  He kicked at her, then, knee forward so the long, pointed shin armor was aimed right at her head.  RaFly rolled forward and under him, catching his foot and yanking hard enough to throw him off balance a little.  With a balled fist, he swung again.  This time she half-turned and, catching that fist, pulled him forward.  He actually staggered and RaFly brought her arm up to his face, her hand transforming into a cannon.  I expected her to demand his surrender like Mirage, but instead she fired, the cannon making a hissing sound.

“My optics!” he roared, and beside me, Samuel’s shoulders began shaking with laughter.  “ARGH!  Evac!”

“Sounds vaguely like Megatron,” Samuel sniggered.

Jaw on the ground, I asked, “Did she seriously just take down Optimus Prime with pepper spray ?!”

The bang of a backfire behind us made us all jump, and we turned to see a white station wagon parked on the observation platform.  RaFly.  I looked from the car to the sparring field where she was standing triumphantly in her alt-form and then back in confusion.  

“Hound’s special ability is holograms,” Dad pointed out, unsuccessfully smothering a grin.  “He took some motion recordings of her yesterday.”

Meaning this was the real RaFly.  How the slag had she got up here without us noticing?  She would have had to climbed up and transformed!

Mr. Ellis started laughing.  “That’s right.  Your ability is being as invisible as Mirage – but without the cloak.”

She seemed to drop lower on her axels, and sounding embarrassed, she said, “Thanks, but not really.  I just take advantage of distractions.  And Hound is really good at those.”

Still disbelieving, I glanced to where Optimus had finally regained his feet and was walking toward us.

Hearing his name, Hound strode up in his alt-form with Trailbreaker at his side.  “Thanks.”

Trailbreaker added, “But RaFly provided us with some great footage.  And her melee spray is no joke.”

“What’s in it?” Epps wondered.

“A solution consisting primarily of hydrofluoric acid and silicon,” Prime rumbled, sounding amused.  “I’ve never actually been exposed to it, but I have seen ‘cons that took a hit.  It’s easier to just replace the optic than try to repair it.” 

Samuel turned to Mr. Ellis.  “Well, Jon, are you satisfied?  Are we good to go to D.C. tomorrow night?”

His eyes roamed from RaFly, who was hopping down from the observation platform with Hound’s help, to Optimus, to Bumblebee who was talking with Mirage and Evac.  “Definitely.”

Chapter Text

I hate my dad’s truck.  You know who I’m talking about, that tactless, overprotective, insensitive trigger-happy Topkick.  Really, truly hate him.

I know, I know, you are all rolling your eyes and shaking your heads and thinking, ‘Here we go again.’  Well when you hear what happened, you’ll totally side with me.  Serious!  I am not just being a drama queen this time!

But for you to understand why I hate him, I need to back up a bit.  Two months ago (and seven months after my fifteenth birthday), I was sitting by myself at lunch like usual doing homework when Brian Lee just plopped himself down in the chair opposite me.  “So…whatcha doing this Friday night?”

I raised my eyebrows at him in surprise.  “Um…nothing?”  There was an Autobot football game, but I could always catch the next one.  

“Kathryn’s throwing a beach party, and I was wondering if you wanted to go.”

“But I thought you and Heather – ”

“We broke up.”

I stared at him blankly and he shrugged.  “If you don’t want to go, that’s fine…”

“NO!  I mean, yeah, I’d like to go, if you’re asking.”  Heck yeah!  In the hierarchy of datable material on the island, he came in a close second behind Bingham Davis (whose dad was on Ratchet’s repair team).  And he was asking me ?!  Besides, I liked Kathryn – her dad served with Mrs. Epp in waste-management and she even talked to me at lunch sometimes.  

“Great!”  He stood up and left as abruptly as he’d come, falling in with Bing and Alex Wong (whose mom worked with harbor control and didn’t have any direct affiliation with NEST).  The bell rang before they reached the cafeteria door, and he turned, calling out, “I’ll pick you up at seven!”

“Okay,” I murmured, too quiet for him to hear.  He grinned anyway and sauntered out.

WOW!

I had to tell someone, so on my way to class, I texted Mom.  Big mistake.  Instead of picking me up in the minivan, Mom was there on Arcee’s black component, and Arcee and Chromia were both with her in their holoforms on their bikes.  But they weren’t looking at me – oh no! – they didn’t even notice me until I was only five feet away.  They were all looking at Brian Lee.  Evaluating.  Analyzing.  Appraising. 

Smashing the helmet onto my head (it had been strapped down onto my seat), I hopped onto the black bike behind Mom and hid my face in her back.  The last thing I wanted Brian to see was me hanging out with a gang of warrior biker chicks.  As if being Colonel Lennox’s daughter wasn’t enough of a social handicap!

Even worse was knowing that it was just beginning.  Before I got home from school, the entire Autobot force had received an info dump of the guy their communally-adopted kid sister was going out with.  Before I got my helmet off at home, my cell phone was vibrating in my backpack announcing new text messages.  Before Mom got the front door unlocked, Arcee was already planning my wardrobe and Chromia was planning out my dating self-defense class.  

I did my best to ignore them, fishing in my backpack for my cell phone and powering it down.

“I bet you never even considered the tactical uses for high-heels,” Mia said to me.    

“Why do you think I only get her Stilettos?” R.C. cut in. “Those are warriors’ shoes!”

“Mom?!” I whined.  

Taking pity on me, Mom said, “Alright, femmes, you’ve scoped out the boy.  Now let Annabelle be so she can get her homework done.  Beside, you’ll be lucky if Prowl doesn’t toss both your skidplates into the brig for playing hooky.”

“Are you kidding?” Chromia said, heading back to the front door.  “He sent us!”

I hid my face in my hands, and Mom gently patted me on the back.  When the door closed, she reminded me, “They’re doing this because they love you.”

“With family like that…”

“Who needs Decepticons?” Mom grinned.

I gave her a little smile back.  “Something like that.”

“There are a few nuts on every family tree,” she said, trying to console me.

“We just cut to the chase and bought a whole barrel-full, apparently.”

“I’ll keep them off your back,” Mom assured me.

“Promise?”

“Promise.  Now go get your homework done.”

I blithely studied the different tissues in plants (xylem, phloem, yada yada yada) and memorized irregular verbs for Spanish, not thinking once about what would happen at five-thirty tonight.  It must have been one of those things where you block traumatic experiences, because I should have known that Arcee and Chromia were just the tip of the iceberg.  I took one look at Dad and ‘Hide when they walked through the front door and was instantly ready to trade them in for the femmes.  And that was before they even opened their mouths.

“So,” Dad said, “Brian Lee, huh?  His mom’s a communications officer.  She’s got clearance to know about the Autobots, but no outside interaction privileges.”

“He’s too old for you,” Ironhide gruffly declared.  

“He is not,” I answered.  “He’s in the next grade up, but our birthdays are less than ten months apart.”

“Still too old,” Ironhide grumbled.

“Saw the holo of him,” Dad continued, ignoring ‘Hide.  “He seems pretty cute.”

UGH!  No one should ever have to endure the trauma of hearing their father say their male date is cute.  “Dad.  Please.  Shut the frag up.”

Appalled at my language, Mom scowled at ‘Hide.

Dad shrugged it off, instead putting his arm around me. “You’re a big girl, and I trust your judgment.”

“You don’t have to walk on eggshells; I’m not going to freak out.  But I will hate you if you surrender the role of protective father-figure to a 20-foot tall trigger-happy alien.”

Ironhide broke off from exchanging glares with my mom in order to glare at me.  The ‘bots all hated it when I called them aliens.

“We all know Ironhide’s not your father,” my dad said, casting a ‘behave’ look at the Autobot, “and he’s going to let me fulfill my role.  I’m just saying I’m very happy for you.”

“It’s not like we’re getting married ,” I said.  “He’s probably just on the rebound anyway.”  I grinned, thinking that I’d happily be his rebound girl.  I despised Heather anyway.  And, gee, what girl wouldn’t be flattered if asked by one of the hottest guys around to be a trophy date?  I wasn’t delusional enough to think he was in love with me or anything crazy like that.  This would just be a fun night out on the town (such as it was on Diego Garcia).

“Still,” Dad said, squeezing me a little tighter.  “It’s your first date.  That makes it a big deal.”

Thinking of the text messages piling up in my cell’s inbox, I thought, ‘Understatement of the year, Dad.’

…

So that Friday, Brian picked me up at seven o’clock on the button.  I came downstairs in the outfit Arcee had picked out for me – a navy-blue bikini with a coordinating tie-dyed silk sarong and strappy heels.  (This last had been at Chromia’s insistence.)  Brian’s eyes lit up at the sight of me, and I instantly forgave the femmes for all their nosiness and pushiness.  Autobot aunts, at least, weren’t too bad.  

Mom insisted on snapping off a couple of pictures, and then Brian escorted me to his folks’ wonderfully non-sentient Honda Civic, sitting in the looming shadow of a monster black Topkick.  Even in his alt-form, Ironhide positively bristled in the driveway beside the little, just-past-its-warranty car. (Mom hadn’t let his holoform inside, but he insisted on being here anyway.)  Brian was happily oblivious.  

The party was wonderful!  We swam and played volleyball and buried each other in sand.  

Everyone said hi to Brian, wanted to talk to him, wanted him at their table during the luau, and since I was his date, I was in the center of things, too.  I’d never been popular, so it was interesting to see how the other half lived.  Brian was great, too, and always made sure I felt included.  

By the time he drove me home, I was on cloud nine.  He held my hand in the car, and my heart soared – until we turned down the drive and I saw that stupid Topkick sulking in the driveway in front of the garage.  The mech was just going to have to adjust to the idea that his little sparkling was growing up.  If my own flesh-and-blood father could do it, he could, too.

We stopped and got out of the car, Brian coming around the front of the Civic to walk me up to the porch.  “So,” I said awkwardly.

“So,” he agreed, hands in his pockets.

“I had a good time,” I offered.  “Thanks.”

He smiled at me, and I felt like I was warming from the inside out.  “My pleasure.  In fact, Michelle’s quinceañera is in a couple of weeks.  Want to come with me?”

Michelle’s dad helped maintain the NEST aircraft, and I’d seen him a time or two when I was visiting the base, but we never spoke.  He was always on the job, and anyway, he didn’t have Autobot interaction privileges.  I didn’t know Michelle very well, but her quince would be my second date as Brian’s trophy – it was a real compliment that I’d get two. Grinning, I said, “Sounds great!”

He nodded once and then stepped a little closer.  My heart thundered as I realized what he was doing.  First date and first kiss?!  Both with Brian?  I must be dreaming.  Hallucinating.  I had to be high .  Lifting one hand, he cupped my face and leaned in.  I couldn’t breathe. 

Reeet!  I jumped as Ironhide’s car alarm went off.  Reeet!  Reeet!  Ooo-ah!  Ooo-ah!

Brian chuckled and leaned away.  “Your dad?”

“No,” I grumbled.  “Just a glitching machine.”  I’d learned just last week that a worse insult than ‘glitch’ or even ‘fragger’ was to call an Autobot a ‘machine.’  It was as offensive to them as ‘fleshbag’ was to me.  (Thank you, Arcee, for tipping me off on that one!)

He laughed again, the moment gone.  “I’ll see you at school.”

“See ya,” I said, and opened the door.  Mom and Dad were both there in the entryway, hovering over his cell phone.  Reading texts from Ironhide.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“We were trying to figure out why he was raising the alarm,” Mom said defensively.  

“It was either this or we were going to charge out onto the front porch and rescue you.”

Brian was still outside, so I couldn’t go flip off Ironhide like I was tempted to.  Instead I shut the door.  “I’m fine.  Of course I am – you both know ‘Hide wouldn’t leave any witnesses alive if some guy tried something bad. ”

Dad grinned, way too happy at the thought.

“That’s it – I’m going to bed!”

Mom caught my hand as I tried to march past.  Her eyes were gentle and I softened a little myself.  “Did you have fun?”

I couldn’t help but smile.  “Yeah.  A lot of fun.”

“Good.”  And then she let me go.  

In my bedroom, my phone chimed before I could even get my shoes off.  Undressing quickly and changing into pajamas, I checked the text message.  There were two, actually, received at the same time.  One was from Arcee and the other from Chromia, and they both said the same thing.  //So?//

Chuckling, I plopped down on my bed and dialed them up in a three-way call.  

“Well?” they demanded, practically brimming with excitement for me.

“Weeeellll…I had the time of my life!”  

The femmes actually squealed and I giggled right along with them.  

“Tell us all about it,” Chromia happily ordered.

“Let’s see.  Oh, first of all, thank you so much for your help!  You should have seen the look he gave me when I came down the stairs – his eyes were huge.  I actually felt pretty!”

“You are pretty,” Chromia shot back, surprising me.  Normally it was ‘Hide who went on about how cute and adorable I was, while Chromia was more interested in making me into as much of an Autobot femme as a human girl could be.

“I second that,” Arcee piped up.  “And you’re welcome, Firebrand.  So tell us more!”

I went on about the party and about how he held my hand and how gorgeous his eyes were when he leaned in to kiss me.  “And then your…mate or whatever you call him set off his car alarm!”

Arcee busted up – actually snorting she was laughing so hard – but Chromia sounded annoyed.  “That mech’s got a thing or two to learn.”

“A thing or two?  Is that all?” Arcee sniggered.

“All he’s going to be able to hold in those thick chips of his,” Chromia retorted.  To me, she said, “Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.  I promise.”

“Thanks, you two.”

“Our pleasure,” Arcee answered.  “We’ll stop by and see you tomorrow.  After Chromia’s had a chance to lecture Ironhide and I’ve had a chance to help Ratchet put the malfunction back in one piece again.” 

Grinning, I ended the call and snuggled under the blanket.  I don’t remember my dreams that night, but I do remember I woke up happy the next morning.

. . .

Michelle would have never invited me to her quinceañera.  She rarely spoke to me, and even then, it was only if we were stuck together for an in-class assignment or something.  But everyone liked Brian, and for some inexplicable reason, he wanted me with him, so we both went.  He could move from one social circle to another effortlessly, and I kind of envied him for that.  

She was dressed to the nines in a pale peach satin gown that even Arcee would have approved of.  Of course Brian was seated at her table, so I ended up sitting across from her.

At one point, Brian and Bing Davis, who was Michelle’s boyfriend of eight months and escort for the evening, had to go outside for something, and Brian whispered to me, “Keep her distracted.” 

Okay…?  What to talk about?  Fishing for some kind of conversation starter, I asked her, “Is that an Alice Brandon?”

Michelle looked confused.  “Pardon?”

“Your gown.  It’s absolutely beautiful.  I saw something like that on her website when R.C. and I were doing some window shopping.  Alice Brandon is an amazing designer. Usually I can only get one of her dresses for the New Year’s Eve party.”

“No…” Michelle hesitantly answered.  “I’m not sure who designed it.”

“Oh well.  The look is perfection on you, so the maker doesn’t really matter.  Most people can’t tell the difference between designer and imitations anyway.”

“Thank you,” she said and then mumbled under her breath, “I think.”

Chagrined, I shut my mouth after that and we waited in awkward silence for the boys to return.  Fortunately, they weren’t gone for long, returning with a bow-bedecked windsurf board carried between them – Bing’s present for her.

Other than that one little foot-in-mouth moment, though, the evening was wonderful.  Brian danced with me all night, just swaying while holding me close.  Every now and then, he’d nuzzle my hair or whisper something in my ear and I’d just melt a little more.  I didn’t want to go home, but the party wound down eventually, and we walked hand-in-hand to the car.

When we got home and climbed the porch stairs, my heart was in my throat.  Would he try to kiss me again?  Ironhide was still pouting in the driveway – would he try to stop Brian again if he tried?

“Thanks,” Brian said, standing awkwardly with his hands in his pockets.  I was struck by how boyish he looked – which was really impressive considering he already cleared six feet tall.

“My pleasure,” I answered with a slightly breathless smile.

He inched closer, ducking his head a little.  “So…um…I was wondering…”

“Yeah?”

“Prom is in a couple of weeks.”

“Prom?” I weakly echoed, no doubt sounding like a star-struck idiot.

“Did you already have plans to go?”

I shook my head, trying to clear it as much as answering him.  “…no.”

“Would you go with me?”

“Yes?”

He chuckled and ducked in for a startling kiss.  I didn’t even have a chance to be nervous and then he stepped back, his eyes sparkling with mischief.  “Thanks, Belle.  See you on Monday.”

“Wait!”

“Yes?” he asked, hesitating on the second step down from the porch.  

I crossed the porch to him, and with him on the steps, we were eye-to-eye.  “Again?”

He laughed quietly and inched closer, raising his hands to cup both sides of my face.  Holding me gently, he leaned in and gave me a stunningly-soft second kiss.

When his hands finally fell away from my face, I breathed, “Wow!”

“I’ll say.”  Stealing one last kiss, he all but skipped down the last couple of steps.  “See ya!”

I practically danced into the living room – and almost yelped in surprise to see that ‘Hide was waiting up for me in my dad’s recliner.  My dad’s truck playing overprotective father.  Ugh!  “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

He shrugged, trying to look innocent.  (It didn’t work very well – ‘Hide didn’t look innocent even when he was.)  “Your dad has the early morning shift, so I volunteered to make sure you got in okay.”

“Uh-huh.  And who arranged for him to be up before the crack of dawn on a Sunday?”

“Prowl,” he answered shortly; then changing the subject he asked, “Anyway…how was the party?”

“Great.  Good night.”  I headed up the stairs as quickly as I could in my heels.

“Annabelle…”

I froze when he used my human name.  It just sounded so weird coming from him.  I’d been ‘Firebrand’ for almost half a year.

“…can we talk for a minute?”

Grimacing, I headed back to the living room.  “Mom already covered the birds and bees right down to protection, Chromia gave me nightmares for days with her description of all the ways I can incapacitate a guy with my left shoe, and Dad’s practically throwing me at Brian.  There’s not much left to say.”

He smiled half-heartedly but gestured me to sit on the couch next to him.  “Humor me.”

I sat down with a sigh and looked at him expectantly.  He was frowning thoughtfully, trying to find the right words, I guess.  Finally he said, “I don’t trust him.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.  “You don’t have to.”

He looked up at me, his eyes almost dark.  “You don’t know…”  His jaw clenched like he was biting back angry words.  ‘Hide was always blunt – he was known for it – and seeing him struggle like this was just…kind of disturbing.  “I promised your dad I’d be nice about it,” he said, making the word sound like something disgusting.  “So all I have to say is this:  he doesn’t see your soul.  When Brian looks at you, he sees a pretty femme.  He doesn’t see you .  And he never will.”  That last part was said almost sadly.

“I don’t get it,” I blurted out.  “You’re a mind-reader now?  ‘Hide, he’s the first guy who’s shown any interest in me.  You don’t know what it’s like for me to be going out on dates.  I’m having fun and it’s with my own kind and kids my own age!  You might not trust him, but I do!  Just because he’s not an Autobot…”

“That’s not it.”

“I think it is,” I retorted.  “He’s not some mech you’ve known for thousands of years.  He’s a little kid trying to steal away your sparkling and you just don’t know how to deal with it.  Well you know what?  You’re gonna have to.  I’m growing up, Hyde, and I’m not gonna live on Diego Garcia forever.  Once I’m eighteen, I’ll have to leave or get a special visa to stay.”

“Annabelle…”

“The name’s Firebrand, and I’m going to bed.”  Angrily I rose to my feet and turned toward the stairs again.  “I’m home safe.  Go away.”

Just before I closed my bedroom door, I heard him softly say, “Good night.”

I changed into pajamas mentally cussing out the glitch for ruining my first kiss.  I should be on cloud nine right now, but instead, I wanted to kick something.  My cell chimed with a text alert just as I was turning off the light; I was tempted to ignore it, but then I remembered Ironhide on Ratchet’s repair berth with Johnston crawling inside his chassis and picked up the phone.  Sometimes, you don’t get second chances, and I wasn’t going to take that risk.  Not again.

It was from Ironhide, just like I expected.  But the words blew me away.  //Love you.//

That was a text I wouldn’t ever delete.  Tears of frustration welled up in my eyes, but I hastily typed and sent, //luv u 2//  

Chapter Text

Prom…wasn’t much on Diego Garcia.  There were only about forty kids old enough to attend, though we did hold it in the Enlisted Men’s Club instead of at the school gym, so it could have been worse, I suppose.  

You would have thought Arcee had died and gone to heaven, though.  When I woke up the Sunday morning after Michelle’s quinceañera, the femme and her sister were already downstairs making muffins and tea for me and Mom.  I yawned hugely as I wandered into the kitchen in my bathrobe.  “You do realize it’s only 06:30 on a weekend, right?”

“Finally !” R.C. exclaimed, setting a muffin and a cup of tea at my usual kitchen table chair.  “Eat.  We need you showered and dressed so we can start talking accessories.”  All business, she sat down in the spot next to mine, pulling my laptop to an angle where I could see the screen, too.  “I’ve checked the shipping times and if we order today, we should be able to get some new jewelry for you to wear to the prom.”

I glanced at Mia, who shrugged.  “Don’t blame me – she was born first!  Besides, I took care of my mate being a hassle.  You get to deal with the fashionista.”

R.C. playfully stuck her tongue out at her (apparently younger) sister, and I studied her closely.  She looked like my favorite Autobot aunt – except the Arcee I knew wouldn’t have done that in a million years.  “Alright, who are you and how did you get your holoform to look and sound like R.C.?”

She laughed and shook her head.  “Whatever.”

“No, seriously.  Are you Skids?”  My gaze darted to Mia again.  “Mudflap?”

Mia rolled her eyes.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  She’s just excited.”

“For you,” R.C. added, clicking on a link to bring up the Platt & Masen design house to show me their silver collection.  Wow!  The only other time I’d ever gotten something from them was when Mr. and Mrs. Epps got married and Mom let her get a little charm bracelet for me since I was the flower girl.  They specialized in “the vintage look for the modern woman” and were pretty pricey.

“But what am I going to wear?” I asked.  “That silver would look awful with the blue-and-gold gown I wore to the last New Year’s Eve party.”

R.C. slyly smiled and waltzed to the living room, returning with a beautiful strapless, tea-length dress.  It was made of a stately slate-grey satin that looked like liquid silver when it rustled, and the bodice had a matching, subtle brocade.  With my blonde hair, it would be a striking contrast.

“Wow!” I breathed.  “Where did you get that ?  When did you get that?”

She shrugged, though she was radiating smugness.  “Alice Brandon was doing a special last fall, so I had her make two for you – one for last Christmas and one for next.  The fashion gods must have been smiling on you, Firebrand.”

I stood up and stepped closer to get a better look at the gown, and Mia chuckled. “Best of all, it’s a transformer.”

R.C. smirked at my skeptical look and lifted the hem of the dress.  There was a vibrant pink taffeta underskirt – the same color as Arcee’s component – that would peek out any time I twirled in it.  “A flirty transformer,” she clarified.

Squealing in excitement, I bolted for the stairs so I could get cleaned up and try it on.  Half-way up, I stopped and pivoted to holler down, “Thank you!”

…

That night, R.C. had me model the dress for my parents.  Mom thought it was beautiful, but Dad said it looked ‘okay’ in comparison to me, making me blush the same color as the underskirt.  He always treated me like his little lady.  Oh, and Mom had this gorgeous silver-and-diamond locket with coordinating earrings that matched the dress perfectly and so we didn’t even need to worry about a rush-order on the jewelry.

‘Hide was banned from seeing even a holo of me dressed up like that on the grounds that he was still in the dog house.  Even Autobots needed tough love sometimes.

Monday, Brian held my hand and walked me from class to class, and I found myself starting to really enjoy the attention, both from him and from his friends.  I sat with them again at lunch, and he texted me off and on all evening.  Turns out we had very different taste in music, but thanks to my sci-fi/fantasy bent (courtesy of growing up with aliens), we both liked a lot of the same movies.  He wasn’t the avid reader I was, but he did like sports, and I could talk football with him, at least a little bit.  (No way in the Pit was I inviting him over for the Autobot football game that Saturday, though.  ‘Hide would use the excuse to break a few bones.)  I was actually surprised by how much I liked Brian.

The rest of the week was the same – holding hands, sitting together, texting.  In other words, great! 

At the football game, ‘Hide kept to himself which I had kind of expected, but it was an unpleasant surprise that Skids and Mudflap did, too.  All three of them kept giving me Not Happy looks from across the yard, even though Chromia cuffed ‘Hide whenever she caught him.  I couldn’t help but feel a little twinge of guilt when ‘Hide would frown and then look away when I caught his gaze, and I had to keep reminding myself that he was the one with the problem, not me.  Honestly, though, the twins had me most worried – they weren’t exactly as threatening as Ironhide (okay, not anywhere near as threatening), but they were still loose cannons.  Maybe I’d better have a word with Dad about making sure they didn’t try to ‘talk’ to Brian.

The next week – the week of prom – was even better.  Monday, while holding my hand at lunch, Brian leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Smile for me, ‘Belle.”

How could I not?  And then he gave me a quick peck on the cheek.  Our school had a policy against the dreaded PDA’s (Public Displays of Affection), so I was shocked that he’d risk getting caught, but he smirked down at me with a devil-may-care light in his eyes, and I warmed from the inside out.  He kissed me every day at lunch after that.

It wasn’t until Thursday that I saw Heather watching us, cold fury in her eyes.  I remembered then that I was just Brian’s rebound girl, and I understood with a kind of queasy realization that it was all a show for her.  To tick her off.  And it was working.  Looking at Brian, I began to wonder if maybe what began as rebound might turn into something more.  Seeing me staring, he winked, and I tentatively smiled in answer.

…

Friday after school, Mia was the one to pick me up, and when I walked into the living room, Mom and R.C. had turned it into a makeshift beauty salon.  

R.C. gestured me into the chair of honor in front of the full-length mirrors they’d kidnapped from Mom’s bedroom and then handed me a stack of style magazines.  “So, we’ve flipped through those and narrowed your hair choices down to five.  They’re marked with paperclips.  We all think you need an up-do with some hair still loose.  I can trim it as needed.”

Okaaay.  R.C. was really getting into this.  Usually she just did the clothes and accessories and left the hair and makeup to Mom.  I turned to each marked page, settling on the one with a bunch of intricate little braids.  It was pretty, and I had three females to entertain.  “That one.”

Grinning, R.C. said, “Right, femmes, let’s get to work!”

It was amazing to watch the transformation in the mirror.  I mean, sure, I was pretty enough, but little by little, the girl looking back at me started turning into someone glamorous.  We took a snack break before they put my makeup on, and then the femmes gave me a manicure and pedicure while Mom focused on my face.  

Dad got home from work about a half-hour before Brian was supposed to pick me up, and he just kept staring at me like he didn’t recognize me.  Not that I blamed him.  I’d seen the whole thing from start to finish and still couldn’t really wrap my brain around the sight in the mirror.  

Careful to not rumple the dress or mess with my hair, he hugged me while Mom and the femmes put the living room back together.  “You look beautiful. My little lady.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Jewelry,” R.C. announced, and Mom grabbed my hand to pull me upstairs.  

The femmes followed, and over my shoulder, I said to them, “You guys just want me to make a dramatic entrance.”

“Bulls-eye,” Mia answered, smiling.

So we hung out in Mom’s room, talking and giggling. R.C. and Mia got into a really serious pillow fight at one point and Mom had to pull me out into the hall to prevent an accidental tarring and feathering.  Boisterous femmes – if they fought like they played, it was no wonder NEST always joked about the femmes being more dangerous than the mechs.  The doorbell ringing was the only thing that broke up the fight.  Both femmes materialized outside the bedroom door, leaving the fluffy white mess of gutted pillows behind.  Lucky them.

I heard Dad answer the door, and Mom gave me one more looking over, adjusting one of the loose ringlets draped over my shoulder and turning me around to check for random feathers.  “You really…”  She sighed with a half-smile, fighting back the emotion.  “You really do look like a young lady.  Have fun tonight, sweetheart.”

I hugged her, and then the femmes each stole a hug, too, before they hurried down the stairs ahead of me.  To watch Brian’s reaction to their handiwork, no doubt.  Taking a deep breath, I started down the stairs.  

I had seen Brian’s eyes light up before when he saw me, but it was nothing like this time.  Hearing me on the stairs, he turned, smiling in anticipation, but then his jaw actually dropped just a little bit.  And then he checked me out – head to toe – and I was suddenly grateful the femmes had insisted on giving me a pedicure, too.  When he met my gaze again, there was something like awe behind his smile.  “Wow,” he breathed.

Of course, Brian dressed to the nines was nothing to sniff at, either.  Nobody bothered with tuxes, because honestly how would you even get one on Diego Garcia?  But he was in a black suit coat with an aquamarine button-down that emphasized his dark hair and blue eyes, and he held himself with the bearing of an officer’s son – straight and strong.  His shoes even shone with polish.  Slagging gorgeous, that’s what he was.

Remembering himself, he held out a wrist corsage for me, and I let him slip it on me.  Mom stepped into the kitchen to get his boutonniere, and my heart was in my throat when I leaned in close to his chest to pin it on him.  

Tonight was going to just be magical , I could feel it.

Brian held out his arm for me, and I looped mine through his.  Mia retrieved a slivery-gray shawl and draped it over my shoulders.  And then we were heading for the door. 

Dad held out a keychain holding a single black key – stamped with ‘GMC.’  Time slowed as I realized the significance of that little piece of metal.  R.C. turned to her sister – accusations mingled with disbelief in her expression – and Mia huffed in annoyance.

“Are you certain, sir?” Brian asked Dad.

“Like I said,” Dad drawled.  “If I can trust you with my daughter, I can trust you with my truck.”

Brian accepted the key, and there was a spring in his step as he walked us out onto the porch.  I wasn’t even sure I could feel my feet; I was that numb with shock and anger.

Just before the door closed behind us, Mom growled to Dad, “You didn’t !”

As we approached Ironhide’s driver-side door, Brian let me go and eagerly reached for the handle, and I continued around to the other side, but both doors were locked.  He pushed the door remote, but neither side released.  Narrowing my eyes at the Autobot who was practically radiating smugness even in his alt-form, I hissed, “Behave!”

“What was that?” Brian absent-mindedly asked, struggling to unlock the driver-side door with the real key now.

“This truck is temperamental,” I said.  “You’ll have to let me in on the passenger side and I’ll unlock your door for you.”

“Oh!” he said, hurrying around the front of the truck.  I mentally winced, imagining Ironhide rolling forward just then.  “Where are my manners?”

Which was Ironhide’s point, I had no doubt.  He had somehow threatened, blackmailed, or bribed Dad into making him our ride for tonight so he could make sure I was treated with respect.  My door easily opened for Brian and he helped me in before closing my door for me.

This night had gone from magical to miserable, just like that.

“Your name is mud,” I whispered to ‘Hide while Brian walked back around to the driver side.  

“I don’t care, as long as you’re safe,” he whispered back through the speakers.  I dramatically rolled my eyes at him, knowing that he’d see it somehow. 

Chapter Text

Brian slipped into the driver’s seat and appreciatively gripped the leather steering wheel for a second.  He wouldn’t be so pumped about driving this stupid truck to prom if he knew how that truck felt about him.  Still, my date put the key in the ignition and tried to turn over the engine.  Surprise, surprise – it wouldn’t start.

“Temperamental,” I reminded Brian as I reached for my seat belt.  Ironhide NEVER drove without us buckled in. As soon as my belt clicked, I said, “Try again.”

After another couple of tries, the engine roared to life, and Brian grinned at the obvious power under that hood.  He threw ‘Hide into reverse to turn us around and then headed back up the gravel drive to the main road, gunning it when we hit the black top.

“Your dad’s great,” Brian said, taking my hand.  “I never expected him to let us borrow this .”

“The truck’s okay,” I mumbled.  “He’s kind of a lemon, though.  He acts up all the time.”

“He?” Brian asked, raising an amused eyebrow.  

I shrugged.  “Do you think this truck would be a ‘she’?”

He chuckled, and I couldn’t help but grin when those eyes were sparkling with laughter.  “Good point.”    After giving me a quick looking-over, he focused on driving again.  “Did I mention you’re gorgeous, ‘Belle?  Seriously.  Like…hot.  I’m going to be the luckiest guy there tonight, and every other girl is going to be green with envy.”

I flushed with pleasure at his compliment and floundered to come up with a compliment of my own.  “They’re gonna be green with envy anyway – since you’re with me.”

“That’s the plan,” he said with a wink.  “But who were those other ladies at your house tonight?”

“A couple of Dad’s friends from the base.  They’re kind of my adopted aunts.  R.C. was the one who got me this dress.  She’s a lifesaver.”

He checked me out again, reaching over to lightly stroke the satin of my skirt before returning both hands on the wheel.  “I’ll say.”

We hit a bump, and the radio suddenly blared to life.

“She’s her daddy’s girl, her mama’s world.

She deserves respect and that’s what she’ll get,

Ain’t it son?”

“Your dad listens to country?” Brian asked, surprised.

“I’ll see you when you get back, 

Probably be up all night

Still cleaning this gun.”

I thumped the dash with the flat of my fist until the music cut out.  Through gritted teeth, I said, “No.  The radio’s just as glitched as the rest of the truck.”

He chuckled again and reached for my hand.  “Don’t be upset, gorgeous.  I want us both to have fun tonight.”

“Thanks,” I said, finding a smile for him.  “I’ll just be happier once we’re actually at the prom.”

“Me, too,” he murmured with one more appreciative glance.

We arrived at the dance without any further commentary or misbehavior by Ironhide, and I breathed a sigh of relief when we were inside.  Finally, I could enjoy myself!

Brian wrapped an arm around my waist as we walked – first to get a glass of punch and then to join Bing and Michelle near one of the tables that ringed the room.  Brian was the one who did most the talking, since I really didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t mind.  Just being here was pure happiness.  

When a slow song started, Brian took my glass and put on the table beside his own.  “Do you want to dance?”

I beamed and nodded, and he led me onto the dance floor.  He held me even closer than he did at Michelle’s quinceañera, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, contentedly resting my head on his shoulder.  Humming in my ear, he stroked the small of my back while our bodies swayed together to the music.  Song after song I spent lost in his arms, and when the DJ sped things up again, he led me over toward Bing and Michelle and we danced together as a group.  Or, they danced – I just kind of bopped around a little bit.  I could shoot straight and talk intelligently to senators and admirals, but I couldn’t dance to save my life.  I did, however, manage to sneak in a few twirls, and Brian noticed the underskirt.  Watching the way his eyes lit up made me just want to hug Arcee.

We spent most of the night that way.  Whether it was a slow dance or a fast one, Brian was always close and almost always had a hand on me – on my elbow, my back, around my waist, or holding my own hand.  It was like his attention was centered squarely on me and I just ate it up.

About half an hour before the dance was supposed to end, Brian pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “Want to duck out a little early?  Go someplace where we can talk?”

I nodded, and we went back outside to Ironhide.  Seeing him again made me frown, but I reminded myself that he was just a ride tonight – just my father’s truck.  Brian opened my door first and helped me in, and as he was walking around to the driver’s side, I hissed to ‘Hide, “He’s polite!  See!”

He didn’t grace me with an answer.

Brian climbed into the driver’s seat, and we headed south, out of the main ‘town’ on Diego Garcia.  Again he held my hand, stroking my skin with his thumb.

“Where are we going?” I wondered.

“Turtle Cove, if you want,” he answered, his warm eyes inviting.

Oh, I wanted all right!  “Sounds nice.”

The moon was bright on the lagoon as we drove.  The island was u-shaped, with the town and airport and docks all on the northwest corner of the U, the restricted area with Boom Town and all that at the bottom of the U and the R&R cabins on northeastern section of the U.  Turtle Cove was at the bottom of the U and just a few minutes’ drive away from the restricted area check-point.  I’d driven past it several times with the Autobots, and Dad had taken me down there to skip stones or go fishing sometimes.  I’d never been there at night though.  With the full moon and the stars and the glass-smooth water of the lagoon, Turtle Cove would be about the most romantic place on the island.

Brian put Ironhide in park and hopped out.  I tried to open my door but it wouldn’t budge.  “Let him be a gentleman,” Ironhide prompted in a whisper.

I folded my arms in annoyance.  “Who elected you chaperone?”

He didn’t answer, though, because Brian had reached my door and opened it for me. Offering me his hand, he helped me out of the monster truck, and I did my best to ignore the Autobot after that.  My heels sank in the sand, and I frowned, looking down.

With a chuckle, Brian said, “Better walk on your tiptoes.”

I laughed, slogging through the sand beside him as ambled along the shore.

“Tonight’s been really nice,” Brian said after a second.  “You’re amazing, you know that?”

I flushed with pleasure and bumped his hip with my own.  “Thanks.  You’re not too bad yourself.”  An annoying mosquito buzzed nearby and I absentmindedly swatted at it.

He chuckled, bumping me back.  “Do you want to be my girl?”

I stopped, blinking in total surprise.  “Huh?”

“Girl.  You know?”

“Girlfriend?” I squeaked.

“Girlfriend…” he confirmed fighting a grin.  He stepped closer – so close I could almost feel his body warmth.  “…and boyfriend.”  His hands cupped my face, his expression almost serious now, and he pressed his lips to mine.  “There are some benefits to that,” he whispered, lightly kissing me. “Gotta thank you somehow .”

“Thank me?” I murmured, trying to keep my wits about me and happily failing.

“For putting up with…ugh!”  Brian jerked back and slapped at his face, squishing a mosquito.

I burst out laughing as he grimaced at the smooshed bug on his hand.  Sniggering, I said, “Maybe we should head indoors.”

“How ‘bout back to the truck?” he offered instead, wiping the bug on his pant leg.

I slipped my hand into his (clean) one.  “I guess I could live with that.”  Maybe Ironhide would be less of a pain if he knew Brian was serious about me.

We walked back – well, I tiptoed and he walked – and again Brian remembered to open my door without ‘Hide having to glitch about it.  I was starting to feel at least two more mosquito bites on my arms, so even though Brian and I would be having this conversation under Autobot surveillance, I was grateful to be back in the cab.  Slagging mosquitoes!

“Yes,” I said, when Brian was behind the wheel again.

“Huh?”

“I never answered your question,” I explained.  “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

His grin lit up his entire face, and I sighed at little.  He was strikingly handsome.  Leaning closer, he kissed me again, much more confidently this time.  I melted a little with each kiss, each caress as he stroked me – my face, my hair, my arms.  

With a breathless chuckle, he leaned away, but I followed him, my lips still seeking his.  He sighed a soft, totally-sexy moan and I felt his tongue…

Bad boys, bad boys whatcha gonna do?

Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?

I growled in frustration.  Lifting my Chromia-selected, steel-spiked Stiletto sandal, I kicked as hard as I could, driving it through Ironhide’s radio console.

Brian jerked upright.  “What the hell, ‘Belle?  Your dad’s gonna kill me!”

I blushed scarlet, realizing I had no way to explain that it was just a love-tap for an Autobot.  Drawing on my junior ambassador training, I tried to shrug it off.  “Some guy on the base will fix it.  No big deal.  Dad takes this thing into some pretty dicey situations, and it won’t be the first time the repair team would have to fix something cosmetic like this.”

Brian was still looking shocked, so I tried to kiss him, but he gently pushed me away.  “If I’m going to get you home on time, we have to leave now.”  He turned the key in the ignition and the engine reluctantly grumbled to life.  Ironhide was feeling cranky.

Something told me Brian was much more concerned about keeping curfew now than he had been a couple of minutes ago.  Probably he was terrified of what my dad’s reaction would be to his truck coming home damaged and wanted to be extra-sure to stay on Dad’s good side.  I fleetingly wondered if it would help to tell him that Dad would laugh.  Probably not, since I couldn’t explain what the joke would be.

I wistfully stared out the passenger-side window at the gorgeous moon over the romantic lagoon and sighed.

When we got home, I took preemptive measures and grabbed Dad by the hand, hauling him out to the front yard before Brian could protest.  “See,” I proudly said, pointing to the radio.  “I fixed that glitch for you!”

He busted out in guffaws so loud that Mia, RC, and Mom all found their way to the front porch to see what was going on.  And then they laughed – especially Chromia.  Brian hastily shook hands with Dad and left.  

So even though Prom ended with Brian running away and everyone laughing, at least it wasn’t at me.  That, and Brian was now my boyfriend.  I squealed and grabbed RC by the arm when I remembered that.  “He asked me to be his steady!” 

And of course, I spent the next hour in my room with Mom and Arcee telling them all about it.  (Chromia had slipped away murmuring something about Ironhide.  I wasn’t sure if she was going to kick him some more or kiss his boo-boos better, and frankly, I didn’t want to know.)

All things considered, the night definitely could have been worse!

…

Monday morning Brian was waiting for me at school. He casually slung his arm over my shoulders and we walked together through the front doors, declaring to the whole world that we were boyfriend and girlfriend.

I don’t think I heard a single thing said that day by the teachers or my classmates, I was flying that high.  Nothing but the sound of Brian’s laugh or his whispered words – “beautiful,” “happy,” and (my favorite of all) “ mine. ”  When classes let out for the day, he kissed me on the sidewalk for everyone to see.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to go to school in my life.  Tuesday was pure bliss again.  In the back of my mind, I knew the Autobots would come down on me like a ton of bricks if I flunked my finals, so I tried to focus.  It didn’t work very well, but I told myself that was probably okay because it was still only the first week of May, so I had some time to catch up.

On Wednesday, Brian and I got our first official warning on the whole PDA thing at lunch.  I should have been embarrassed to death, but Brian winked at me, and it was all I could do to not giggle right in front of the vice-principal.  

Thursday we were more discreet, taking bathroom passes at the same time so we could meet in a corner down by the gym for a couple minutes of kissing and giddy rebellion.  And we actually got away with it!  Mom told me that afternoon when she picked me up that I looked like the cat that ate the canary.  “Who says I didn’t?” I retorted with a grin.

Friday was early out, but I guess Mom forgot because she never showed up.  It wasn’t a super-long walk, so Brian and I set out hand-in-hand.  It was heading into winter here in the Southern Hemisphere, but all that meant on Diego Garcia was that we had sweltering-hot afternoons instead of the blistering-hot kind.  It was only polite to invite Brian in to the air conditioning when we got home.  I had absolutely no ulterior motive whatsoever.  (And if you believe that, I have a solar harvester in Egypt for sale.)  And it was through no conniving on my part that we ended up snug and horizontal on the couch exploring this new and interesting world of French kissing.  Nope.  I was just along for the ride.  Riiiight .

That night we went to the movies.  Once a month, the base hosted a movie night in the open-air amphitheater just south of town and my parents ‘just happened’ to come along, too.  So…double-date with my folks.  Yeah.  As if that was enough of a dampener, we spread our blankets and pillows out on the grass right in front of Ironhide.

Not much kissing went on that night, but I discovered just how sensuous holding hands could be.  Brian stroked my palm with his thumb or caressed the back of my hand with his fingertips until I had shivers running up and down my arm. And that’s not counting what it did to me when he trailed his fingernails along the inside of my wrist.  I was melting right there in the middle of the crowd with my parents on the blanket right next to ours.  Before parting ways that night, Brian kissed my hand, and I swear I felt that shiver all the way to my toes.

I spent most of Saturday at home catching up on home work and chores, but Sunday Brian took me to the west beach of the lagoon and we spent a couple of hours there windsurfing and soaking up the sun.  And kissing.  I did mention the kissing, right?  Playful little pecks on the cheek, slow serious kisses, hungry open-mouthed ones – I got a little bit of every kind of bliss.  When Hyde showed up to bring me home, I felt like it had been ten minutes instead of two and a half hours.

And Monday, we began it all over again!

My second weekend as Brian’s girlfriend, we went back to Turtle Cove, but this time we were smart and stayed in the cab, partly because of the mosquitoes but mostly because it was raining.  I never knew before then that the whole fogging up the windows thing was literal.

The third weekend we went for variety and watched the sunset from the bed of Ironhide’s alt-form out on Cannon Point.  (I figured the location might make Ironhide a little more bearable.)  But the bed of a truck isn’t the most comfortable place for making out, so after it was dark we ended up in the cab again.  The comfy, spacious cab.  

We’d spent plenty of time hand-holding and sharing little kisses in the gathering dusk, so once we were settled in, we went straight for fogging up the windows again.  It was harder without the rain, but we still made a valiant effort.  I was sprawled across Brian, running my fingers through his hair and reveling in the feel of his hungry mouth and wandering hands.

Brian slipped his hand under the hem of my shirt.  With sudden clarity I understood what was happening, where this was headed.  Maybe not right this second, maybe not for days or weeks, but this path Brian and I were on lead to only one destination – sex.  Was I ready for that?

Ironhide shuddered.  I jerked back.  

Brian didn’t seem to notice my shock, instead asking, "Was that an earthquake?"

"I don't know," I lied.

"Huh.  Must have just been the tires settling in the sand."  He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine.

I was too shaken, and Ironhide's reminder that he was still here  was a total mood killer.  I broke off the kiss.  "Brian, I...I really don't want my first time to be in the cab of a pickup, you know?"   Especially not  this pickup. 

"I understand, Belle."  His hands moved through my hair, pulling me close for another, lingering kiss.  "What do you want?  On a beach under the stars?" 

"I don't know."  I hadn't thought about this.  Hadn't anticipated it.  We'd only officially been boyfriend and girlfriend for a month.  

“Does it sound good to you, though?  The sound of the water on the shore.  Our bodies moving –” 

Ironhide shifted again.  SLAG!  Why couldn't he be like Bumblebee and encourage me?  This dating thing was scary enough  without a meddling, overprotective Autobot electing himself chaperone. 

"Please, Brian.  Not right now." 

His warm eyes glowed in the white moonlight.  "Then when, Belle?  Why not tonight?" 

"I'm just...not ready, okay?  Maybe we could talk about it tomorrow?" 

He sat up straighter and slid over behind the steering wheel again.  Still running one hand over my upper arm, he playfully said, "But I want to talk about it now.  I want to talk about how beautiful you are.  Really, you're gorgeous.  Do you have any idea what it did to me to see you in that bikini on our first date?  I've never been so –" 

Ironhide started rolling forward, and with a shout of surprise, Brian stood on the brake.  "What the hell?"  Reaching for the emergency brake, he locked us down.  "There.  You need to tell your Dad this thing almost put us in the ocean.  He really got a lemon with this truck, I'm telling you." 

Really not helping here, boyfriend.  Don’t tick off the one with the cannons.  "Maybe we should just head home." 

His breath whooshed out, and he rested his forehead on the steering wheel.  "You know what?  Fine.  I'll take you home." 

"It's just the truck," I mumbled out in apology.  "Like you said.  It's a lemon." 

“Of all the stupid…”  Angrily, he released the brake.  "Stop using the damn truck as an excuse, Belle.  You’re just not attracted to me; there's no chemistry."  He turned the key in the ignition, and miracle of miracles, it worked on the first try for him this time.  He threw it in gear, making a half-donut in the sand before pulling up onto the blacktop. 

"That's not it, Brian.  That's not it at all." 

"Then what's the problem?  I'll be good to you, Belle.  You'll like it, I promise.  You'll be begging for more, even if we are in the back seat of a truck." 

The engine suddenly revved with fury, and I could almost hear the choice words Ironhide would have for Brian, if he was allowed to talk right now.  "Brian...I mean this in the kindest possible way.  If you value your life, you won't say another word the rest of the way home." 

Ironhide squealed to a stop.  Brian got out and slammed the door.  "That's it!" 

"What?  What's wrong?" 

His eyes, so enticing before, now blazed in anger.  "I've had it with you and the way you keep throwing your daddy and his rank in my face." 

"WHAT?!" 

"All you had to say was no, Belle!  That's all you had to say.  N.O.  Simple!  I'm not a rapist .  But that's not good enough for the Colonel's drama queen.  You have to show off that you're Rambo's daughter and threaten my life. The rest of us gave up pretending we were superheroes years ago!  Cutting class with a military escort.  Putting your foot through the dashboard with your ninja skilz . I've had it!" 

Stunned, I could only stare as tears welled up in my eyes.  "I never," I breathed. 

Brian half-turned, already edging away from me.  "You know, the high-maintenance girls are only worth it if they give me something in return.  I've been with you for two months, Belle, and the only ride I got was a pickup." 

I tried to breathe, but my lungs wouldn't work right.  His words knocked the wind right out of me.  

"You're a snob, Belle.  First and foremost, the colonel's daughter.  Always.  Rank is more important to you than anything else because it makes you better than everyone else.  You're a snob and a bitch of a military brat."  

He turned his back and walked away, leaving the engine running in the middle of the road.  Tears rolling down my cheeks, I leaned back in my seat, still trying to catch my breath.  I didn't notice my hands were balled into fists until my fingernails were biting into my palms.  I wasn't!  I didn't obsess about rank, not that way!  No, no, no, no!  Breathe! 

A hand touched my arm and I startled.  It was Hyde, a heartbroken apology in his blue eyes.  My breathing hitched into a sob, and he gathered me into his arms, letting me cry.  "I didn't mean for him to break up with you," he whispered, stroking my hair.  "I just wanted him to stop talking about you like that." 

I knew that.  Didn't change what happened.  Through my sobs, I ordered him, "Take me home." 

“Cleaning This Gun” by Rodney Atkins

“Bad Boys” by Inner Circle

Chapter Text

I staggered through the front door, blinded by tears, but Hyde’s steady hand under my elbow didn’t let me walk into anything.  “What…?” I heard Mom exclaim, but she didn’t say anything after that, so I figured Hyde must have silenced her with a look.

The only good thing about Ironhide being a witness to my disastrous breakup was that I didn’t have to tell anyone. “’M going to bed,” I mumbled and, finding the railing for the stairs, dragged myself up to my room.

Brian’s parting shot ran through my mind over and over.  Colonel’s drama queen.  Snob.  Bitch.

I wasn’t a snob!  I never was invited to anything !  And nobody came when I invited them.  Nobody except the Autobots.  Nobody except grownups and aliens.  

I weakly laughed through my tears as I curled up in the middle of my bed.  No wonder I was a slagged-up mess when it came to social stuff.  Aliens and grownups – they were my peers.

I didn’t cut class with a military escort because I was Rambo’s daughter – it was because I was a fragging ambassador!  And I couldn’t – wasn’t allowed – to explain it to Brian or any of the kids at school.  My shoulders shook again with sobs.  So. Not. Fair!

But Brian was right about one thing – the only thing special about me was that I was Will Lennox’s daughter.  I wouldn’t be a junior Autobot ambassador and holoform trainer if I’d been somebody else’s kid.  Mr. Witwicky wouldn’t know me from Eve if my mom wasn’t the Autobot den mother.  I was nobody.  Just the teenage brat who happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Eventually my bedroom door creaked on its hinges, and Mom sat beside me on the bed.  She didn’t say anything – just rubbed my back while I cried.  I sobbed harder at first, now that someone was here to lean on, but eventually the sobs eased up to weeping until I was finally cried out except for the occasional sniffle.  All the while, Mom patiently sat with me.  Finally she offered, “I love you.”

That brought on another round of water works.  It was something, at least, that she still loved me despite me being such an idiot with Brian.  At least she wasn’t embarrassed by me.  She brushed the hair away from my face and softly asked, “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled.  

A beat later, she said, “Okay.  But if you change your mind or think of anything – and I do mean anything – let me know.”

“K,” I agreed with a shuddering breath.

She kissed my forehead.  “Good night.”

…

The next morning, Sunday, I heard a light tap on my bedroom door.  My eyes were all gritty from the crying, and I rubbed them as I called, “If you’re here to cheer me up, go away!”

My dad answered, “What if I’m here to offer my services as a hitman?”

I snorted despite myself.  He was mostly joking.  I hoped.  “I’m listening.”

He pushed the door open and sat down beside me on the bed.  More serious now, he asked, “You okay?”

“I will be,” I promised him.

“Ironhide told us what happened.”

“Showed you a holo, didn’t he.”

His poker face was all the answer I needed.  I groaned and buried my face in my pillow.

“My point,” he said, “is that you don’t have to talk about it, but I’m here if you want to.  Your mom and me both.”  After a second of hesitation, he added, “And so is Ironhide.”

“That glitch had the ball-bearings to say that?” I demanded.

Dad’s eyes flashed in anger for a second before he reined himself in.  “He didn’t have to, Annabelle.  I’ve only ever seen him that upset once.”

I didn’t have to be a genius to figure out when that one other time might be – and that one had been my fault, too.  Nobody had upset him like I did on my fifteenth birthday.  With a sinking feeling, I realized that Upset Ironhide meant Violent Ironhide.  “Tell me he hasn’t blown a great big crater in the island where Brian used to be standing.”

“Not yet, though he’s threatened to go after him.  The femmes have, too, and if I were in Brian’s shoes, I think I’d prefer Ironhide as my executioner.”

“Don’t,” I said, frowning and refusing to start crying again.  “Don’t let them.  Not for me.”

He blinked once in surprise.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I let out an exasperated sigh.  “It means what you think it means, Dad.  Me – my feelings or honor or whatever other crazy slag they think their defending – I’m not worth them going against the Autobot code.  It’s not even worth them getting in trouble with the brass for blowing their cover while harassing him.”

“They think it is.  That you are worth it.”

I snorted, and it made me sneeze.  Dad handed me the box of tissues from my night stand.

“I’m serious, Annabelle,” he said after I’d blown my nose.  “I don’t ever want to hear that you don’t think you’re worth it.”

“But I’m not!” I insisted.  “I’m like the cute puppy in the pet-store window – in the right place at the right time to get adopted.  I don’t have anything special to offer.”  Despite myself, my eyes started tearing up again.  “I can’t fight and I don’t have Mom’s hospitality and…”

“Samuel Prime thinks otherwise,” Dad softly interrupted.  “You remember.  He said as much – that fate had put you in our family for a reason.  Being in the right place in the right time is proof that you have something unique to offer.  Like how you handled Joe Marshall’s interrogation.  You do have gifts, and they do… ”  He paused.  “But that’s not what you’re saying, is it.”

I grimaced a little and looked down.

“Slag,” he muttered under his breath.  Looking at me, he said, “We love you for you , Annabelle.  Not because of what you have to offer but because of what you are .  You have grown into a young woman who I honestly think will be an important ally for the Autobots.  But even when you were just a baby, we loved you.  I loved you so much that I walked through Soccent’s destruction and through every battle from Mission City onward so I could make the world a little safer for you.”

In other words, he’d take a bullet for me.  I knew as a matter of fact that he had taken bullets.  Even when things were at their best with me and Brian, I don’t think I would have believed he loved me that much.

Something I’d heard the chaplains say at several NEST funerals randomly ran through my head.  Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

I swallowed hard, remembering Ironhide stretched out on the repair berth while Johnston pulled radioactive pellets out of the Autobot’s cavernous chest.  I knew without a doubt that Ironhide would take a deathblow for me.  Same thing with Arcee and Chromia and Ratchet.  Optimus would, no question.  Probably even Wheelie.  I glanced up at Dad.  “Is Ironhide still here?”

“Yeah,” Dad cautiously admitted.

I took a deep breath and threw off the covers.  “I’m going to go see him,” I announced, though I paused long enough to give Dad a tight hug.  “Thanks.”

“Anything for you,” he said, smoothing my hair and kissing the top of my head.  It wasn’t the type of kiss I’d been getting, but it was familiar – and much more real.

Mom waylaid me in the kitchen with a tight squeeze and promises of pancakes, and I embraced her back before walking out onto the back deck.  Ironhide loomed black and silent in the shadow of the palms.  I sank down to sit on the steps of the deck, belatedly realizing that I must look pretty silly in my pink flannel pajama pants and black tanktop with messed-up morning hair.  

“Hey,” I softly said.

“Good morning,” he rumbled as quietly as he could.

I sighed, trying to sort through my feelings.  I was plenty angry still, not to mention hurt, 

but I had a little more perspective than I did last night.  For one thing, I’d realized – as much as I hated to admit it – that he had been right.

“I didn’t appreciate it,” I murmured.

“I’m sorry, Annabelle.  I truly am.  I…”  He floundered for words, and I realized he’d misunderstood me.

“No, I mean, I should have appreciated it and didn’t.”

He waited in wary silence for the rest.

“If you say ‘I told you so,’ I’ll hate you forever – or at least for a few days.  But…you were right about the whole ‘he doesn’t see your soul’ thing.  I should have listened.  I’m sorry.”  I swallowed hard, tears welling in my eyes again as I remembered Brian’s brutal words last night.  “Don’t do it again.  I’ll listen, or at least I’ll try, but don’t interfere again, ‘kay?  Because I love you but I seriously want to slash your tires right now.”

Aaron Hyde materialized in front of me and silently offered me a bowie knife.  I huffed a half-hearted chuckle and pushed it aside, instead throwing my arms around him.  He held me close, stroking my hair just like Dad.  “Thanks for watching out for me,” I whispered through tears of gratitude now.  “And thanks for not killing Brian.”

“Your mother explained pretty vividly that it would only make things worse between us.  You are the only thing more important than ending his worthless life.”

And I think that was the most emphatic way Ironhide could have ever told me he loved me.  “She was right,” I said, just to be clear on that point.  “The idea is tempting, but you’re an Autobot.  You’re one of the good guys.  I want you to stay that way.”

He grunted, but didn’t actually answer.

“Besides, he’s nothing.  Nobody.  Definitely not worth your time and attention.”

“He was worth yours,” Ironhide answered, a subdued threat in his voice, and I knew that Brian still had a bulls-eye on his head.

“Not anymore,” I replied, defiance welling up in my soul.  “Not anymore.”

…

The next day I went to school with mascara on and my chin held high.  If he was going to be a slagging bastard, I wasn’t going to shed a tear for him.  After school was a different story, though, because no matter how much I told myself Brian wasn’t worth it, I still hurt .  I cried my mascara off and when I finally pulled myself together, I went downstairs to the living room and threw myself into doing homework.  The glitch of a human would break up with me the week before finals.  I was half-way through Spanish vocab when the doorbell rang.  I was listening to music, so I let Mom answer it.  Even through the headphones, though, I could hear Sideswipe’s boisterous, “Hey, Spitfire!”

I half-smiled at the sound and pushed my books aside, taking off the headphones.  It wasn’t like I was enjoying trying to cram months’ worth of learning into a few hours of studying.  Autobots were bound to be a better distraction than finals.

“Hi guys!” Mom sounded genuinely surprised.  “What’s up?”  A beat later, she said, “Oh.  I don’t know if…”

Sunstreaker’s holoform pushed past her into the living room, and I stood up to greet him.  And then I saw what he had in his hands.  A dozen roses in a vase, half silvery grey and half sunny yellow.  Oh.

Sunny set the vase on the coffee table between us and then stepped back.  Sideswipe was nervous, you could tell by the way his hands were constantly in motion.  Sunstreaker, however, was the picture of nonchalance.  He stood, leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb with his hands in his pockets.  

After exchanging a glance with his brother, Sideswipe said, “So we need you to settle a question for us, Firebrand.”

“Yeah,” Sunstreaker added.  “Because I think you’ll want to go out with me because I’m better looking…”

Sideswipe jumped in, “But I think you’ll have taste and will choose someone with an actual personality.  Besides, Sunstreaker’s the homicidal one, so you’ll want him to be the one to beat up Brian.”

“But I think,” Sunny answered, “you might not want Brian to actually die so you’ll go out with me and let Sides be the one to bloody the idiot.”

“But I think your dad’s less likely to have an aneurism if you go on a date with me. ”

“But I think…”

“HOLD IT!” Mom said, stepping to my side and crossing her arms.  “Who says she’s going on a date with either of you?”

They looked at each other like the idea of me not choosing one of them had never entered their processors.  

 “Don’t you want to date?” Sunny asked.

Mom pursed her lips but didn’t say anything.

“Um, yeah,” I answered, finally finding my voice, “but not my big brothers!”

Sideswipe was genuinely confused.  “We’re not…”

Mom sighed.  “Look, it’s a very kind gesture, but I think maybe we should let Annabelle study while you and I have a little talk in the backyard.”

“It’s ‘cause we’re too old, isn’t it,” Sunstreaker grumbled.  “You want the younger twins.”

Sideswipe visibly brightened.  “We can make our holoforms younger.”

Exasperated, I threw my hands in the air.  “I don’t want to date any Autobot!”

“Well if a date is just having fun like you told Ironhide, then why not?”

“Because it’d be a pity date, that’s why.”  The tears sprang to my eyes again, and I angrily wiped them away.  It wasn’t their fault that the intricacies of human courtship were lost on them.  

“Well that solves everything,” Sunstreaker said with a smirk.  “Everyone knows I have no pity.  Go out with me.  A movie and ice cream.”

“Ugh, Sunstreaker!  No.  And for future reference, bringing up past homicides is not the way to convince girls to date you.”

“Jolt?” Sunny pressed.  “He’s never harmed an Insecticon.”

I crossed my arms.  “Hey, be nice!”

“Maybe she likes one of the older ones,” Sides said.  

“Wheeljack?”  Sunny asked, disgust plain on his face.

“What part of ‘not dating any Autobot’ do you not understand?”

Sides ignored me.  “Ratchet?  Some girls have a thing for doctors, I hear.”

I rolled my eyes.  “Please.  That mental image actually hurt. ”

“Ironhide’s already taken,” Sunny mused, and then he gave me an appraising look.  “And so is Chromia.  Do you prefer femmes?”

“Gah!”  I grabbed the nearest potential missile – a largish candle from the coffee table – and hurled it at Sunstreaker.  Punk melee warrior that he is, he easily caught it with a smirk.  

“I do not prefer females!” I snarled.

“Then tell us,” Sideswipe begged.  “ If you had to go on a date with an Autobot, which one would it be?”

“I’m not dating any alien machinery, okay?”  

“But what if you had to?  To save the planet?” Sides wheedled.

I was ready to smack him, melee warrior or not.  “When would going on a date ever save the planet?”

“Guys,” Mom said, putting her hands on her hips.  “That’s enough.”

It suddenly clicked.  “You’ve got a bet riding on this, don’t you.”

Again Sides ignored me, whining to Mom, “But the suspense is killing us.”

“Then Prowl will be happy with the intel on how to offline you.”

Sunstreaker grinned at her.  It was not a friendly grin – it was one that usually had Ironhide or Sideswipe rolling their sleeves up for a smack-down.  “We’re not leaving until she tells us, Spitfire.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.  “If I tell you, will you go away?

“’Bot’s honor,” Sideswipe answered.  

“Fine.  If I had to go out with an Autobot, it would be Optimus.  Now leave.”

You could have heard a pin drop, and then Sunny and Sides busted out in laughter.  I mean, they were hanging on each others’ shoulders for support they were laughing so hard.  Tears swam in my eyes again and I bolted to my bedroom.  I didn’t lock the door because, so help me Primus, if one of them tried to follow me in here, I would find a way to kill an Autobot and with how I felt right then, I wouldn’t regret it one bit.  

Almost immediately, my cell phone chimed, announcing I had received a text message.

“Oh, Pit,” I grumbled.  Picking it up, I saw it was from Ironhide.  /I’m on my way to haul their slagging afts back to the base./

Before I finished reading it, the phone chimed with another text, this time from Chromia.  /I’m with Ironhide, and there won’t be enough left of ‘em to bring back to the base./

I placed the cell phone on my dresser and lay down on my bed, ignoring the next chime announcing another message.

Mom knocked on my door.  “Annabelle?  I took a baseball bat to Sideswipe and they both retreated after that.  Will you let me in?”

The phone on my dresser chimed with yet another text.

I opened the door and Mom entered, giving me a wry smile.  “Life’s never boring with Autobots around, is it?”

Chime .  Another text.  Chime .  Another text.

I plopped down on the bed again.  “Do they ever do anything besides annoy the crap out of me?”

 “Occasionally they save the world.”

Chime .  Another text.

Yeah, by dating lower life-forms, a snarky voice said in my mind.  Answering Mom, I grumbled, “I guess we’d better not kill them, then.”

Chime .  Mom crossed to my dresser and turned the power off on my phone.  Then she sat on the bed and put her arm around my shoulders.  “Were you serious about Optimus?”

I grimaced, looking down at the carpet.  

“You were,” Mom realized, a hint of alarm in her voice.

“It’s not what you think.”

She gently brushed my hair out of my face.  “Then tell me.”

I looked up at her.  “You know at the football games?  People will say hi or bring him a drink or whatever, but no one ever stays and talks with him.  He never shows it, but sometimes it just feels like he’s a little lost.  There’s a…bubble around him.  They’re all too respectful .  That’s why only Dad goes up against him when he plays a lineman.  I mean, who are your peers when you’re Optimus, leader of the Autobots and the resurrected Prime?  Sure, he considers Samuel as his brother, but he’s half a world away, and the only one who actually outranks him is God.  I think…”  I looked down again.  “I think he’s lonely.  And I know what that feels like.  And maybe, if we did something fun together, it would help him, too.  I pity-date him and he pity-dates me and maybe the pity would cancel itself out and we could both just have fun.”  I snorted, looking down again.  “It’d be more like a daddy-daughter date than anything else, but he sure beats any of the twins.”  Mom didn’t say anything for a long minute, so I added, “ That’s why Optimus is the only Autobot I’d even consider going to a movie with.  I’m not attracted to him or anything weird like that.”

Mom touched my chin, tipping my face up so she could meet my eyes.  “Annabelle Marie Lennox, I am very proud of you.”

That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.

She continued, “In the middle of your own hurt, you look with the eyes of compassion and see suffering others do not.”

“I kind of noticed it at Thanksgiving,” I muttered, blushing.

“Still.”  She glanced at my cell phone, and I envisioned it with a brimming inbox.  “The word’s out now.”  Looking back at me, she said, “Would you mind if I told your dad what you told me?  Before he really does have an aneurism or otherwise ends up in Ratchet’s care?”

I grimaced but answered, “Sure.”

“Do you mind if I tell Optimus?”

“MOM!”  I jumped to my feet, scarlet to the ears.  “I am not propositioning him! I was just saying if .”

“Honey…”  Her eyes darted to the lying-in-wait cell phone.  “Optimus probably already knows what you said.  He might be worried, too.  Can you imagine how awkward it will be between him and Will now?”

I rolled my eyes before dramatically throwing myself face-down and spread-eagle on the bed.  “I hate the twins.”  Where visiting human dignitaries couldn’t reach me, Sunny and Sides cracked me like an egg.

She patted my shoulder sympathetically.  “You and the rest of the universe, sweetie.  We’ll blame it all on them.  They might even earn time in the brig over this.”

I grinned evilly at the thought and then sighed.  “Fine.  If Optimus brings it up, Dad can tell him.  But only if Optimus asks.”

“Okay.”  The bed moved as she got to her feet.  “But you can’t use disruptive Autobot brats as an excuse to skip out on your exams.  They’re top secret, and even here, your teacher would never buy it.”

I smirked, knowing that was true.  “I’ll be down in a few.”

“Okay.”  She closed the door behind her as she left.

…

Dad got home a half-hour late, but he walked right over to me in the kitchen and put his arms around me.  “I’m so sorry about all this, Annabelle.”

I shrugged, only half-heartedly returning the hug.  I thought it, but I didn’t say, ‘Welcome to my screwed-up life.’

“This will blow over,” he assured me.  “Two weeks from now the twins will think up another stupid prank and no one will ever remember this.”

Lies, lies.

…

After dinner, I went into the living room and tossed my cell phone to my dad.  Lounging on the couch, I said, “Okay.  They’re your idiot robots; you get to screen the texts.  How bad is it?”

Dad powered up the cell phone.  After seeing the hint of amusement in his surprised expression, I looked at the ceiling.  The very last thing I wanted to see right now was someone finding a silver lining in all this.  Especially if the silver lining wasn’t for me.

“Hmm.  The first few are mostly along the lines of ‘Is it true?’  Then the incident made it onto Bumblebee’s blog, and most of the rest of the texts are comment alerts.”  There was a long pause as he worked his way through those.  “Skids and Mudflap are up to their usual stupidity.  Arcee and your mother both went up to bat for you, and Mikaela had the mod shut down the comment thread.”

I held my hand out for the phone and scrolled through the senders.  Comments by Optimus were conspicuously absent.  “Thanks, Dad,” I murmured, worried by his silence.  If Optimus wasn’t commenting, that meant he was still thinking, and I had an ominous feeling about that fact.

Chapter Text

Only moments later, my dad’s cell phone rang.  “Hello?”

I was sitting close enough that I could hear the other voice on the line.  The sound made me want to go curl up in a ball and hide in the bottom of my closet.  It was Optimus Prime – who else?  “Hello, Will.  May I come visit you and your family tonight?”  

I shut my eyes, knowing what the answer would be.  

“Of course.”

“Thank you.  I will be there in approximately two minutes.”

Sure enough, I could see his headlights coming up the drive.  Instead of parking in the front, he rolled around into the back and transformed.  Oh no.  No holoform or alt-form.  He was here as leader of the Autobots.  Dad was already on the back deck, and I slowly trailed behind Mom.  When we were all there, Optimus said, “William, Sarah, Annabelle, I offer you my deepest apologies.”

Oh slag .  He used our human names.  It felt exactly the same as when Mom used my middle name.  We were all in trouble.

“Sideswipe’s and Sunstreaker’s behavior was inexcusable, and I wanted to personally inform you they are in the brig.”

“That’s kind of overkill,” Dad answered.  “They were idiots, but we’ve come to expect that from them.”

Optimus’ expression became even more serious.  “Then they have enjoyed far too much latitude in their interactions with humans.”

Oh frag it!  “You’re kicking us out?” I said without thinking.

Prime paused, his expression seemingly frozen.  A poker face?  After a long moment, he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are under orders to refrain from all non-essential human contact until you, Annabelle, deem their sentence complete.  This includes the Epps family and Sam and Mikaela.”

Whoa.  I was disciplining the twins ?

“Bumblebee’s blog is also suspended until you deem him appropriately penitent.”  He watched me expectantly.

“Oh” was all I could manage to say.

“Sarah,” Prime continued, “Ratchet has uploaded compulsory subroutines for all of us that send a command-level all-call if we refuse to leave when asked.  You will never have to chase off one of my Autobots with a baseball bat again.”

“Optimus, that really isn’t necessary.”

“It is already done.”

Mom and I shared a worried glance.  I’d never heard of him using compulsory anything.  Prime was really riled about this for some reason.

Looking at Dad, Optimus said, “You who have fought at our sides and shed your blood in our defense should never be treated as pets .  I fear that, in becoming so familiar, we have given you and all who stand with us great insult.  I personally value you and your men, Colonel William Lennox, and I ask for your forgiveness on my followers’ behalf.”

I was floored.  Dad looked even more shocked.  His jaw slowly closed, and I expected him to protest just like he had earlier about the twins being in the brig.  But he didn’t.  He took a minute to mull over Prime’s words.  “You don’t have a human name,” Dad said, and I think that I must have looked as surprised as Optimus did by this turn in the conversation.  “Sunny and Sides, ‘Mia and ‘Hide, ‘Jack and ‘Bee all have human designations.  Even Prowl and Ratchet translate into passable nicknames all by themselves.  But you don’t use the English translation of your name.”

Optimus pressed his metallic lips together.  

“Graham told me once what it means.  It’s Latin for something like First and Best.”  He let that hang in the air for a second.  “No wonder you didn’t go with a straight-up English translation.  So I’m not sure how to speak to you as William Lennox.  I don’t know what to say to you without sounding disrespectful as the mere organic approaching First-and-Best of the Autobots.  I don’t know how to bridge that divide.  So I won’t.  I’m talking to you as Iron Will, Prime.  I forgive the twins and Bumblebee and all the others.  And I forgive you.  But only if you will forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

Prime lifted a piece of optic hardware in the mechanical equivalent of raising an eyebrow.  

“I, William Lennox, give you the human designation of Tim Furst.”

If the whole thing hadn’t felt like a really weird dream, I would have laughed out loud.  Especially when I caught the dumbfounded look on Optimus’ face.  Who knew metal could be that expressive?  But as his expression slowly changed from shock to great dignity, I realized he was taking my dad seriously.  

“So,” Dad continued, “do we stay out here and continue this conversation as Autobots or go inside and talk as humans?”

Optimus considered for a moment.  “It is your home and for you to decide.”

“Inside, then,” Dad grinned.  “Tim.”

“May I speak alone with Annabelle for a moment?” Optimus asked.

Dad looked at me, and I nodded, so he and Mom went inside.  This whole day was just weird beyond words.  The greatest leader of an awesome alien race wanted to have a heart-to-spark with little old me?  Sure, why not?  Optimus knelt down so we were eye to optic.  “I spoke with Will today, and he explained what you meant earlier.  I wished to thank you for your concern for me.”

I looked down and mumbled, “You’re welcome.”

Warm steel lightly brushed my chin as Optimus lifted my face.  “I also wished to assure you it’s unnecessary.  I am no more alone than you are.”

He meant it as a comfort, but it really didn’t help.  I didn’t know what to say.

Optimus paused, searching my expression, and then said, “But you feel alone.”  

He was an alien robot.  How could he read my face better than Dad?  “Not among the Autobots,” I honestly answered.

Again he paused, mulling over what I’d said in the same way Dad had earlier.  I was positive it was something Dad learned from him and not the other way around.

“I have to admit,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, “you baffle me sometimes.  It takes our sparklings centuries to reach maturity.  You have accomplished it in fifteen swift years.  I forget, sometimes, how grown you are.”  Straightening, he said, “You want a normal life.”  

I sighed deeply.  It sounded so…typically teen when he put it that way.  “I want to have a chance at one.”

“As we learned with Sam and Mikaela, Autobots are incompatible with a normal life.  We cannot undo the harm we have caused by selfishly linking our lives with yours.  But I can remove future interference.  Speak the word and Sunstreaker and Sideswipe stay in the brig until your future children are grown.  We can provide you with a new cell phone, one that Skids and Mudflap don’t have in their speed dial.  It can be selective as well – keep Ironhide and Chromia in your life but not Wheeljack or myself.  This is a choice that rightfully is yours but you were never given.  I offer it to you now.  Do you want a normal life?”

I had to admit that, in the last nine months, there were times I had wished for exactly that.  But looking Optimus Prime in the optics, I realized I wouldn’t trade the people in my life – my family – for the world.  Or any number of boyfriends.  

“I guess not.”

“You would temporarily sacrifice your courtships to maintain our amity with your family?”

Like I had a bunch of boyfriends already lined up.  I squared my shoulders.  “And with me.  Yes.”

The light in his optics softened and he looked almost relieved.  “Thank you.”  

Optimus transformed back into his alt-mode, and his holoform climbed out of the cab.  I raised my eyebrows at the figure striding across the grass toward me.  He had the familiar cowboy hat, glasses, bright blue eyes and dark hair, but he couldn’t be a day older than eighteen.  He politely offered me his arm – which I automatically took even though I was stunned – as we crossed the deck and he opened the back door for me.

Mom and Dad were in the kitchen, squeezing limes for limeades.  Mom looked up and did a double-take at Optimus’ younger holoform.  Staring owlishly, she elbowed Dad, whose jaw dropped when he finally glanced our way.  Mom recovered first, stage-whispering, “And you said no one could ever be good enough for our daughter.”

I pulled my hand away from Optimus’ arm, my cheeks burning in embarrassment.

Dad cleared his throat.  “Welcome, Tim.  Have a seat.”

Optimus – Tim – pulled a chair out for me before sitting down himself.  I was never going to get used to that.  Was it as shocking for the Autobots to call me Spitlet?  No, I realized, but it might have come close when I insisted on being called Annabelle.  And that particular name-change would have been shocking and hurtful.

“So why ‘Tim’?” Optimus asked.  He still had that deep, steadying voice even though he looked so young.

“Well,” Dad drawled, “it was either that or Opie.”

Optimus’ smily was sly.  “I thought maybe it was a sarcastic reference to ‘Tiny Tim,’ but given the alternative, I’ll take the designation and be quiet.”

“Wise man,” Mom said, putting a glass of limeade each in front of both of us before sitting down with her own drink.  “I still haven’t told Annabelle some of the atrocious name combinations Will came up with for her before she was born.”

Dad rolled his eyes, but he knew when he was beat and didn’t argue with Mom.  Taking his seat, he said, “For the record, only humans get away with calling you that, and only when you’re in your holoform.  Feel free to beat in their helms if any ‘bots have enough cheek to call you anything other than Optimus Prime.”

“I’ll take that under consideration,” Optimus – Tim – solemnly answered, but he was grinning.  “And speaking of beating in helms…” He turned toward me.  “We need to hammer out some details about Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Bumblebee, when you’re ready.”

“They were just being themselves.”

Tim…I just couldn’t call him that, even in my mind.  Furst?  Maybe I could handle that.  Furst raised his hand to dismiss my protests.  “They were inexcusably rude to you.  Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in particular need something like brig time to understand something is a bad idea.  It won’t necessarily prevent them from being foolish again, but at least they’ll know it’s wrong.”

“But I don’t have experience with anything like this.”

“We’ve already chosen the punishment, but since you’re the one they offended, you get a say in the length.  And…”  Furst leaned closer conspiratorially.  “Just between us, Prowl has requested that you keep Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in the brig for a week.  He’s going to be off-island for a few days and he’d take it as a personal favor if the twins were locked up while he’s gone.”

I chuckled.  “Well in that case….Done, as long as I have visitation rights.  But Prowl owes me.”

Furst smirked.  “And he knows it.  As for Bumblebee…”

“Any recommendations?” I asked him.

Furst shook his head, looking almost wistful.  “Mikaela has taken the proverbial wrench to him.  Given the chance, he’d probably beg forgiveness on his knees.”

I could just imagine poor Bumblebee begging with clasped hands and tearful optics. “That’d be cheating.” 

Furst smiled, nodding in agreement but still awaiting my decision.

“How about this?  He can get The Daily Buzz reinstated when Sunny and Sides get out of the brig.”

“It’s your choice.”

“Then that’s what I want.”

Furst leaned back in his chair, looking almost happy for once.  “Good.”  Then he eyed Dad.  “But I’m curious about something, William.”

Dad took a sip of his drink.  “What’s that?”

“Did you have an uncharacteristic flash of interpersonal insight, or did someone forewarn you?”

Dad choked on his drink, and Furst smirked.  

“Prowl?” Furst guessed.

Coughing a few times and thumping his chest, Dad managed to say, “Flash of inspiration.”

“It is too late to lie, Will.  Besides, using names to build bridges isn’t your style.”

“Umm…what?” Mom asked.

Furst sighed, leaning forward again, but it was a long moment before he spoke.  When he did, his voice was soft.  “As you are all aware, designations are important to us.  Most of us have several nicknames as you call them, and the name we choose to use indicates many things.  Rank.  Allegiances.  Personality.  Functions.  Friendships.  Family.  Very few of us publicly use the grander designations given us because we have other names, other ties.”  He looked up at Dad.  “It has been a very long time since I have been anything other than Optimus Prime.”  Furst’s eyes narrowed.  “So I ask you again.  Who told you?”

Dad sighed.  “Actually it was ‘Hide.  He saw you coming down on the twins and guessed what you were thinking.”

“And what was that?” Furst pressed.

“That you Autobots had become too presumptuous with us.”

Raising an incredulous eyebrow, Furst said, “Ironhide used the word ‘presumptuous?’”

“No,” Dad admitted with a slight wince, knowing he’d been caught in a lie.  “That was Ratchet, after you had him pull a copy of the twins’ memories.  I’d rather not repeat Ironhide’s exact words in front of my wife and daughter, but he thought you’d probably try to create a respectful distance between us and the Autobots and maybe even…revoke our Autobot designations.”

“So it was a conspiracy.”  Furst’s expression gave away nothing.  “This has Prowl’s marks all over it.  Am I wrong?”

“No,” Dad sighed, resigned to telling the Autobot leader the truth.  “He was the one who suggested that giving you a human name might work.”

Furst drummed his fingers on the tabletop for a moment and then paused.  “Work?”

“Stop you from cutting us off.”

His bright blue eyes met each of ours in turn and then he sighed, looking down at the table.  “Fifteen years of working by your side, and it appears that I underestimated you all.  Forgive me.”

“Meh,” Mom said lightly, grinning.  “It’s what families do, Tim.”

He looked up at the name and a genuine smile spread across his face.  “Thank you.”

…

When Furst stood to leave a little while later, I followed him to the back porch.  “Just a second.”

He turned, curiosity in his eyes.  “Yes?”

“What’s with the holoform?” I blurted out.  I’d tried to think of a more polite way to say it, but it just kind of fell out of my mouth anyway.

He nodded to the patio chairs on the back deck and said, “Come sit with me.”  When we were both settled in, he gathered his thoughts for a moment. “For a long time, we regretted the compromise that forced us to lie to you, Annabelle.  To this day, there are consequences of it that I still regret.  But over time, we have realized it was a blessing in disguise, as Mrs. Epps termed it.   Six years ago, I held the newborn Daniel Robert Epps in the palm of my hand. Can you honestly imagine placing an infant not five hours old in the hands of that?”  

He gestured toward his alt-form, and while I knew Optimus – knew he would die himself before harming a human – I couldn’t imagine blithely handing over a newborn to him in his robot form. It was just something…instinctive.

“In our human holoforms,” he continued, “we all held him – me, Chromia, Ironhide, Arcee, Jolt, even Prowl.  All of us.  Annabelle, because we could act only human around you, it forced us to become more human.  We learned human gestures and facial expressions. We learned to play football and video games and to celebrate the things we cherish.  And it has allowed us to appreciate and interact better with the humans beyond NEST.”

“But what does that have to do with…?”  I gestured in the direction of his made-over holoform.

“My point is that we have learned to bridge divides that, when we first arrived on Earth, would have been insurmountable.  There are, of course, some divides that even a human holoform will not allow us to bridge, but age is not one of them.  We have taken much from you, including social opportunities.  That is one of the consequences I still regret.”

Completely incredulous, I asked, “So…you’re asking me out?”

He chuckled.  “No.  You clearly indicated that a date with any Autobot would be a last resort.  But you also made your preference clear.  I wanted you to understand that, should the fate of the world ever rest on you going to a social event with an alien machine, I would not subject you to a daddy-daughter date.”

Okaaay.  “Aren’t the others going to give you a hard time about…the sudden change?”

“I won’t use this format for my holoform around them.”

Oh.  I got it now.  “You were just showing me my options.”

He nodded.  “Giving you a choice, yes.”

“Gotcha.  It’s very sweet of you, Optimus.  Tim.  Thank you.”  Even though I would never, ever, ever be asking him out, it was very thoughtful. 

He rumbled another chuckle, rising to his feet.  “You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

The second school day after the break up was no better than the first.  I sat alone at lunch while Brian laughed and talked with Bing and Michelle two tables over.  Pure stubbornness kept me from crying, and it was proof (as if any was needed) that I was my father’s daughter when I didn’t shed a single tear.  Even when Heather made a point of ignoring me when we were supposed to work in the same group together in English, I just rolled my eyes at her and started working on the assignment on my own.  

Mom picked me up like usual, but her greeting was subdued. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hey.”  I closed the door and stared blankly out the window while we drove away.  We rode in silence until Mom turned us down the driveway.  “If you don’t want to talk to him right now, I can ask him to leave.  I’m sure he’ll understand.”

I lifted my head to ask her what she meant and noticed the semi parked in front of the house.  My heart fell to my shoes, but I just murmured, “Naw, it’s okay.”  This was Optimus, after all.  He probably just came because he had an assignment for Rambo’s daughter.

As we got closer, I noticed that the figure sitting on the steps of the front porch was Optimus’ younger holoform and I was really tempted to take my mom up on her offer.  But it would be just plain rude to not at least say hi to…him.  I halfheartedly snorted when I thought of his human designation.  Tim Furst – my dad really did come up with the craziest names.

Mom parked in front of the garage so we could greet Optimus…Tim…Furst.  “Hey,” I said to him as I climbed out of the car.

“Annabelle,” he solemnly answered.  Nodding to Mom, he added, “Sarah.”

“Hi, Tim!  Care to come in?”

“Actually,” he turned his brilliant blue eyes on me, “I was hoping you would go for a walk with me, Annabelle.”

I gaped like a fish out of water, but Mom came to my rescue.  “As long as you’ll finish your homework after dinner, I don’t see any reason why not.”

Recovering a little, I said, “Sure.”  

Optim…Furst offered me his arm, and I took it, still pretty tongue-tied.  We walked together around the house and down toward the beach.  “I spoke with Sam last night,” he announced.  “My brother reminded me of a few points I neglected to discuss with you yesterday evening.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.  You told your father that it was coincidence that you were an Autobot, that you just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“Ironhide,” I muttered, realizing he must have tattled on me.

Furst chuckled.  “Yes.  No one can gossip as quickly or efficiently as Autobots, or so your mother tells me.”

Yeah, info dumps would help with that.

“As I was saying, your father replied that Sam felt otherwise.  I wanted you to know that he was only half right.”

I glanced up at him curiously, and he gave me a sidelong smile.  “I, too, feel that it is your fate to be one of us, Firebrand.  Annabelle.”  

His words warmed my heart, even as it broke a little.  “You wouldn’t even know me if my last name wasn’t Lennox.”

“I would never have known Sam if his last name wasn’t Witwicky.”

I blinked for a second or two, trying to wrap my head around it.  I’d grown up with Sam and Optimus being brothers, so the idea that there was a time when they weren’t was kinda hard to grasp.  

“Fate provides the opportunity; we provide the proof of that trust.”

Again looking up at him, I ventured, “Joe Marshall?”

He stopped under the shade of a palm and turned to face me.  “Wheeljack’s lab,” he corrected.  “You saved Ironhide’s life that day.  And the last time that someone had the circuits to hug Ratchet was long before you were born.

“A bet between Sunny and Sides?” I guessed.

“And there’s a reason no one has dared since,” he said, confirming my guess.    What’s the saying?  ‘Heaven protects fools and children?’”

I smirked up at him.  “And which one am I?”

His eyes sparkled with sly humor.  “Inordinately lucky,” he diplomatically answered.  “My point is that you fulfill not just a useful role, but a unique one.  We would be lessened by your absence.”

Embarrassment left me flustered.  “Thank you.”

“I also wanted to clear up one other issue.  I agree with you that it was better for Ironhide and the femmes to control their tempers regarding Brian, but only because we value life so highly – not because your honor is worth so little.”

This time I actually blushed.

“Were the circumstances different, were he a Cybertronian…”

“The whole tribe would take turns beating him up. I get it, I get it.”

“They would have to get in line behind me , and there wouldn’t be much left of him when I was done.”

My eyebrows shot up in surprise at that.

“You are one of my…family.  You were dear to us – to me – before you even learned to walk.  And I protect my Autobots.  Do you understand?”

Amity, that’s what my mom called it.  The love the Autobots had for each other – their willingness to die for each other and for us mere mortals.  It had nothing to do with smooching and everything to do with that line from the Bible or wherever the NEST chaplains got it.  Optimus Prime loved all his Autobots so much that he’d die for them.  And they would for him.  It was one thing to know that in the abstract.  It was quite another to look into the fierce fire of the Prime’s optics (even if he was looking through the eyes of Tim Furst at the moment) and know that he would kill for me if his own code of honor didn’t forbid it.

I swallowed hard.  “I understand.”

He nodded brusquely.  “Good.”

…

Aaron Hyde was worse than my own mother at dinner that night.  “Prowl said Optimus paid you a visit, Firebrand.”

“Yeah,” I said, suddenly going into junior-ambassador mode and trying to anticipate where he would go with his line of questioning.

“What did you two do?” Hyde pressed.  Mia and R.C. were having a spirited conversation that somehow just screamed that they were really eavesdropping.  (Only an alien robot could pull that off.)

I lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug.  “Went for a walk.  And talked.”

“About what?”  His voice turned almost ominous somehow, and I threw him a nervous glance.  He had set his fork down and was leaning closer, peering at me.

“Honor and stuff.”

That clearly caught him by surprise.  “Honor?”

“Uh-huh.”

He and Mia shared a Look that gave away both the fact that she was eavesdropping and that she was as surprised as Hyde.  “As in…avenging wrongs done to you?”

“As in he’d be first in line, if the circumstances were different.”

“He said that?!” R.C. squealed.

Confused, I looked to each of them in turn.  “Yeah…?”

R.C. gave her sister a high-five.  

“It’s about time someone did something to those twins,” Mia said decisively.  “They can’t mock our little Firebrand and get away with it.”

“Not on my watch,” Hyde rumbled.  “I’m glad Prime has finally seen the light.”

Mom smothered a smile with her hand, but Dad didn’t bother, tipping back his chair and openly grinning.

“Um…Huh?”

“Revenge,” Hyde explained, his eyes glowing with an unholy light.  “When it comes to defending your honor, Brian may be off limits, but Sunstreaker and Sideswipe…”

“…are long overdue for a well-executed prank,” Dad finished for him. 

I looked to Mom for help, but she just chuckled and shook her head.  

“It’ll be good for you,” Mia promised.  “Nothing distracts from a bad mood like beating the slag out of somebody.  So what are you going to do to them?”

Sweet Cyberton, what had I gotten myself into?

…

Dad hosted a huge football game and picnic on the Saturday over Memorial Day weekend.  It was a big deal – so much so that Wheeljack was forbidden from experimenting with anything for a full week prior, just to make sure he wasn’t stuck in med bay with Ratchet during the game.  This was done to keep the teams even and to spare Wheeljack from Ratchet’s significant wrath at missing out on such an important event.

I was setting out the last of the field markers for the football game when a deep, familiar voice behind me said, “Your father thought you would appreciate this.”

The respectably mature holoform of Optimus Prime stood a few feet away, offering me a tall glass of lemonade.  We – Mom, Dad, and I – had decided to let him get away with using the name of Optimus as long as the others were around.  His human designation was just for among us.  I stepped closer, accepting the glass.  “Thank you.”  In a voice so low it was almost a whisper, I added, “I need to talk with Tim when he has a moment, though.”  

He studied me for a moment, no doubt wondering what I wanted to say to his younger form that I couldn’t say to his normal human face.  “Now?”

“Yes, if possible.”

Optimus pursed his lips and looked over the back yard where everyone was still milling about and talking.  The football game wouldn’t get started for at least another half hour, but sound would carry too well to alien audios for us to have a conversation out here.

“Go talk to Mom and then meet me in the house.”

Clearly displeased, Optimus nodded once and then went over to the buffet table where Mom and Mrs. Epps stood talking.  I brought the lemonade inside, listening to the voicemails on my cell phone as I went so no one would delay me.  As planned, I started the washing machine to provide some white noise and then I nervously waited in the living room for Optimus.

I heard footfalls in the hallway and the younger holoform I’d come to think of as Tim Furst stepped into the room.  

I moved closer and, whispering again, said, “Ironhide tells me it’s a matter of honor that I get back at Sunny and Sides.”

He frowned and whispered in answer, “I highly recommend that you do not pursue this course of action.”

I grinned.  “I thought I was talking to Furst, not the Prime.”

His jaw clenched.  “It doesn’t matter who is speaking, it would be unwise for you to prank the twins.  You cannot beat them at their own game – they literally have a thousand times more experience at it.”

I gave him an innocent smile.  “I don’t intend to.  I’m going to beat them at my game. The pieces are in place and the players are lining up.  Can I count you in?”

“I can’t prank my own warriors.”

I stole his white hat, putting it on my own head.  “Optimus can’t, but Tim can. ”

He pondered that for a moment and I almost worried that he would back out.  I couldn’t set this up without him, and I really didn’t want to get into trouble with him if he disapproved of my plan.  

He chuckled softly, snatching his hat back and twirling it in his hands.  “So long as the Prime remains squeaky-clean, I’m in.  What do you need me to do?”

“Accept the invitation Mrs. Epps will give you after the football game.  You’ll find out more later.”

Putting his hat back on, Furst nodded once and flickered out of existence, only to be replaced by Prime.  “Firebrand?” he asked in a normal speaking tone.  “Spitfire asked me to bring out more ice.  Do you have any idea where it is?”

I allowed myself one last evil grin before I went back to being the helpful-if-sometimes-snarky teenager.  “Sure.  It’s in the deep freeze.”

The invitation from Mrs. Epps was to a formal dinner for the NEST senior officers on Sunday evening.  Optimus, Prowl, Ironhide, and Ratchet all agreed to come, while Wheeljack would remain behind to run the base.  Dad and Mom were invited, too, and so I got to tag along.

In reality, it was the first meeting of the “Humiliate Sunstreaker and Sideswipe Coalition.”  After consulting Prowl, we came to the conclusion that, like the perfect crime, the perfect prank is one in which the victims don’t even realize they’ve been targeted.  No perpetrators equals no retaliation.  Our small band of conspirators also agreed that, to this end, we could leave no paper trail.  All communications would have to be face-to-face and verbal.  

Optimus was concerned about the fact that all this would be happening during finals week, so he added the stipulation that if I didn’t get at least as good grades on my finals as I was already pulling in my classes, he’d tell Sunstreaker and Sideswipe that I set them up.  If that isn’t incentive to study hard, I don’t know what is!

Two days after our first powwow, Dad came home from work and announced his presence by hollering, “Hey Annabelle, I brought your beau home.”

“DAD!” I whined, coming downstairs from my bedroom.  “For the love of plasma cannons, he’s an alien robot, and the Prime at that.”

Optimus’ younger hologram Tim Furst was blushing in the doorway and I heard a smack and Dad exclaim “Ow!” in the kitchen.  “Thank you, Spitfire,” Furst rumbled.

“That’s Sarah to you,” Mom said, coming in from the kitchen and catching Furst in a quick, maternal hug.  He froze in surprise at the gesture, but if Mom noticed, she ignored it and wandered to my side.  “Hey, Tim!  How’s it going?”

“Very well, actually,” he said, recovering.  “I cannot stay for long, but I wanted to report to our cunning leader.”

I squealed and Mom laughed as Dad drew the curtains and switched off the lights.  Furst disappeared, and suddenly we were standing in the hall outside Prowl’s and Optimus’ offices.  A hologram, I realized.  Sunstreaker and Sideswipe lounged outside Prowl’s door, obviously awaiting punishment for something they’d done. (How much trouble could those guys get into, anyway?  They’d only been out of the brig for a couple of days, for crying out loud!)  Optimus and Epps were walking down the hall toward us.  “I sympathize with your predicament,” the Autobot was saying, “but there is little I can do.  Even the strongest and bravest of my Autobots would hesitate at a mission like that.”

At the words ‘strongest and bravest,’ Sunny and Sides both perked up and looked at Prime.  

“Couldn’t you at least ask for volunteers?” Epps pleaded.  “Or let me?”

“I am not sure it would be appropriate.”

“I’m begging you, Prime.  I’m dead if this doesn’t happen.”

“We can help,” Sideswipe said.

Optimus looked up and studied the twins for a good, long moment.  “Are you certain?  This is no light undertaking.”

Sunstreaker squared his shoulders.  “We can handle anything.”

“If it’s two against one, they probably could pull it off,” Epps said hesitantly.  “If we get them some additional training.”

Sunstreaker looked positively insulted at that.

“It would solve two problems with a single solution,” Prime observed.

Right on cue, Prowl opened his door.  “Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, in my office, now.”

“Wait!” Epps said, looking desperate.  “You can’t punish them right now!  Optimus has an assignment for them.”

The twins grinned at each other.

Prowl looked askance at Optimus, but Prime just nodded.  “They have volunteered to assist Epps with his predicament.  Perhaps we can substitute community service for confinement this time?”

Prowl turned his cold optics on Epps.  “And you’ve already cleared it on your end?”

Epps grimaced.  “Not yet.  Let me call my superior officer .”  He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.  The twins shared a fist bump and Prowl glowered at them.  

“Hey honey,” Epps began.  “Great news!  I found a sitter for Friday while Annabelle and the boys are at school!  We can still go on our anniversary getaway!”  

The twins’ faces were frozen in matching expressions of shock.  Giggling hysterically, I fell against my mom’s shoulder.  She was shaking with laughter, too.

“Uh huh!” the holographic Epps continued.  “Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.”  There was a pause, and even in the hologram, I could hear that Theresa Epps had raised her voice.  “But there will be two of them,” Epps protested.  “And Sarah Lennox can still help them out with text messages even if she is too sick with the swine flu to babysit.  And it’ll only be while Annabelle’s taking her final.”  Another pause while Theresa yelled at Epps.  “Okay, I’ll tell them.  Bye, honey.”  He snapped his phone shut.  “She says you two are life-savers and that if anything happens to little Akeela while she’s in your care, she and Sarah Lennox will scrap you both and rebuild you as Smart Cars that’ll look up to Skids and Mudflap.  And she specifically told me to warn you that we have NannyWeb cameras and she will know.”

Sideswipe actually looked ill at the threat.

I barely noticed when the hologram ended, I was laughing so hard.  Furst flickered back into the room, grinning at my mom and me.  “Annabelle Lennox,” he formally declared.  “I’m pleased to report Phase I is complete.”

Phase II was easy.  Mom was faking the swine flu and so Ratchet made twice-daily visits to ensure she was ‘recovering’ well and that Dad and I weren’t carriers.  Mr. and Mrs. Epps packed their bags for their three-day, two-night leave of absence. I spent several hours at their house with their children – six-year-old Daniel, four-year-old Graham, and eighteen-month-old Akeela – so they would be comfortable with me at their house while their parents were gone.  R.C. kept me company and provided rides to and from the Epps’ house.

Phase III was a bit trickier.  It was after 23:00 hours on Thursday when we heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching.  I skipped to the back porch in time to see Arcee pull around to the yard.  Ratchet, who was still there after his house-call for my supposedly ill and bedridden mother, transformed and began working on the femme.  The visual was simple enough to tweak, but I guess the audio was a bit harder.  Despite his complaining about how long it was taking, he was able to adjust Arcee’s holoform to our satisfaction in less than an hour and a half.  

“Wadda ya fink?” Arcee asked, showing off her twenty-seven-inch-tall, coffee-skinned, pajama-clad holoform.  

“A perfect imitation,” Dad agreed.  “Even Theresa wouldn’t be able to tell you and Akeela apart.”

In her cherubic little soprano, Arcee let out an adorably evil, “Muahahaha.”

I sniggered and Ratchet deadpanned, “ That might give you away.”

Ratchet drove us over to the Epps’ house, Arcee following us – without her holoform rider.  She parked in a wild tangle of trees and underbrush, and Dad and Epps helped hide her with a camouflage tarp and netting.  Akeela-Arcee flickered into existence by the front of Ratchet’s alt-form and I scooped her up in my arms.  The real Akeela was already asleep in her car-carrier and she didn’t as much as blink when Mrs. Epps handed Akeela off to my mom.  Theresa looked over Arcee critically and Arcee brushed her cheek, signing “Mommy” with her pudgy little fingers.  Mrs. Epps shook her head.  “Amazing.  Nothing short of amazing.”  Then she played with a wild curl in the middle of the girl’s forehead.  “This is the only difference.”

“And it was deliberate,” Mom assured her with a wink.

Giving Akeela a soft kiss, Mrs. Epps whispered, “Be good for Sarah, baby girl.”  Then Theresa took Arcee in her arms and tweaked her nose.  “And you, baby ‘bot, be very, very bad.”

Chapter Text

Phase IV went off without a hitch, and I got to be present for the capstone achievement of our conspiracy – Phase V.

It was movie night for the ‘bots, and everyone from NEST was gathered in the Autobot hangar for a special screening of the remake of “Independence Day.”  Mom and Dad were sitting on Ironhide’s shoulders while Arcee was holding me.  Theresa had made herself comfortable, leaning against Jolt, waiting for her husband.  Once everyone was settled in and the lights were dimmed, Epps connected to the streaming Netflix and joined his wife and the Autobot.

Epic music began playing, and the title faded in on the projection screen.  “Daddy Day Care – Autobot Edition.”

There were murmurs of confusion and variations of “What in the Pit is this?”  

Someone turned the lights back up.  “Must be a prankster,” Ironhide said, glaring at Sunstreaker and Sideswipe while a frowning Epps went back to the movie server to see if he could figure out what was wrong.  Before he could get there, though, the black screen faded to the first scene of the movie.  It opened with Sunstreaker’s holoform standing in front of a kitchen stove wearing a pink, frilly cooking apron.  

Laughter erupted, and several voices called out, “WAIT!” and “PLAY IT!  PLAY IT!”

“Hey!” Epps exclaimed.  “That’s my house!”

A voice-over by Theresa Epps said, “Just to keep things easy, go ahead and make Akeela macaroni and cheese for lunch.”

“You look ridiculous,” the Sideswipe holoform on the screen said to his brother.  He was sitting at the kitchen table, bouncing Akeela Epps on his lap.

“So why don’t you get over here and stir this [beep]?”

“Because I think we should keep the homicidal one away from the baby as much as possible.”

Sunstreaker snorted.  “Fine, mommy dearest.  You get to feed the critter, and you’ll be begging to wear this thing before you’re done.  I’ve seen toddlers eat – they aim for the mouth and miss.  It’s amazing they don’t die of starvation.  I’d rather look silly for two minutes than like a slob for the rest of the day.  Human fuel is disgusting, and I’m not getting it all over me.”

“You still look ridiculous.”

“Shut up.  Or better yet, get over here and help me figure out the directions for this stuff.”

With a smirk, Sideswipe set Akeela on floor with a couple of toys and then joined his brother.  “Boil for 8-10 minutes until tender,” he read. “What does that mean?”

“Epps talks about his steak being tender…”  

They both gave a doubtful look to the simmering pot in front of them.

In the Autobot hangar, a ripple of chortling and sniggers ran through the group, but the humans laughed the hardest.

“Maybe we’d better comm Spitfire,” movie-Sideswipe suggested.

“No,” Sunstreaker snarled.  “We slice and dice Decepticons and terrorize NEST.  We are cunning, capable, and dangerous, [beep] it.  We can make [beep]-ing macaroni and cheese without crying to a human femme for help!”

Neither of them noticed Akeela stand up and toddle out of the kitchen.

In the Autobot hangar, Mom and Mrs. Epps were trying to stifle the laughter so hard tears were streaming down their cheeks.  I was starting to really lose it, too.

Onscreen, Sunstreaker reached for the biggest butchers’ knife in the knife block and fished a noodle out of the pot.  Setting it on the counter, he cut it with the knife.  “What do you think?” he asked.

Sides shrugged.  “Looks tender to me.”  Picking up the box, he read the next step in the instructions.  “Drain.”

The brothers shared a confused look and then simultaneously glanced at first the pot on the stove and then at the kitchen sink.  “There’s no plug to pull in the pan or anything,” Sides observed.

“I’m not an idiot.”

“Well, Mr. Cunning-Capable-and-Dangerous, how are you – ”

“We’ll just dump off all the water we can.  I mean, it’s not like they tell you to towel the noodles dry.  I’m sure it’s okay if there’s a little water left in the bottom of the pan.  And besides, it’s not like Little Miss Drool is going to care if it’s not perfect.”  He glanced over his shoulder and did a double take.  “Where’d she go?”

“I dunno,” Sides grumbled, walking back toward the kitchen table where he’d left her.  

“Go find her, stupid.  You’re supposed to be taking care of her while I do the cooking, remember?”

“So do the cooking already and stop distracting me from the real work!”

The sound of a toilet flushing reached the kitchen.

 “Aw Pit !”  Sides bolted out of the room, and you could hear him slam open a door.  “She’s not in here!”

“Check upstairs!” Sunstreaker called as he carefully poured the water out of the pan into the sink.  A series of thuds revealed Sideswipe’s sprint up the stairs and there was another bang as the upstairs bathroom door slammed open.

There was another flush and Sideswipe yelled, “She’s not in here, either!”

“MASTER BATH!” Sunstreaker shouted, putting the pan back on the stove and pulling off the apron to go help his brother.

The camera angle switched to the Epps’ bedroom, where Sideswipe stood in the doorway of the master bath, holding a half-soaked and happily-squealing Akeela while Sunstreaker looked on in disgust.  

“What did she do ?” Sides said, looking a little shell-shocked.

“I don’t know, but the toilet is overflowing and it’s everywhere !”

“I’m comming Spitfire.”

“Mo-ped,” Sunstreaker said.  “Two-cylinder wuss.”

“You got any bright ideas about how to even stop the stupid thing from overflowing?  And then what are we supposed to do with all the water on the floor?  And what’s that white floaty stuff?” 

A faint trickle could be heard in the background.

“Who do I look like, Wheeljack?  I’ve got to go finish lunch.”

“[beep] you.  If you’re not going to help, you leave me no choice.”  Sideswipe’s expression grew distant as he accessed his comm.  Sunstreaker shook his head and started to walk away, but Akeela started yowling, and he looked back.  

“Spitfire says I have to mop it up,” Sideswipe announced.  “You want to hold her or clean the floor?”

“She’s soaking wet.”

“So go change her clothes.  Or mop.  You choose.”

“UGH!”  Sunny snatched Akeela from Sides’ hands and stomped out of the room.  “Next time, we just go quietly to the brig!”

“Or take a solid month of monitor duty,” Sideswipe hollered in agreement, wringing out a mop into the tub.

The scene cut to Akeela’s room, where Sunstreaker was digging through drawers trying to find some dry clothes for her.  “Or wax a C-17 with a toothbrush!” he bellowed.

The image cut back to Sideswipe working the toilet with a plunger.  “Or go on a suicide mission against Megatron!”

The camera angle switched again.  “Or just let Prime decapitate us!” Sunstreaker shouted, his voice muffled because his holoform’s head was in the dryer, still looking for a clean outfit.  

“Or Prowl,” Sideswipe agreed, experimentally flushing the toilet, only to jump up and utter a few [beeps] as it overflowed again.

In the Autobot hangar, Prowl muttered, “Wax a C-17 with a toothbrush.  Why haven’t I thought of that?”

Jolt shushed him.

On the screen, Sunstreaker’s holoform yelled, “Hey, do you smell something burning?!”

The scene cut to the kitchen where the pan Sunstreaker had left on the burner was now billowing smoke.  Thuds and more bleeped-out cussing announced the twins’ arrival.

“Put it out!  Put it out!” Sideswipe shrieked, snatching up Akeela, who had been happily unloading everything she could reach in the kitchen drawers.  Sunstreaker used the apron like a hot pad to pick up the pan and threw the whole bundle out the window.

The twins stared at each other for a second in blank shock.  

“So.  Macaroni and cheese is out,” Sunny said, recovering.

“Literally,” Sides retorted.  “What are going to feed the may-as-well-be-a-Decepticon baby?  And why the [beep] isn’t she dressed?”

“Because I can’t find a [beep]-ing outfit.”

“How hard can it be?  Put a [beep]-ing shirt and pants on her.”

Sunstreaker sneered, “Well they had to match .  I couldn’t have her looking like you dressed her.”

Sides rolled his eyes, and only then did he notice the extent of the mess.  Kitchen towels were mixed with silverware and spatulas with a dusting of plastic sandwich baggies over the top.  

“[beep]-ing [beep]!  [beep], Akeela, what did you do ?!”

The toddler broke out in peals of giggles.

Sunstreaker sighed heavily and took Akeela.  “First shirt and pants I lay hands on, she’s wearing them.”  

The scene on the projector screen transitioned to a close-up of Akeela.  She was wearing orange-and-white striped shorts with a pink shirt that had red hearts all over it.   Her mouth was ringed with a dark-brown mushy mess.

Arcee, who was sitting with me, flinched and groaned.  “Orange and pink?!  That’s just painful .”

I patted her hand sympathetically and murmured, “The things the poor girl endured that day.”  Stealing a glance at the femme, I caught her wink.

“You sure this is okay?” movie-Sunstreaker dubiously asked as the camera panned out.  “It’s not on the list of approved fuels.”

“It’s chocolate and she’s a femme.  Of course it’s okay,” Sideswipe retorted, handing another cookie to the baby.  “And the most important part is Oreos don’t need to be cooked.  That almost puts us back on schedule.  Her nap is next and we’ll get some quality time with the PlayStation as a reward for all our hard work.”

The scene cut to Akeela standing up in her crib, holding on to the railing and happily jumping up and down on the mattress.  A voice-over by Mrs. Epps said, “If she gives you any trouble falling asleep for her nap, try singing to her, and don’t forget to blow her a kiss at the end.  You might have to sing it a few times to get her down.  If that doesn’t work, you can always take her for a ride – that puts her out like a light.”

The twins’ holoforms stood uncomfortably near the doorway, arguing.

“You do it!” Sunstreaker said, nudging his brother.

“Nuh-uh.  I’ll look like an idiot.”

“And this would be different how?”

Sideswipe cuffed his twin.  “We’ll both do it together.”

“You start.”

“No, you start.”

“Alright.  Fine.  Together on the count of three.  One, two, three…”

They both took a deep breath and half-mumbled, half-sang.

I love you, you love me

We’re a happy family

With a great big hug 

And a kiss from me to you

Won’t you say you love me too!

And then both holoforms blew a kiss to the now-squealing toddler.

A mix of sniggers, snorts, and exclamations of “awww” rang out through the Autobot hangar.

On the screen, Sideswipe roughly elbowed his brother. “You [beep]-ed it up – it didn’t work!”

“[beep]-er.  Mrs. Epps said we might need to sing it a second time.  And it’s ‘cause you were just mumbling instead of actually singing.   Now sing, [beep] you!  We’re not gonna get any gaming time at this rate.”

The video spliced them singing it four times back-to-back, with the two of them coming to blows at the end of the fourth one.  By that time, you couldn’t hear them over the uproarious laughter in the hangar.  But both the twins and the audience were cut off by a piercing wail.  Akeela was crying, huge tears rolling down her cheeks as she gasped a stuttering breath.

“Now look what you did!” movie-Sunstreaker accused his brother.

“ I did?  You’re the one too afraid of looking stupid.”

“Would you just shut up?” Sunstreaker demanded, and Akeela wailed even louder.

“Let’s take her for a drive like Theresa said.”

“Fine.  In your cab.”

“Nuh-uh.  You’re the one who [beep]-ed up the song.  And the macaroni and cheese.”

Sunstreaker glared once at poor Akeela, who was turning all red and her nose was starting to run she was crying so hard.  “I’m outta here.”

“Wait!” Sideswipe exclaimed, picking up Akeela.  “Fine.  She can ride with me.”

The scene cut to a view of the front door.  It slammed open, with Sideswipe storming into the front room.  Sunstreaker followed, laughing so hard he was having a hard time holding the still-awake Akeela.  She had black goo all over her mouth, her hands, and down the front of her shirt.  “It’s chocolate and she’s a femme,” Sunny mocked, wheezing for breath.  “I told you it was a bad idea to give her cookies for lunch.”

Sideswipe returned to the front door, carrying a cleaning basket full of wipes, car-leather cleaner, an upholstery cleaner, and a can of air freshener.  “Shut. The. [BEEP]. Up!  Or I’ll smear that vomit all over your interior!”

Sunstreaker tried – he really did – but as soon as Sideswipe slammed the front door behind him, he busted up laughing again.  That is, until a look of intense concentration crossed Akeela’s face, and she loudly filled her diaper.

“Oh [beep],” he swore under his breath, holding her out at arms’ length.  

Giggles, guffaws, and snorts of laughter filled the hangar at his slightly shell-shocked expression.

“You get that joy of that one,” movie-Sideswipe called from outside.

“How much longer until Firebrand gets back?” Sunstreaker demanded of his brother.

“Twenty minutes!  Now stop complaining and go change her [beep]-ing diaper!”

Sunstreaker grimaced, no doubt at the smell.  “Dis gust ing.”

Akeela’s bottom lip started trembling and turned down in a pout before she burst into tears.

“No, no, no,” Sunstreaker frantically begged.  “Not again!  My audios can’t handle it!”  

Akeela just wailed louder.

With a roar of frustration, he stomped up the stairs.

The final scene of our cinema masterpiece was me bringing Danny and Graham through the front door after school.  Akeela was still wailing.

“Firebrand!” Sideswipe exclaimed, hurrying in from the living room with a manic sort of relief in his voice.  

Eyes wild, Sunstreaker dropped the diaperbag at my feet and bolted out the front door without a word.

Sideswipe was only a couple of steps behind him.  He all but dropped Akeela in my arms as he sprinted to his altform.  I turned my attention back to her just in time to see her heavily-duck-taped diaper slide out from under her dress to flop onto the floor.

The screen faded to black amid uproarious laughter, and someone switched the lights back up.  

“Encore!” someone yelled, and Sunstreaker’s head swiveled to glare at the speaker, but his optics bounced from laughing femme to chortling soldier to grinning Prime to sniggering mech, unable to figure out who had hollered.  No way could he decide who to yell at by process of elimination, partly because everybody had good reason to prank the twins but also because several other people had taken up the cry.

Nodding in acceptance, Prowl gestured to Epps to have him re-start the movie.  This time, the sniggering started with the music.  I glanced over to grin at Optimus, and he nodded slightly my way as if to say ‘Well done.’

My heart warmed with pride and I returned his nod.  Mission accomplished.

Chapter Text

Even though my dad is military and I grew up on Diego Garcia, it's not like we were trapped there. About once a year, we'd go stateside for a vacation. My earliest memory of leaving the island was when I was four, I think. Even with my unusual upbringing, my first ride in a C-17 was pretty unforgettable. The things are enormous.

At first our vacations included a certain black Topkick coming with us, but once Chromia arrived on the base, it was R.C. and her three motorcycles that provided the ground transportation. I didn't understand why until my fifteenth year, though.

Now that I was in the know, I paid a little more attention to the oversized machinery around me. "Luke" was painted on the side of the C-17 we were catching stateside this year, and I tilted my head curiously. To my dad, I asked, "Luke as in Skywalker?" It was kind of a funny pun for a plane's designation.

R.C. chuckled as she paused her bike beside mine and Dad's. "That would have been way better."

"Unfortunately," Dad said, "it's 'Luke' as in 'Beau' and 'Daisy Duke.' It was the 'Vette twins' idea."

"Why would the 'Vette twins get to...oh no."

Mom smiled and leaned her forearms on the handlebars of her bike. "Yep. There's a small fleet of C-17's that Wheeljack and the twins got to tinker with. Luke and Beau are assigned to Diego Garcia, while Daisy is stationed back East with Sam."

"Do I even want to know?"

"The hardware's considered prototype," R.C. said with a shrug, "and the military's been given full rein to study it. It's Wheeljack's Moonshine that's Autobot-level classified. And since we only get to break that out for emergencies, hopefully you'll never get a chance to know."

I gave her a curious glance. "What kind of emergency?"

"One that requires getting a C-17 to Mach 4," Dad said.

R.C. revved her engine a little. "And vacations don't count as emergencies, so let's talk inside the plane."

"Impatient much?" Dad grumbled as R.C. rolled forward.

"Can you blame her?" Mom asked, her smile widening to a grin. "Let's go!"

...

It's a little thing – opening a door. I almost never had to do it if I wasn't at home. On base, people opened doors for me because I was the colonel's daughter, a civilian, a junior ambassador, or all of the above. When we went on vacation to India or Australia, the people at the hotel or the restaurant or the taxi service always opened doors for me.

The only time I really had to open my own door in public was when I was stateside, which is why I did a mental double-take when we stopped for lunch at a fast-food joint just outside of Edwards Air Force Base in California and I had to open the door myself. It was also kind of funny to experience culture shock in the state I was born in. Walking beside Ironhide or Optimus Prime? No problem. Meeting with senators and generals? No problem. But trying to navigate a superstore was mind-boggling.

The young man behind the cash register made eye contact with me and grinned. "What'll you have, miss?"

My father cleared his throat behind me and started to place his order. I glanced sidelong at Mom, who was smothering a grin of her own at Dad's alpha-male antics. R.C. was watching me with a knowing smirk. How would I ever date anyone ever again with them around?

The thought made me remember Ironhide's over-protectiveness and Brian's less-than-gracious response to it. I blinked back a surprising tear – it had been weeks since I last cried about Brian – and stepped forward to place my own order for a wrap and onion rings. I even managed a smile for the cashier because his attention was a bit flattering and I was determined to take my victories where I could find them.

Once we'd eaten, we went back out to Arcee's motorcycles and headed out of town. I rode behind Dad, my arms tight around him, and rehearsed in my head the conversation I was going to have with Arcee during this vacation. I was fifteen and a half now – old enough that I could start learning to drive if any of the Autobots were willing to let me practice with them. If I were anyone sane, I'd start with a nice, safe, easy-to-parallel-park car like Jolt, but I wanted Arcee to be my teacher. Once I learned to drive a motorcycle, I figured a car would be easy. Maybe if I was a quick study I could ask Bumblebee to let me take the wheel, if he was coming with the Witwickys again like usual. Then I could tackle driving a beast of a 'bot like Ironhide. Mom and Dad would probably freak, but I was growing up, slag it, and I wasn't going to live on base forever. I'd need the life-skill of being able to drive.

It was a long road trip – long enough that the summer sun had already set before we pulled up to the ranch house where the Jensen's lived. We only stayed for a few minutes, though. The Witwickys had given up waiting for us two hours ago and had gone on ahead to the cabin on the east side of the ranch.

"Think you can find your way in the dark?" Mom asked R.C. as she straddled the bike again.

"I know this dirt road by spark now," R.C. answered almost grimly. "I'm not stopping for anything tonight."

The last leg of the journey was the bumpiest as Arcee sped us down those long, empty miles. I was so rattled I finally gave up trying to rehearse my request for an Autobot driving instructor and clung to my dad for dear life. Usually Arcee was very considerate of her passengers, but this time, she didn't seem to care. I praised Primus when I saw the lantern light of the cabin in the distance but was puzzled by another set of lights until we got a lot closer. It was 'Bee in his root mode, watching for us.

He was such a sweet-sparked mech.

Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky – Samuel Prime and Warrior Goddess, that is – came out to greet us and help us get our luggage inside (after Arcee pulled it out of her subspace pockets).

"Where are Daemon and Beatrice?" I asked.

"They're camping with their grandparents this week," Mrs. Witwicky said as she hefted my bag. "They'll be joining us on Sunday."

I smiled, pleased that I'd have the 'bots to myself until then.

As soon as we were clear of her, Arcee combined into her unified base mode and slugged 'Bee on the arm. "Good to see you. Have you run a patrol yet?"

He shook his head, and Arcee turned her bright optics toward us. "You good?"

"Yeah," Mom assured her. "Go for a drive. We'll see you in the morning."

They collapsed into their alt-modes and roared off into the night, music blaring, and I wondered how they could possibly scout out anything with that kind of racket.

We played poker with M&M's after that until Mrs. Witwicky cleaned house and we turned in for the night. Mom and Dad took one bedroom, Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky took the other, and I took the couch.

The next morning, we all slept in until almost 09:00. When I finally sat up and rubbed my eyes, all I could see out the living room window was Bumblebee with all three of Arcee's bikes surrounding him and…and…cuddling? I couldn't quite wrap my head around it, but that's sure what it looked like. There was just something about the way Arcee's components were touching him that seemed affectionate and maybe just a teeny bit possessive. It reminded me a bit Chromia and Ironhide somehow. "Huh," I said to myself, shaking my head and half-wondering if I was dreaming. But no, there they still were. They weren't… a thing, were they? I mean, yeah, they'd held hands at Thanksgiving but that was just to provoke Mia, I thought.

Dad was already up, as usual, so I tiptoed into my parent's room to raid my suitcase for a swimsuit. After changing in the bathroom, I came into the living room and breathed in the aroma of pancakes. Dad was at the stove wearing an apron, and I discreetly snapped a picture of him with my phone.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing," I said, hurrying to text the pic to Ironhide before he could stop me. "Just… checking my email."

"You know," he drawled, pouring more batter onto the griddle, "most people don't have cell reception while camping. The 'bots spoil you rotten."

"Oh, I know," I grinned at him as soon as I knew the photo was on its way.

Laughter drifted in from outside, followed a few seconds later by R.C. and Cam Romero, both of them grinning ear to ear.

"What's so funny?" Dad demanded.

"Toldja," Cam quoted. "Not that there's anything wrong with…pink."

My cell chimed announcing a new text and I nearly dropped my phone I laughed so hard. Some 'bot had doctored the pic so that Dad was in a pink apron with the caption "Kiss the Cook!"

Dad made a grab for my phone, and with his G.I. Joe reflexes, I didn't stand a chance. After pulling up the incriminating image, he gave me a mock glare that had meant one thing for as long as I could remember: tickle torture. He grabbed me, rolled me over onto the couch, and sat on me while poking me in the ribs, and I howled with laughter the whole time. Mrs. Witwicky came running into the living room like she was ready to kill something (with Wheelie hot on her heels), but Mom drifted out of her room at a more morning-appropriate pace.

"Help me, Warrior Goddess!" I begged between giggles.

"Yeah right," Mrs. Witwicky said and then waved at the 'bots in the kitchen before going back to bed.

Dad finally took pity on me and stood up to go catch Mom in a big hug. "Breakfast is…oh slag, it's burned!"

"Got your six," R.C. assured him, holding up a plate full of golden-brown pancakes. "Go back to disciplining your youngling."

"Hey!" I protested, but 'Bee nudged her with his shoulder and grinned. My cell chimed with a text from him. /Give her KP duty instead./

"You're not even from this planet," I playfully scolded them both. "You don't get a say in this!"

Dad gave me a light noogie as he walked past me into the kitchen. "KP duty it is."

Being my dad, he was kind enough, after everyone had eaten, to help me with the washing up while the other grownups got ready for the day. I washed and rinsed and he dried and put away, and as soon as the coast was clear I whispered to him, "What's with Arcee and Bumblebee?"

He frowned thoughtfully as he dried the wet coffee mug in his hands. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not blind, Dad. They're together, aren't they."

He placed the cup in the cupboard and reached for another one. "Cybertronian relationships are complicated."

I huffed. "Meaning…?"

"Meaning they'll tell you if they're a couple when they are ready to be one."

I frowned and sloshed soapy water over the syrupy plates.

...

After everyone was ready and breakfast was cleaned up, our Autobots brought us up to a small reservoir where we humans could play in the water while it was hot and go fishing when it cooled off in the evening. Arcee and 'Bee insisted they were content to just bask in the sun, although a part of me suspected that the reservoir's shoreline was just a little too muddy for them.

I couldn't exactly blame them – I wasn't used to water that cold. After just a few minutes, I decided I'd had enough. Mom and Dad were dozing under the shade of the cottonwoods, but Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky were still splashing around. I spread a beach towel on the ground in the sun next to the mech and femme and lay down on my belly, drinking in the blessed warmth of the sun.

"Oh slag!"

I jumped when something cool touched my back.

"Wake up, Firebrand," R.C. was saying, shaking me gently.

"Wha?" I groggily asked.

"Ratchet…gonna kill us," random voices said, and I eventually realized it was 'Bee splicing together a quote.

"Spitfire!" R.C. yelled, and then to me, she said, "Sit up and put something on over your swimsuit. You've got a sunburn."

I did feel a little too warm, come to think of it, but the day had been so cool that I hadn't thought to put on sunscreen.

Mom came running over as I sat up. "Oh no."

"How much ice do we have back at the cabin?" R.C. asked, her bikes already waking up and rolling closer on their own.

"We don't have any. Why?"

"Ratchet says that cooling that burn down will be one of the best things we can do for it at this point. I'd like 'Bee to take her back to the cabin so she's out of the sun, and I can run down to the main house for some ice." Apparently Arcee was in full medic mode.

Mom pursed her lips. "I'd hate to make you go to all that trouble."

R.C. smiled and patted her once on the shoulder encouragingly. "It's no trouble, I promise. In fact, why don't the rest of you stay here, enjoy yourselves, and 'Bee will come back up here once I'm back at the cabin."

Mom shook her head. "You two should be spending some time together, too."

"How 'bout this," I interrupted. "Arcee and 'Bee can take me back to the cabin, I'll rest up for a little bit, and then once Ratchet's not freaking out anymore, they'll bring me back up here."

"Honey, you can't see your back right now," Mom said. "You probably should be wearing a long-sleeve shirt for the rest of our vacation."

I groaned and she turned back to the femme. "How about you bring me and Annabelle down to the cabin, get the ice, and then head back up here. We'll be fine there for the rest of the afternoon."

"This is your vacation, too," Arcee answered. "You should be spending it with Will. Let me and 'Bee take care of Annabelle. You can call us if you need anything. We'll only be about twenty minutes away."

Mom frowned and glanced back at the picnic Dad was spreading on the blankets under the cottonwoods. He'd been looking forward to fly fishing here for months.

"Arcee's right, Mom," I said. "We'll only be a few minutes away, and hey – Autobots to watch out for me. I'll be fine."

"Okay, but we might come down to the cabin early tonight, just so you 'bots can run a patrol as soon as it gets dark."

R.C. smirked. "Understood."

Chapter Text

At the cabin, Arcee insisted that I take some ibuprofen, and then I took a cool shower while she ran to get the ice. When I went to dry off, though, I could already feel the deep sting of a bad sunburn.  Turning to get a good view of my back in the mirror, I could see I was already headed toward lobster-red.

Arcee must have flown over the ranch roads because she was already back by the time I was dressed in shorts and a loose t-shirt.  “Lay down on the couch,” she ordered, “face down.”

As soon as I did, she perched next to me, lifting the hem of my shirt halfway up my back, and I felt something cold drip on my bare skin.  “We’ll start with the aloe gel and then we’ll apply the ice pack for a while.  If anything is too intense or hurts, let me know.”

“Okay,” I muttered. 

She worked the gel in with quick, light strokes and then I hissed as she laid the cold compress between my shoulder blades.

“Too much?”

“Not really.  Just a little bit of a shock, you know?”

“Not really,” she echoed, “but let me know if it does get to be too much.”

“Where’s ‘Bee?”

“He ran to check on the Prime as soon as I got here.  Your mom will probably send him back.”

I chuckled at the mental image.  “Yeah, probably.”  And speaking of… If Dad wouldn’t talk about it, maybe I could weasel the truth out of her directly.  “So…you and ‘Bee?”

“Yes,” she answered, sounding amused, “me and ‘Bee.”

“Are you…like Chromia and Ironhide?  Married or whatever?”
 
“No,” she answered matter-of-factly.  “In human terms, we’re dating.”

“Long-distance relationship?”  Or maybe they’re doing some ‘chatting’ online.

R.C. chuckled as she moved the ice to my other shoulder blade.   “Only to a human.  We are on the same planet after all, and we see each other a couple of times a year, usually. Last year was the exception, of course. I only saw him over Thanksgiving.”

I pursed my lips, trying to figure out how to delicately say this and finally gave up and went for being blunt.  “But you guys ‘chat’ when you get together, don’t you.”

“If I were human – or if you were younger – I’d say that was none of your business.”

“But…?”

“But you’re Firebrand now, so…what do you want to know?”  

I sighed.  “I guess it’s just kind of weird.  I never suspected you would even want someone much less choose someone like Bumblebee.”

“And just what’s wrong with Bumblebee?”

I bit my lip, realizing I’d just dissed her boyfriend.  “Nothing.  He’s fun and sweet.  It’s just…he’s…not the biggest mech around.”

She snorted.  “You think I should just chase after the yummiest eye-candy?”

“No,” I mumbled, blushing and wishing I hadn’t brought it up.

“Bumblebee is my best friend,” she said softly.  “We’ve been friends since the first shot fired in the War.  And you’ve seen him on the proving grounds.” I could hear the smile in her voice.  “He definitely is eye candy.”

I chuckled, relieved I hadn’t really ticked her off.  “So you’re more like friends with benefits?”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose.  But that doesn’t quite…”  She shifted on the couch, settling in.  “Okay, backing up…You remember I said once that femmes often don’t fare well in the Decepticon ranks?”

Okay…change of subject, but she’d probably make all the pieces fit eventually.  “Yeah. Because they consider you weak, right?”

“Yes.  But not weak in the frame – there are lots of ‘bots smaller than your average femme.  There’s a bug, I guess you’d call it, in the femme formatting. Under the right circumstances it can make spark energy accumulate over time.  The only way to release the energy is through interfacing, what you know as ‘chatting.’   If the energy buildup gets severe enough, it can cause physical pain and eventually a breach in the spark chamber.”

“Wow!”

“Yeah, and I've got a pretty good build up of spark energy. So physically, I have to take a mate every so often.  For uncommitted femmes like me, that’s usually the equivalent of every thousand years or so.”

“But you meet the Witwickys here every summer.”  Except last summer because Dad and Arcee were away on a mission.  

R.C. chuckled mirthlessly.  “Before I arrived on Earth, I hadn’t interfaced for the equivalent of eight thousand years, which was almost as long as Ironhide and Chromia.  But unlike those two, I don’t have the luxury of spending years on the same base with my mate.  I can’t use up that much energy in one interface, so we’ve been burning it off whenever we can.”

I thought about that for a second, about how much trouble she went through to be with Bumblebee when she had a whole base full of mechs to choose from.  “You must really love him.”

She barked out a laugh.  “Whatever 'love' is supposed to mean – that word is as squishy as your frame is.  But if you mean we're intimate, it's very different for us than for humans.”

“You’re not going to give me a ‘birds and the bees’ lecture, are you?”

“No,” she answered more seriously.  “I’ll spare you the nuts and bolts, but you did ask, Firebrand.”

I grimaced even though she couldn’t see it from where she was sitting.  

R.C. moved the ice to my lower back.  “I’ve heard our sparks compared to the human concept of a soul.  When we interface, we share sparks.  There’s a physical aspect, but…I guess you could call it a spiritual intimacy, too, if that doesn’t sound too corny.”

They shared their souls as well as their bodies?  “It doesn’t sound corny at all.”  And then, because I couldn’t even begin to imagine it, I asked, “What’s that like, the spiritual aspect?”

She sighed, but it was a happy sound.  “Incredible.  Terrifying.  When it’s with someone who’s not a good match for your spark, it can really mess with you, since you rub off on each other.  But when it’s with someone who’s a good match…”  Again, that little happy sigh.  “The line between selves is blurred – you become two halves of a whole.  You experience the spark, the soul, of your mate firsthand.  You see each other truly, your flaws and strengths, your fears and sureties.  And you can see yourself reflected back in your mate’s mind.  To know your mate’s spark is to know your own a little better, too.”

Ironhide’s words about Brian came back to me.  He doesn’t see your soul, Annabelle.  The thought saddened me and made me a little jealous.  I would never know anyone else the way Arcee knew Bumblebee. 

When she spoke again, R.C. sounded sad.  “So that’s why femmes don’t do well in the Decepticon ranks.  They see us as emotionally and physically needy, and to leave yourself vulnerable to another by sharing sparks is considered weak and stupid.  It’s rumored that Megatron has never accepted the attentions of a femme because he didn’t want to expose his spark like that.  And he doesn’t trust bonded mates.  Married couples, to you.  Their loyalty will always be to each other first and the cause second.  That and if your mate gets captured by the enemy…”

“Yeah, I can kind of see that.  But that’s Decepticon thinking.”  

“It’s the thinking of a faction at war,” she answered, an edge of frustration to her tone.  “Look at all the problems my energy buildup has caused.  I have to go on leave for two full weeks, inconvenience NEST, inconvenience your entire family, inconvenience the human Prime and his family, and impose on the kindness of my best friend.”

Despite myself, I couldn’t help interjecting, “I doubt Bumblebee’s suffering too much.”

“That’s not the point.  The point is that, for once, the ‘cons are right but my fellow Autobots are just more forgiving.”

“No,” I indignantly said.  “You need to chat or whatever it’s called, and that’s a simple fact.  The Decepticons interpret that one way.  The Autobots…how do they interpret it?”  I twisted to look at her over my shoulder.

She was staring down at her hands resting in her lap.  “Optimus himself was the bond-mate of my sister Elita One, until she was extinguished.”

Wait - what?

“Ironhide is one of his right-hand mechs.  They…they see femmes as capable creatures and any weakness our format causes is just part of who we are.  Any Autobot mech who didn’t welcome the attentions of a femme would be seen as pretty crazy.”

Deciding to stay focused on the bigger question, I asked, “So why do you interpret…?”

She let her breath out in a whoosh and glared at me.  “Because I don’t like it.  I don’t like needing a mech that way.  I don’t like being dependent.  I want to be the one who others can rely on, not the one who needs special treatment.”

A knock at the door startled me and, sounding defeated, R.C. called out, “Come in, Cam.”

I reflexively wanted to pull my shirt down to cover my back, but then I remembered that the cute, burly college guy at the door was really a robot and I shoved the instinct aside.  Besides, the ice felt really good on that burn.

I could hear his footsteps crossing the living room toward us, and his cell-phone ringtone sang, “Oooh, the way you shine/Miss Independent…”

I glanced back to see her reaction.  R.C. blushed – blushed – as she threw him a glare, but it quickly melted into a grudgingly affectionate smile. “Cam Romero, what am I going to do with you?”  With all her talk about sparks, I suddenly realized that his comment was kind of explicit.

He shrugged as he sat down in the threadbare recliner where I could easily see him, grinning from ear to ear.  I rested my chin on my hands again, shaking my head at him. 

Cam’s grin turned wicked.  “...you got spark, you, you got spunk,” “baby, you’re a firework…like a lightning bolt, your heart will blow,”  “system overload...” 

“Primus!” R.C. half-gasped, half-giggled as she hurled the ice pack at Cam.  “Not in front of the youngling!”

Easily catching it, he winked at me and then tossed it back. Again his cell phone speakers played a series of song clips – “we all need somebody to lean on,” “don’t look back,” “no regrets,” “you’re amazing just the way you are.”
 
I glanced back at her again. R.C. rolled her eyes and, in an aside to me, said, “This is why I chose ‘Bee, you know.  He lets me keep a little dignity.”

He huffed, his eyes distant, and she corrected, “Alright, fine, he foists dignity on me any time he thinks he can get away with it.  He practically stuffs every chink in my armor with it.”

His cell phone cheerfully sang, “R-E-S-P-E-C-T.”

Their banter made me smile a little bit, but it also made a Brian-shaped bruise on my heart ache.  I wished I had someone to be scandalous with.  I did my best to push the feeling aside.  “So do you think you’ll ever…get married or whatever?  Become permanent mates?”

Bumblebee’s face was instantly serious and he looked down, avoiding my gaze.

“Cybertronian courtships take a while,” R.C. eventually murmured.  “Usually a half a century at the least before they form a bond.”

“But…?”  They were already mates, kinda.  From their cuddling to R.C.’s little happy-sighs, it was clear she liked him a lot, and I couldn’t imagine ‘Bee not feeling the same.  “You guys make a great couple.  What else…?”

“We were never meant to be, baby, we just happen…”

“He's acting out of pity,” R.C. explained, just a hint of bitterness in her voice.  “It wouldn’t be fair to talk about things like that right now.  We’re friends – the very best kind – and that’s good enough for me.”

“The kind who really would do anything for each other,” I realized.

“Exactly.”

R.C. was accepting charity – accepting pity – from somebody, and I could only guess how hard that would be for her of all people.  I could kind of understand where she was coming from with choosing ‘Bee, though.  If anyone could do someone a favor and have it not be condescending, it would be him.  

“Besides,” R.C. added, sounding a little more like herself, “that kind of decision is too big of a deal to rush.  I’m not in any hurry.”

Cam looked up and gave her a wistful smile.  

I decided it wouldn’t be helpful to point out that we humans were in a bit of a hurry.  If she spent half a century dating ‘Bee, Mom probably wouldn’t be alive to see it if they tied the knot.  Same thing with Samuel.

“How would you decide?”  I twisted to look at R.C. again.  “How do you know you’re ready for something like that?”

Her eyes sparkled with a knowing light, and it was obvious she knew my question wasn’t an idle one.  I’d never talked to anyone about what happened the night Brian broke up with me, how my first thought wasn’t if I wanted him but if I was ready.  But Arcee was a millennia-old femme; she probably guessed long ago.  “How indeed.”  Looking up at Cam, she asked, “What do you think?”

His eyes were on her when the cell phone’s speakers sang, “…don’t worry…even when the sky is falling down,” followed by a Jamaican singing, “who’s gonna have your back when it’s all done?”

“Don’t trust someone with your heart if you wouldn’t trust him to have your back?” I translated with a little smile.  That was Autobot relationship advice if I ever heard it.

He briskly nodded, and R.C. shifted the ice on my back again.  “Trust is a big part of it,” she admitted.  “But there also has to be at least some chemistry, as you humans put it.  Not the whole swooning over each other bit – though I suppose that works for some people – but where you can actually envision wanting no one but him for the rest of your existence.”

Huh.  I hadn’t even thought about that with Brian.  I mean, we’d been so into each other that I hadn’t looked at it long-term like that.  “That’s for marriage or bonding or whatever, but what about those other mates?”  And then I realized I was bringing up past boyfriends in front of ‘Bee and blushed.  “Never mind.”

Fortunately, he didn’t seem upset.  In fact, he lifted his hand, gesturing to R.C. to continue.

“Are you asking for me or for yourself?” R.C. quietly said.  “Because this is where you and I become very alien to each other. You have a remarkable gift that we lack.”

My brow creased in confusion and I twisted again to look at her.

“Interfacing is a very intimate act, but it isn’t a reproductive one.  I don’t have the ability you do, Annabelle,” she explained, her eyes grave.  “No Cybertronian does.  We can’t reproduce on our own – we need the All Spark for that.  And it is impossible for us to create new life without also creating bonds in the process.  Sometimes we would create brothers or sisters precisely so that a bond would be created.  I could never casually handle that ability. To us, it's a sacred thing and shouldn't be trifled with.”

I frowned thoughtfully, laying flat again.  “So kiss all I want but don’t lose my virginity until I’m married?”

She huffed a chuckle.  “Since I'm not human, I’ll leave that for you to decide.  But like I said, your species has a remarkable gift in being able to create and carry life – one we envy, to be honest.”  She paused for a second.  “Sorry – I’m probably overstepping my bounds here.  Our species is much more frank about such things than yours, so if I’ve offended you, I apologize.  You asked for my opinion, and I gave it, but ultimately, this choice is yours, of course.”

I glanced at ‘Bee, and his eyes were distant, probably messaging her.  After a second, R.C. added, “As for when I knew I was ready with the other mates, I made a lot of mistakes that way.  It only took a couple of mates before I realized that what I saw on the surface of a mech wasn’t what was in his spark.  Still, I went after the biggest ‘bot, the smartest one, the funniest one, the most mysterious one – always taking something from him but never able to predict what.”

“Taking?” I interrupted.  She almost made it sound like she was keeping trophies.

She moved the ice again, and I could hear the smile in her voice.  “Do you think you could share your soul with someone and not have him influence you?”

“Oh.”

“I’ve given up on predicting what trait of his would influence me and have just gone for the all-around highest-quality mechs I can find now.  I try to see the very worst characteristic and ask myself if I could live with it – because I might have to for hundreds of years.”

It didn’t sound like bad advice, though.  “Go in with eyes wide open,” I translated.

“Yes.  The one who was a real wake-up call for me was a quiet, introspective mech.  I expected his spark would lend to mine some of his unflappable calm.  However, he was jealous and possessive, and that’s what I took from him.  Later, it was no surprise that he joined the Decepticons at the very beginning of the War.  For a few hundred years, though, I was unbearable.” She paused for a moment, and when she spoke again, it was with a playful grumble. “And then there was that mech – that bright yellow mech with racing stripes – and his damnably loyal spark.”

‘Bee grinned and nodded his head, taking a bow.  

“One interface with him and I found myself completely and totally hooked, like it or not.  Because I think any femme would take loyalty in the exchange.  And not just any loyalty.  His is the ‘I’d die for you and not ask anything in return just because I think you’re that awesome’ kind of loyalty.  Suddenly I’m seeing the whole universe that way.  Punk.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her indignant tone, easily imagining her fighting a smile the entire time.

Cam suddenly disappeared, and Bumblebee’s alt-form peeled out in the front yard.

“Something wrong?” I asked, foreboding filling me. It vaguely reminded me of Sunstreaker being in such a hurry on the day Ironhide got shot with Shockwave’s radioactive pellets.

“Maybe,” R.C. answered, moving the ice pack to a different spot on my back. “BINDS just picked up what look like inbound cometary forms.”

“What?” It was Greek to me.

“More Cybertronians are landing on Earth.  Two of them, but we’re not sure if they’re Autobot or Decepticon. Prowl arrived here with a damaged communication array - we’re not going to shoot anybody out of the sky until we know who they are. Your dad is going to have to report to Edwards Air Force Base.”

“That sucks. You and ‘Bee haven’t even had a full day together yet.”

“Duty calls,” she said, sounding indifferent. “We missed our vacation entirely last year - at least we had one day.” Rising to her feet, she went to the kitchen and started putting dishes away. Leaving the place as clean as we found it, probably.

When ‘Bee came back half an hour later, he had everybody else with him. I sat up, tipping the now-warm ice pack onto the couch as they filed through the door, and I asked Dad, “Do we really have to go? All of us?”

He glanced up from his phone. “I’m afraid so, sweetheart.”

“But we just got here.”

“That’s just the way it goes sometimes,” Mom said as she headed to the bedroom to pack.

“But we’ll just be sitting around at the base. We’d be as safe here as there, and there’s probably more to do here.”

“Hm,” Mr. Witwicky said.

Dad looked over at him, and the human Prime tilted his head, considering. “She has a point. If these are Decepticons, a remote location like this is less of a target. Where are the cometary forms making landfall?”

“Initial intel says West Virginia,” Dad answered. “The rest of the DC Autobot contingent is moving to intercept them.”

“If they’re after Sam, we're already on the other side of the continent and this is the last place they’d look,” Mrs. Witwicky pointed out. “We’re kind of accidentally in a safe house already.”

“Bumblebee should stay if you do, Samuel, to keep you hidden from their spark scanners,” R.C. said. 

Bumblebee’s cell phone quoted, “You can do that...just as easily as I can.”

She crossed her arms defiantly. “True, but you already slagged yourself once trying to hunt down a newly arrived ‘Con. You deserve to sit this one out.”

Cam ducked his head. “You’re never going to forgive me for that, are you.”

She smirked at him. “Nope.”

“You’d rather stay?” Dad asked Mr. Witwicky.

“I think Optimus would rather I did. Message him and see.”

Dad nodded and started texting, and Samuel continued, “I don’t like the idea of just hiding out here, but…” His gaze darted to Bumblebee. “We’ve come all this way. If they turn out to be Autobots, we would have lost all that time for nothing. And if they’re Decepticons, Trailbreaker and the others can handle it just as well with or without us, since they outnumber the new mechs two-to-one. Besides, we're at least two hours away from being able to help, and that's if we break out Wheeljack's Moonshine. And Optimus and a contingent from Diego Garcia will be backing them up as soon as they can get there.”

Dad looked up from his phone. “If the Diego Garcia contingent also uses the high grade fuel, then they'd get there about the same time we did, since we'd have to drive all the way to Edwards to catch a flight.” His phone chimed and he read the text. “Optimus wants you to stay put, Sam, but I still have to report to Edwards.” 

“I’ll transport you,” R.C. volunteered.  

“Alright, but only on the condition that you get your aft back up here ASAP,” Dad said to her. “I don’t like leaving the human Prime so exposed when there are potential hostiles on the loose.”

R.C. moved toward the door. “It’d be me and ‘Bee against two Decepticons. They’d be so outmatched you couldn’t even call it a fair fight. And that’s assuming the worst. For all we know, Trailbeaker’s going to be meeting up with two more Autobot femmes.”

Dad made a face and muttered,“Decepticons would be less trouble.” 

R.C. grinned as she headed out into the yard.

Mom returned to the living room with Dad’s knapsack. It was a small house, so she must have overheard. He took it from her hands, stole a quick kiss, and followed R.C. outside.

Chapter Text

Arcee got Dad down to Edwards in record time and was back before dinner. She and 'Bee ran another patrol just like the night before, complete with cranked music. Inside the house, the feeling was completely different from usual, though. Mom put a brave face on it, but she always struggled a bit when Dad was deployed. I don't know if Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky knew her well enough to see it, but they were more than happy to help me distract her with card games again that evening.

The next day, I stepped outside where Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky were talking to Bumblebee's and Arcee's holoforms.

"Morning," Mr. Witwicky greeted.

"Good morning. Hey, um, Arcee, since we have some down time until Dad gets back, do you think you can teach me how to drive?"

Mrs. Witwicky straightened and smiled. "I think that's a great idea, Annabelle."

Cam Romero's phone quoted, "What am I, chopped liver?"

I grinned. "No, but it'll be harder to learn how to ride a motorcycle. If I learn that first, I figure you could show me the ropes of driving a car in a day."

R.C. smirked at him. "Yeah. Mechs are easy to figure out."

He rolled his eyes at her.

She glanced at the sun. "It's still early enough that the UV rays aren't too bad. Get something long-sleeved on to protect that sunburn, and we should have enough time for at least a short lesson. If that's okay with your mom, that is."

"I'll check."

Mom woke up when I tip-toed into her bedroom. "Problem?" she groggily asked.

"No. I just wanted Arcee to teach me how to drive a motorcycle..."

Mom sat bolt upright in bed. "What?"

Maybe trying to talk her into this during a deployment wasn't the best time. I sat down on the edge of her bed so we were eye-to-eye. "Mom, I'm not going to live with you and Dad forever. I've got two more years with you, and then they'll kick me off the island."

"Honey, NEST wouldn't do that. You're too important to the Autobots."

"Samuel Prime went to college – if he wasn't too important to imprison on Diego Garcia, then I'm pretty sure I'll need to go, too. And if I'm stateside, I should at least know how to drive."

She sighed and blinked a bit like she was fighting tears. 

I suddenly suspected that she'd been crying last night, too.  "I guess I could wait a little while..."

"No, you're right. I keep forgetting that you won't be my little girl forever. And you're never safer than when you're with an Autobot. Arcee is a great teacher."

"Thanks, Mom." I impulsively hugged her, then turned to the wardrobe where I'd hung up my hoodie. Grabbing it, I put it on as I walked out into the living room, and zipped my cell into my jacket pocket. Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky were in the kitchen, laughing about something as they worked on making breakfast.

They gave me the first pancake off the griddle, and Arcee didn't bother to eat, she was so eager to start teaching me.

One we were in the front yard again, Arcee activated her holoforms on their black and purple components, but her pink one was sitting empty, waiting for me. Taking a deep breath, I swung astride the bike.

Arcee's holoform on the purple component rolled closer and handed me a helmet that matched the bike. Then she talked me through the different parts of the motorcycle. "The hardest part is going to be the clutch, though. Let's start with that."

I spent the next hour or so repeatedly killing her engine. It was so frustrating - I knew in my head what needed to happen, but I just couldn't get the feel of it. I'd start relaxing the clutch and giving gas to the motor, but I wouldn't give her enough gas and we'd stall. Or I'd rev the engine too hard and, when the gears caught, we'd lurch forward until I let go of the handlebar grips in surprise, and then her engine would die again. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to learn to drive on a sentient vehicle who felt it every time I choked her motor. When I cussed after her engine sputtered to a stop again, the holoform on the black component said, "Let's take a break for a bit."

I sat up straighter and pulled off my helmet.

"What do you think you're doing?" the purple holoform demanded.

"You said we were done."

She smirked and revved her engine. "We're done with the clutch for a while. Let's put on some speed."

Blinking back angry tears, I pulled the helmet again, and the pink component roared to life.

"Don't worry about the clutch or brake," the purple holoform gently said, "just acceleration and direction. We'll keep you safe."

Drawing a shaky breath (because I was still angry that I couldn't figure out that fragging clutch), I gripped the handles and Arcee leaped forward. She tore across the field, the familiar vibration of off-roading rattling my bones. I clung to the grips for dear life. We made it back up onto the rutted track that passed for a road here on the ranch, and the component I was riding leaped into the far track. Then Arcee really accelerated, the wind beating against me until I was grinning from the thrill of it. By the time we got home for lunch, I was in a much better mood.

When I walked into the house with one of the Arcee holoforms, Bumblebee was nowhere to be seen. Mr. Witwicky was cooking again, and Mrs. Witwicky was at the table, reading him something funny from her phone.

"Where's Mom?" I asked.

"She just got out of the shower, I think," Mrs. Witwicky answered. "How was the driving lesson?"

"I think Ratchet's gonna kill me for whatever I did to Arcee's engine."

The femme scoffed beside me. "Ground my gears a little, no big deal." To Mrs. Witwicky, she added, "You remember what it's like learning to drive a clutch."

Mr. Witwicky dropped the box of freeze-dried lunch packets on the floor with a loud smack. I jumped, and he bolted for the front door, screaming for Bumblebee.

Mrs. Witwicky mixed human and Autobot swears as she ran after him. Shaking myself out of my surprise, I followed them to the front yard.

Bumblebee had opened his door, and the Witwicky's were climbing in, Mrs. Witwicky calling frantically for Wheelie. R.C. followed me out and joined me on the steps. "We need to get your mom. We have to go to Edwards immediately."

"What happened to Dad?" I demanded as she turned and hurried back into the house.

"Nothing. We're the ones in danger. Maybe." Crossing to the bedrooms, she called out, "No time to pack, Spitfire. Get dressed. We have to leave now."

"I don't understand," I insisted.

"It's mostly a precaution," R.C. answered. "The two new Cybertronians never responded to hails. Hound was tracking them on the ground, but he lost the scent in Illinois. He believes they've taken to the air. If so, they could potentially be coming here. We have to get Samuel Prime to Edwards."

Mom hurried into the room with her shoes and jacket on but her hair was still wet. R.C.'s holoform disappeared only to materialize in triplicate on her bikes.

Mom and I ran outside, and Mrs. Witwicky stepped out of the cab to tip her seat forward. "Ride with us."

We dove into Bumblebee's back seat, and he kicked up gravel as his tires peeled out in the drive. Arcee took point, one bike in each rut and the third one hopping from one rut to the other in impatience. Once we hit blacktop her three bikes formed an arrow a couple of car-lengths in front of 'Bee.

We sped down the winding, mountain road, and even with the seat belts, Mom and I were getting tossed around. I ended up bracing myself in the corner of the seat, more than a little terrified. R.C. tried to make it sound like just a precaution, but Bumblebee was driving like Samuel's life depended on how fast we could get to Edwards.

At a particularly sharp turn, Wheelie (who was in the middle seat) went flying across my lap to hit Bumblebee's side panel. "Watch it!" he grumbled.

As we rounded the turn, there was an armored tank in the road. My heart leapt to my throat when 'Bee swung into a 180, and beside us, a shell hit the shoulder, throwing brimstone and dust everywhere. Samuel was swearing nonstop under his breath, and when I glanced at Mom, she was almost gray she was so grim-faced.

We were surrounded by bike-bots now – Arcee covering our retreat. In front of us, the road exploded again and again. It was being taken out by the tank. We were trapped.

Bumblebee dodged off-road behind a rock outcropping and unceremoniously dumped us on the ground.

Shards of stone exploded down over us as a missile of some kind landed on the outcropping.

"We detected Barricade," black-Arcee declared as she hunched over, trying to shelter me from the worst of the rock chunks. The pink and purple components skittered up the rock face to return fire. "Coordinates approximate."

"He ain't alone," 'Bee quoted, shooting rockets up over the outcropping.

"Agreed," the black component said, inching toward where the road rounded the corner. "Hardtop, Bludgeon. Anyone else?"

"Stockade," 'Bee said.

"How'd they get past BINDS undetected?" Samuel demanded.

"They must have…been here a while already," Bumblebee answered.

Black-Arcee looked to the skies. "No sign of any Seekers yet. We need to get you and Samuel out of here."

"Like hell!" 'Bee answered her in the voice of a man with a Southern drawl.

"It doesn't matter that we're less conspicuous," the black one snarled, while the pink and purple components kept popping up over the stone to each fire a rifle. "They'll track us regardless. Soundwave probably has a lock on our position already."

"That's rough terrain...I'm too slow," he quoted.

"Frag it, mech, get out of here!"

There was a pause, and I realized Bumblebee was probably using his comm instead of trying to fight and channelsurf for quotes at the same time.

"But Samuel's safe when he's with you," purple-Arcee hotly argued from her perch, swapping her rifle for what looked suspiciously like a bazooka and firing off a missile of her own.

A Decepticon shot struck home, making the purple component stagger down the slope in a shower of blue sparks. I shrieked as she fell past me, and the other two components started swearing in an emphatic mix of Cybertronian and English. Then together, they said, "That hurt!"

In its final death-throe, the downed component seemed to shed weapons and other random things. "Arm yourselves," black-Arcee ordered as she climbed up to take the purple' one's place.

Grim-faced, Samuel picked up several small canisters and Mrs. Witwicky chose the bazooka thing.

"I can't," I said. It came out a frightened whimper and I didn't even care how cowardly it sounded.

Mom picked up purple-Arcee's rifle and said through gritted teeth, "I can." Then she edged toward where the road rounded the outcropping, putting herself between me and the Decepticons.

And I'd be slagged if I let my mom fight to the death to protect me while I wussed out. Grabbing the first metallic thing I saw on the ground with trembling hands, I took my place next to Mom, so we were standing between Samuel Prime and danger. "How do I use this?"

"You don't," pink-Arcee snapped, taking another shot at the Decepticons. "It's a cybertronium switchblade for close-quarter fighting. We just emptied everything from our subspace pockets. Samuel has grenades. Find some like his and have them on standby."

I tossed it aside and started snapping up grenades. Pink-Arcee glanced at me for a split second – it was all the distraction it took – and another shot hit home, blowing her head off and offlining her before she even hit the ground.

"GET OUT!" Bumblebee roared the quote.

Black-Arcee hesitated for a split second and then nodded her head sharply. "Samuel, Mikaela, come with me."

"Annabelle should go," Mrs. Witwicky protested, launching another grenade.

Mom turned the rifle on her. "You're a Prime's mate and mother, Warrior Goddess. Now go!"

Mrs. Witwicky's eyes burned with fury, but she snatched up a helmet that purple-Arcee had shed before dying. "You damn well better live so I can kick your aft over this," she growled.

"I'll do my best," Mom promised.

Arcee collapsed into her black bike; the purple and pink ones lay dead at my feet. Samuel and Mrs. Witwicky mounted the bike, picking up Wheelie as she went and holding him against her. I picked up Mrs. Witwicky's discarded grenade launcher, dropping the grenade in like I'd seen Samuel doing.

Bumblebee quoted the command, "Cover fire."

I sent mental thanks to Chromia for teaching me what that even meant. Throwing everything we had at the Decepticons, I didn't even hear or see Arcee and the Witwickys tear back up the mountainside behind us. With any luck, neither did the 'cons.

The launcher's power gave out after another dozen shots. "Don't waste any more grenades," Mom ordered me as she continued to fire her rifle. "We can throw them by hand if we have to."

I didn't want to think about that. So I cowered against the rock outcropping, trying to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest in a panic. In the back of my mind, I wondered how Mom knew how to shoot, and I realized that Chromia and Arcee must have trained her like they had me. Probably years before they had trained me, come to think about it.

"Run," Bumblebee suddenly ordered in a low hiss. "Hide!" He pointed uphill to where some large rocks had tumbled off the outcropping.

Instantly, Mom grabbed my hand and hauled me to my feet. We sprinted for cover, and I bruised my knee as we dove behind a jagged boulder. Glancing between gaps in the rocks, I saw four Decepticons come into view. One was the tank alt-form, while the others were in their bipedal base modes. I ducked back into hiding, but not before seeing a smaller, gray 'con stomp on the offlined purple-Arcee's head, smashing it. More explosions erupted behind us, some of them shrieking as they tore into metal armor. A heavy crunch followed, with a wordless roar of pain. Mom held me tightly and, when I felt something wet on my forehead, I looked up, worried she was bleeding. She wasn't – she was crying. And then she touched my cheek with her hand, wiping away tears I hadn't noticed. Leaning close enough that her lips were touching my ear, she whispered, "I'm sorry, Annabelle. So sorry."

Sorry I was here instead of safe at the Air Force base. Sorry we were attacked. Sorry she couldn't send me to safety with Arcee. Sorry 'Bee was going to fight to the death. Sorry it would be for nothing. Sorry she and I were both going to die today and leave Dad all alone.

I held her and cried while the uneven battle raged behind us. I thought about trying to make a run for it, but there was nothing but grassland with the occasional sagebrush for at least half a mile. We could try climbing over the rock out-cropping, but we'd be in plain sight and making noise the whole time. There was no escape.

To Bumblebee's credit, he lasted much longer than I expected him to, not when he was outnumbered four to one. And then a roar of engines and a blast of hot air announced the arrival of yet more Decepticons. Flyers this time. It was his heart-wrenching wordless cry of pain that finally dragged me out of my fear and grief. He was dying. I had a weapon in hand, and we were just letting him die. We were only safe as long as he was distracting them. With our body heat and everything, they'd find us without any trouble and then they'd kill us, too. We were all going to die today anyway – Bumblebee shouldn't die alone. Pulling my mom close again, I whispered in her ear, "We can't shame Dad. We have to fight."

She looked over the surrounding terrain and saw what I saw - we were trapped. Her face twisting with grief, she nodded and whispered, "I'm proud of you. Love you." Then she handed me a grenade. I pulled the pin and, swallowing hard, we both stood up, taking aim. A blue jet and a black ground-based mech stood over 'Bee. One was snapping a leg-strut while the other was tearing at 'Bee's remaining doorwing.

"Dibs on the car," Mom said, and then threw her grenade. It landed in the mech's face, blowing half his head off. I was a heartbeat behind her, but not quick enough. My target moved as Mom's mech fell. I caught the blue jet on the wing but didn't do enough damage to even seriously slow him down. And then a red-and-white jet landed behind us as the smaller, gray ground-based mech ran toward us. We threw what munitions we could, but I only got off a second grenade before I was being crushed in metal claws.

A tall, deep-purple mech stepped closer, and with how the others moved out of his way, it was clear he was the one in charge. I'd never seen a 'bot with only one optic before, and it made him look downright monstrous. "Where is the human you have designated a Prime?"

We didn't answer, and the jet holding us tightened his grip. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to scream and hurt Mom. I didn't want to make 'Bee feel guilty. So I bit down hard on my own teeth. The pressure of the claws on my body tightened, cutting into my sunburned skin, my ribs, until I shrieked. He stopped squeezing me then, but the threat was clear. Answer, or he'd continue.

"Ran away," Mom gasped, grief contorting her face. "Don't know where."

"Too bad for you," the jet holding us gloated and tightened his grip again. Something snapped in my side and I screamed. Abruptly, though, the pressure loosened and the jet handed Mom off to the purple one. He yanked her cowgirl boot off and examined her ankle. Her Autobot insignia, I realized with dread.

"What is your designation?" he demanded.

"What's yours?" Mom shot back.

"Shockwave," he coldly answered, his hand curling around Mom.

"Spitfire," she hurriedly answered.

"Your human designation."

Mom closed her eyes, and I could tell she was torn about whether she should say or not.

Tell the truth, but only barely enough. Samuel's words echoed in my mind. "Annabelle," I blurted out, my voice high and shaky from the pain in my side. "Annabelle Lennox. That's my mom, Sarah Lennox."

The biggest of the non-flyers, I guessed he was the tank judging by his armor bits, perked up at that. "Lennox. The humans' leader."

"Your vendetta is not important, Bludgeon," Shockwave said, his words devoid of any emotion. "Only our mission."

"Frag it isn't," the tank Bludgeon answered. "It's the only reason I'm here, and you slagging owe me these squishies. I'm the one who saw Lennox with the femme at the military base and tracked her back to the maggot Prime. You wouldn't be here either, if it weren't for me." Looming over Mom, he harshly demanded, "Do you know Ironhide?"

"She is branded with their mark – of course she knows him," Shockwave said. "The more important question is does he know her." He turned his eerie, single optic on her. "Tell us, fleshling. Does Ironhide know who you are?"

Mom pressed her lips together tightly, and that single optic turned toward me. The jet began tightening his grip on me again, and I immediately wailed in pain as broken bones shifted and rubbed against each other.

"Yes," Mom yelled, her face ashen. The jet's grip relaxed. "Yes, he knows us."

"Will he come for you?" Bludgeon eagerly asked.

Mom's tears were streaming down her cheeks, leaving tracks of mud on her face. "Yes."

"Prove it," Shockwave evenly demanded. "Demonstrate you are important to him."

"He was almost one of you," I panted through the pain. "He was there when Megatron started the Decepticons. He defected. He and Chromia both. And another femme."

"Two femmes," Mom corrected. "And I give him a wash and a wax after every deployment. He hates mud."

"That was the wrong answer," the jet holding me said, and I was surprised because it was almost a purr and his hand didn't tighten down on me. "Now instead of being responsible for just your own deaths, you'll be to blame for Ironhide's, too."

Several of the Decepticons laughed harshly, and too late, I saw the noose behind the question. We were now bait for a trap for Ironhide.

Chapter Text

"Dirge, Thrust, give Bludgeon the maggots," Shockwave commanded, and we were both unceremoniously handed off. I tried not to cry, but I was trembling and cold. "Thrust," he continued, "the Prime will be with his mate and the femme. Take your trine and find them, but do not fire on them. The maggot Prime will be necessary to activate the Matrix. Locate the femme, transmit her coordinates to us, and pursue her. If you see an opportunity to capture the Prime, take it. He is the only one we need alive. That," he pointed at the motionless Bumblebee, "will be sufficient incentive for him to comply with us."

The three jets took off, jumping up and transforming to blast away into the skies.

Arcee.

Mrs. Witwicky.

Wheelie.

The ground-based mechs seemed to kick back a bit, but one (roughly the size of Trailbreaker) eagerly said, "Let me take 'em, Bludgeon."

The big mech holding us snorted in derision. "You just want to see how many struts you can break before they stasis-lock, Stockade. I want these two functioning. Seeing Ironhide's reaction to them dead won't be half as fun as seeing his reaction to them dying. Disgusting meatbag – it's leaking organic goo all over me!"

He jostled me, and another shriek ripped out of my throat.

"Weak," he snarled.

"Come on! The fluid doesn't bother me," Stockade all but whined. Mom looked green like she was going to be sick and I held her gaze, wishing I had an Autobot comm so I could tell her again that I loved her. Her eyes told me she was wishing the same thing.

Bludgeon turned like he was looking for something. "Go away, Stockade. You're as annoying as a minibot."

Striding purposefully now, he went to the outcropping we'd taken cover behind and stretched me and Mom out on top of it. My ribs shifted some more, and I bit back a scream. He flicked once at Mom's exposed ankle, smashing her Autobot insignia.

She yelped in pain, and Stockade made an enthusiastic sound. To Mom, Bludgeon growled, "Stay put."

Tears streaming down her face and gritting her teeth, she nodded.

The gray mech began pacing, randomly kicking at the pink and purple and yellow parts scattered all over the ground. "How long do we have to sit around here?"

"Two hours," Bludgeon answered. "I've got to keep these maggots functioning for at least two more hours until Ironhide gets here, so don't even think of putting your servos on them."

Shockwave's single red optic grew brighter. "Hardtop, Stockade, run a patrol. Ensure there's nothing…unexpected that could hinder us in battle."

"Race ya," Hardtop said with a vicious grin, and Stockade answered by collapsing into his alt-mode. When the sound of their engines were silent (or at least, I couldn't hear them over my labored breathing), Bludgeon said, "Thanks. They were getting on my nerves. I was gonna have to kill one of 'em."

"I did not do it for your benefit," Shockwave answered, his single optic distant now. "If there are traps or sensors, the offlining of Stockade or Hardtop would be a lesser loss to the Decepticons. It is only your lumbering alt-mode that kept me from sending you. Be silent."

Bludgeon grunted and collapsed down into a tank beside the outcropping. Lying in wait for Ironhide.

The throbbing in my side was a constant, and I couldn't move. All I could do was grip my fingers into fists and try to remember to breathe. Slowly, Mom inched her way closer, scooting herself along the ground until she was close enough to lay beside me. She caressed my face, frowning in concern. Low in my ear, she whispered, "You're clammy. You might be going into shock."

Of course I was. Frag it all.

Hissing in pain, she peeled her own jacket off and draped it over my chest. It wasn't much, but it did help warm me up a little bit. Her fingers gingerly explored my ribs, and I cut off the wail that slipped out.

"Shut up!" Bludgeon snarled.

Shallowly panting against the pain, I glanced sidelong at Mom. She ducked her head and tried to give me a brave smile, but she was too pale to be reassuring. Scooting down a little, she curled up protectively next to my broken rib and put her arm over my waist.

"Ankle broken?" I breathed.

"Afraid so."

My head lolled back against the ground, and I swallowed hard. I was in no condition to escape, and Mom probably couldn't even walk. She kept rubbing my arm and hand, trying to warm me. Fortunately the sun was beating down on us, and it must have been close to 13:00 hours by now. For the first time since we left the house, I wondered what time it was. It made me think of my cell phone concealed in my pocket. If the Decepticons caught me with it, they'd destroy it and maybe us. But it was our best hope for rescue.

My fingers found my zipped jacket pocket, and I slipped the phone out but kept it hidden under the jacket Mom had draped over me. Turning to her, I whispered, "Bat signal."

She nodded and slipped her hand under the jacket to retrieve the phone. Trying to not draw attention to what we were doing, I turned my head to focus on the boulders we'd hidden behind when Bumblebee made his final stand. Even that small movement made me hurt worse.

Beside me, Mom sighed. Her lips against my ear, she whispered, "Radio silence."

Slag. Were we being jammed? Or did she mean radio silence had been ordered for the Autobots?

"Radio silence?" Bludgeon demanded, and I mentally cursed.

He transformed to loom over us. "What's that supposed to mean?" Mom hesitated, and Bludgeon boomed, "Well?"

Swallowing hard, she held my cell phone out to him. "It means my phone wasn't able to get signal."

Her phone - she was lying to protect me, so that she'd be the one punished if her confession made Bludgeon angry.

He plucked it from her grip and crushed it between his fingertips.

"Weak human tech. Too bad. It would have been fun to give Ironhide a preview." Then he transformed back down into his alt.

The minutes ticked by, and I was getting desperate to think about anything besides the pain. I looked at the broken parts scattered around on the ground, and tried to imagine how we could use them to fight or escape. I didn't know enough about Autobot frames to know what I was even looking at, but it gave me something else to focus on.

I went through every scrap of metal in view twice before it sank in that we really weren't going to make it out of this alive. When we were fighting for Bumblebee, it was different. He was being torn apart and we were trapped anyway. But even then I didn't understand like I did now that we were already dead. I choked on a sob when I realized this was it. My life would end today. Each breath was getting harder than the last.

Mom rubbed my arm more quickly, and I caught her hand to squeeze it tight. She was hurt, too, but all this time she was being strong and holding it together for me. She squeezed my hand back in answer, hearing my unspoken "I love you" and letting me know she loved me, too.

She rested her forehead against my cheek, and I could tell from her hitched breathing that she was crying, too.

At one point, Bludgeon startled us by transforming again, but he ignored us, striding over to Bumblebee's mangled frame and kicking him repeatedly.

"Enough," Shockwave said, and Bludgeon grumbled, "He was transmitting something."

"Yes," Shockwave answered, sounding annoyed. "Tortured mechs tend to have misfiring systems."

The roar of Cybertronian engines made me look up with a sudden surge of hope, but it was the two non-flying Decepticons coming back from patrol. The smaller one rolled out of his alt-form. "Nothing to report but grit in our gears. This planet is filthy."

"Noted," Shockwave answered. "Stand down, Hardtop."

The bigger one transformed and walked toward Bludgeon. "The insects are both still functioning."

"Frag off, Stockade, or by the Unmaker, I'll plug you with the enhanced cyber-shot."

"Do not waste it on him," Shockwave ordered.

"I've got four rounds," Bludgeon grumbled, "And these pellets pack an even bigger punch – enough to make sure Ironhide's extinguished this time. It'll only take one round to fry Stockade's circuits to the Pit."

"Ironhide's got to be getting close," Stockade whined. "Can't I have just one of the organics?"

"These are my kill," he growled, transforming up and out of his alt-form.

Stockade skipped back, lighter on his feet. "You just need them alive, you said, not intact. They're half-broken already."

"Deal with this, Shockwave, or I will," Bludgeon said, smacking Stockade's clawed hand away from us.

The purple mech looked their way. "Stockade, stand down."

But Stockade lunged at me. I tried to flinch away, but I wasn't quick enough, and I screamed when his fingertip crushed me. Bludgeon shoved him away. I couldn't even understand their arguing, though. All I knew was the grinding, throbbing pain in my hip.

Several things happened at once – Bludgeon took aim with his cannon, a half-dozen jets buzzed us, and Shockwave bellowed, "Incoming."

Bludgeon paused and made a disgusted sound. "Human-builts. The Seekers will tear 'em to shreds."

The pain started fading. Puzzled, I looked down toward my hip and gulped hard. It was still a gory mess, but I couldn't feel it anymore. This was the end, then.

I tried to turn my head to look at my mom one last time, but I couldn't move and then I was floating in an out-of-body experience. I could see my corpse there on the bloodstained rock where Bludgeon had set me and Mom aside. She wasn't crying anymore, either. Were we both dead? I didn't think she'd been hurt as badly as me, but…

Bludgeon doubled over onto the ground and screamed so high and loud that his vocalizer visibly crackled. Sparks were jumping in the gaps between his armor, making him jerk, and a pellet rolled out onto the ground. The micro-Cons, like the ones that had almost killed Ironhide!

Red, blue, silver, black – like a thunderbolt another 'bot dropped from the sky and the earth shook when his feet hit the ground. Even before he spoke, I recognized him by his energon blades. "Shockwave!" Optimus' voice rang with challenge.

"Attack!" the 'con ordered, still cold and calculating.

Bludgeon was still screaming and convulsing, but Stockade and Hardtop launched themselves at Optimus. Prime caught Stockade's shoulder in his hand and impaled the 'Con on his blade, ignoring the damage from blasts he was taking from Shockwave. Hardtop he kicked aside. Then the 'Con's leader was on him and they both crashed to the ground. They were on the edge of my peripheral vision (and I fleetingly wondered how I could even have peripheral vision when I was dead). I could hear them, though – armor squealing and clanging as fists struck home.

The Seekers arrived and landed, warily circling Optimus and Shockwave, looking for a chance to back up their boss. Prime managed to throw off Shockwave, and the Seekers opened fire. My perspective abruptly shifted away from Optimus and I felt a wave of panicked irritation. No! I couldn't fly off to heaven or wherever yet! I had to know if Optimus would make it out of there alive!

My new perspective let me see something that made my heart lurch in both fear and hope: sun glinting off of windshields on the road uphill. Was this the cavalry coming or more Decepticons?

Chopper blades beat the air behind me as another mech joined the battle, but I focused instead on the approaching vehicles. One figure raced ahead of the others and I would have cheered if I could when I made out the splash of pink. Arcee. She must have updated the color scheme of her final remaining bike. If she was coming here freely then she was leading the charge. As they got closer I could see the green of Hound's alt-form, the black of Trailbreaker, and the off-white of RaFly. Where was Mirage, though?

My perspective shifted again in time to see Optimus blast a Seeker's wing clean off. One of the Prime's antennas was damaged and he seemed to be favoring his left leg, but he gamely traded blows with Shockwave. The remaining Seeker disengaged from the orange-and-white Evac and helped his injured companion take to the sky.

I desperately wished there was something, anything, I could do to help, but my perspective shifted again and I couldn't even watch. This new angle let me see Bumblebee's crumpled frame and I started drifting closer. Was he even alive still? The stump where one of his doorwings had once attached to his frame was trembling, and compassion welled up in me.

Engines roared behind me. Again my perspective shifted in time to see Shockwave blast into the sky as the other Autobots burst onto the scene. It took me only a heartbeat to realize he was retreating. Hardtop kicked up a plume of dust as he tried to make a run for it, too.

Hound and Trailbreaker drove on, with Hound racing ahead to engage Hardtop, but Arcee fell to her knees beside Bumblebee, immediately going to work. Evac joined her and their hurried motions looked desperate.

Almost coldly, she said, "He's not going to make it."

"Ratchet's on his way, Arcee," Evac answered.

A moment later, RaFly pulled into my field of vision and a grim-looking Samuel got out from behind the wheel, followed by Mrs. Witwicky on the passenger side.

Arcee's twitched her head 'no.' "He won't get here in time."

The Autobots had won this round, but they'd lost me and Mom. Would they lose Bumblebee, too?

Chapter Text

Hound returned, rolling to his feet next to Trailbreaker, and they both watched in silent concern as the two Autobot medics frantically worked on Bumblebee. Arcee turned to Samuel, her voice urgent. "Primes…The Cube could heal. The Matrix might, too."

Samuel looked doubtfully at Optimus and some silent communication passed between them.

"Please," the femme pleaded, interrupting them. "As his mate, I implore you, Primes."

Optimus seemed surprised. "You'd commit to him?"

Her head jerked once in a nod. "Yes."

After a few eternal seconds, Optimus opened a compartment on his frame and gave Samuel the Matrix of Leadership. The human Prime solemnly accepted it and then turned to Bumblebee, his expression uncertain, like he was listening closely to something he could barely hear. "What would you sacrifice for him?"

"Anything," she immediately answered. "Everything."

Coming to a decision, he walked over to the crumpled 'Bee, telling Arcee, "Open your spark chamber."

Instantly, her armor began rearranging itself, sliding and peeling back until a brilliant blue light was pulsing in her chest, open to the sky.

"Put your servo on my hand," Samuel ordered. I guessed that most of the time only Primes were allowed to touch the Matrix because Arcee blinked once in surprise before stepping closer and laying her hand over his. Together, they placed the Matrix crossways over Bumblebee's faltering spark. The brilliant light coming from Arcee became blinding, and I winced against the afterimages.

"Don't touch her," Samuel and Optimus said at the same time. I still couldn't see what was going on.

"Sam," an unfamiliar voice said almost reverently. Then, "Where are Spitfire and Firebrand?"

Mirage's blue and silver suddenly appeared above me. I was so confused!

"Primus!" Evac exclaimed, his base form kind of visible around the blurs in my vision.

"Annabelle!" Mrs. Witwicky shouted, panic in her voice. "Sarah!"

"They are still anesthetized by the nannites Ratchet had me inject them with," Mirage explained. "They are conscious but not suffering, Warrior Goddess."

I guessed I wasn't dead after all. I tried to focus on other things - like blinking - as Evac closed in, already whipping out a different set of tools. We'd probably been invisible this whole time. Mirage's presence explained why the 'cons didn't see us, but it still didn't explain how I'd seen my own corpse…although Hound and his mad hologram skills probably did.

"I can control the blood loss so it's not life-threatening." Evac prodded me with an instrument of some kind. "But Firebrand needs more advanced care than I can give. I don't know if even Ratchet…"

"Edwards Air Force Base," Samuel suggested.

"Another five minutes, Prime," Evac answered.

My vision was finally clearing up. I was still paralyzed, but from the angle I was at, I could see Optimus. And I thought his normal robotic form was intimidating. He was looking down at Bumblebee – broken no longer. "Are you okay, Arcee?" the yellow mech asked as he helped her to her feet. He had his voice back!

She chuckled for some reason and then answered, "Yeah, I think so." Then she caught sight of me and Mom in Mirage's hands and hurried over. "The bone..." she murmured as her hands transformed into what looked like surgical tools.

"I know," Evac anxiously answered. They worked together in tense silence for what seemed like forever.

"Stop tinkering," she eventually snapped. "Transform and get her out of here." But Arcee kept working on me.

Evac didn't even answer – just stepped away and shifted into his helicopter form. His holoform flickered into existence and pulled a gurney out from the rear of the cockpit. Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky rushed to help him with the second one.

"The more weight I haul, the slower I'll have to go. I should carry no more than the two of them," Evac's holoform declared as Mirage gently placed me and Mom each on a gurney.

"Go," Samuel said firmly. "The rest of us are safe now. Get them to the help as quickly as you can."

The holoform nodded and secured me and Mom with Arcee's help. "Hang on, you two," she said softly. "We'll see you on base."

…

I'm embarrassed to admit that I fell asleep on that flight. I mean, here I was flying with an Autobot and I conked out. What a waste! But I woke up screaming. We were on a helicopter pad at a hospital and they were pulling me out of Evac's alt form. The pain I hadn't felt since Mirage's nannite injection came rushing, throbbing, grinding back, and tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision.

"Sedate her!" somebody ordered, and I blacked out again before we made it through the emergency room doors.

My next memory was of Ron Hatchett throwing a world-class tantrum in my hospital room. "What do you mean?" he was snarling, and I heard something metallic clang against the floor. His back was turned to me and I couldn't see who he was chewing out. "You think I'm going to let you take away her ability to walk because you fraggers don't trust me? I've been her family physician since she was two!"

"Calm down," the other person ordered, "or I'll call security."

"I'll call my team's security," Ron Hatchett fired back, "and I can guarantee you Ironhide will win that contest!"

"She's awake," another voice said, interrupting the fight. Eventually I focused enough to realize it was Cam.

I was numb and loopy, but a part of my mind knew I was in a lot of pain, even if the anesthetic was blocking it for now.

"Ron Hatchett is my doctor," I tried to say, but the words were mumbled.

"There! You see!"

The human physician ignored Ratchet and worked his way to my side. "How do you feel?" he kindly asked.

"Okay, I guess," I whispered. "For now."

He glanced at Bumblebee's holoform. "Can you let her parents know?"

"They're already on their way," he answered.

The doctor nodded at that and then turned to me again. "You're in pretty rough shape," he began, and drugged or not I could feel the sugarcoating he was trying to put on it. "You've been in surgery for a good twenty hours."

"I won't walk again?"

He glared daggers at Ron Hatchett, who elbowed Cam away from my side. "Firebrand, you have been heavily damaged. The right half of your pelvic bone and the top portion of your femur were crushed, including the hip ball and socket."

"The Autobot brand?" I whispered.

Hatchett nodded. "You'll need grafts to replace that skin. They can give you a prosthetic that, with time, might allow you to walk with crutches or a cane, but that is about all mainstream medical science can do for you in the long term."

"What can you do?" I mumbled.

"Experiment on you," another voice flatly answered, and my drugged brain didn't place the sound until I saw him. Senatorial Liaison Joe Marshall. "You said once that Ratchet would slag anyone who tried to make you anything less than 100% organic. But now here we sit with him more than willing to implant their technology in you. Revealing his true colors."

"I hate you," I said, feeling the heaviness of sleep pulling on me again.

His lips twitched in a brief, bitter smile. "The feeling is far from mutual, Miss Lennox. I'm here to protect you from being a human subject for alien medical experiments. A little appreciation is due, I should think."

Ratchet growled, but just then the door swung open, and Dad pushed a wheelchair into the room. Mom was sitting in it, her ankle in a brace and elevated. "Annabelle!" she said, nudging the human doctor out of the way so she could grasp my hand. Dad crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the other two humans. "Get out."

The doctor nodded respectfully and moved toward the door, but Marshall insisted on losing a glaring-match with Dad before making his retreat. Idiot.

"You okay, Mom?" I murmured, fighting to keep my eyes open.

She half-laughed, half-snorted. "I'm fine – a few broken bones that will heal in a matter of weeks. It's you everyone's worried about."

"Where am I?"

"We're at the hospital on Edwards Air Force Base, sweetheart. Pretty much everyone from Diego Garcia is here."

"I'm tired."

"Sleep all you want." I blinked and then couldn't seem to find my eyelids to open them, but Mom's gentle fingertips brushed across my forehead. It felt nice. Safe.

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"I trust Ratchet."

"I understand," she answered, a smile in her voice.

…

It was dark outside when I woke up again, but I was so loopy I wasn't sure if one day or ten had passed. This time, it was Aaron Hyde who was keeping watch over me, along with Evac's holoform Evan Call. "Hey," Hyde greeted me, his expression neutral.

"Hey." And then I frowned at him. "No hug?"

He shook his head like he didn't believe I would ask. "There's no safe way to hug you. Smashed hip, broken ribs, internal bleeding – you're a mess, Annabelle. In traction." He scooted his chair closer and slipped something into my cold fingers. A cell phone. I'd bet anything this one was Autobot-enabled, too.

I half-smiled, grateful to be connected, and reached for his hands. "You're warm."

Hyde took my hand in both of his, and the touch felt heavenly. He nodded to Evan, who came around to the other side of the bed to warm my other hand.

"It's because of the pain medication," the Autobot medic explained, nodding to a button beside my bed. "You can self-administer as needed, and this system won't let you overdose. It does lower your heart rate and blood pressure, though, which in turn decreases your circulation."

"Leaves me with a fuzzy head, too."

Hyde ignored the medical talk. "You're gonna pull through, Firebrand. You're one tough little fighting femme. When I heard Bumblebee's last transmission…" He kind of choked up, and I realized that even though Bludgeon hadn't killed me, he got his revenge anyway. He was tormenting 'Hide right now.

"Hey," I whispered. "Don't. I'm okay. It's all going to be okay."

They both fell silent, and I couldn't understand why. "Ratchet will find a way for me to walk again," I assured them both.

"Ratchet thinks too much," Hyde gruffly answered.

"Marshall's been arguing with him," Evac explained, his voice soft. "And Ratchet's starting to listen. As much as he wants to heal you, Firebrand, he doesn't want to reduce you to an experiment. While there's an extremely high probability that he can calibrate our technology to be compatible with your body, there are still risks. And as Mr. Marshall is quick to point out, all of this is untested, even on a lab rat."

"So I'm volunteering," I answered, starting to get annoyed.

"You're underage," Evan answered.

"Frag it to the PIT!" I grumbled. "Get that medic's fat aft in here now."

Evan's gaze was distant as he commed Ratchet, but Hyde chuckled. "Your mom would wash my mouth out with soap if she heard you cussing like that."

I weakly smirked at him, glad to see him laugh.

Ron Hatchett appeared in my hospital room. "You called for my fat aft?" he drawled, looking coldly furious.

I refused to be intimidated, or at least, that's what I told myself. "Yes. Stop listening to Marshall. I'm volunteering. I trust you. Give me a life worth living. Let me walk again."

His jaw clenched once before he let his breath out in a frustrated whoosh. "It's not that simple, Annabelle."

"Don't 'Annabelle' me, Ratchet. You're talking to Firebrand."

"Fine, Firebrand. Your hip strut was smashed so thoroughly that you would have bled to death before Evac could get you here had there not been two Autobot medics on hand to treat you. We spent hours pulling out all the bone slivers and then hours more stabilizing pulverized blood vessels. I assisted in this, as did Evac and Arcee. Had we not, the barbarians you humans call doctors would have amputated your leg. You have a prosthesis in right now, but it's only a temporary one to allow the muscles to heal in the proper shape. My initial plan of treatment would have been a Cybertronian replacement. I'm a medic and swapping out parts is what I do. And I'm slagging good at it, if I do say so myself. I am aware of the frailty of the human body and took this into account. However, after consulting with your parents, Optimus, Mr. Marshall, and some medical experts in the military who have dealt frequently with injuries similar to yours, I have reconsidered my initial plan."

"Slag it, Ratchet."

"Quiet, youngling," he archly cut me off, and I shut my mouth. "Marshall is right that it would be…a perversion of medicine to implant alien technology in your body just because I'm too emotionally attached to think clearly."

I actually gulped at that one. Ratchet too emotionally attached? For being so cold and clinical, his declaration that he cared about me made tears well up in my eyes.

His hands clenched into fists and he looked down at them. "I will find a way to fix you, Firebrand. But I'm not going to make you a target by loading up your body with implants and then turning you loose to get captured by either conniving humans or curious Decepticons a few years down the road. It's because of the brand we placed upon you that your body is so damaged. Our thoughtless act." He looked up at me, determination blazing in his eyes. "You are an Autobot, but you are a human one and if I can't find a way to repair you that will keep you human, then I don't deserve the title of medic. Now if you'll excuse me, my fat aft is needed down in the repair bay."

I blinked and he was gone. Stunned speechless, I stared at the spot where he'd stood.

Hyde chuckled again. "You fragged him off good, Firebrand. You must be on the mend."

Dad rolled Mom's wheelchair into my room, and she looked at Hyde. "Who's fragged off?"

Hyde stood, yielding his side of my bed to her. "Ratchet."

"Seems to be his base state these days," Dad muttered. "How are you feeling, Annabelle?" he asked me, leaning on the back of Mom's wheelchair.

"Better, I think. Or at least, not any worse..."

"I'm glad you're not hurting," Mom said, taking my hand in hers to warm them like Hyde had.

Realizing what she was doing, Dad glanced over at Evac, who readily gave up his seat.

"You're in good hands now," the medic said, "so I'm going to report to the med bay for a few minutes." Then his holoform blinked out.

Dad took my hand in his, and I searched his eyes. "I want to walk again."

"No one is giving up hope," Mom insisted, but the anguish in his gaze said otherwise.

Chapter Text

The next time I woke up, Optimus' younger Tim Furst holoform was at my bedside, and he was the only other one in the room.

I blinked, pretty sure my brain was too fuzzy for this to be a dream. "Tim?"

He reached out, offering to take my cold hand in his. I wasn't sure if I was coherent enough to blush, but his holoform skin was so pleasantly warm. He looked at our clasped hands and smiled just a little. "It is good to see you awake, Annabelle."

"To what do I owe the honor?"

"Pardon?"

"Don't you have better things to do than sit next to a conked-out human?"

Lifting his gaze to mine, his smile became more genuine. "We have all sat at your side at one time or another over the last nine days. You've undergone four surgeries now. You happened to wake up during my watch this time. "

"Nine days? Is that how long it's been?" I asked, kind of surprised.

"Yes. You have been gravely injured."

It suddenly occurred to me that maybe he could talk some sense into Ratchet. "I want to walk again."

Tim closed his eyes and hung his head. "We all wish that for you, Annabelle."

"But you can make it actually happen."

"Yes," he admitted.

When he didn't say anything else, I asked, "But…?"

He again lifted his gaze to mine. "But I lack your courage."

My head lolled back, and I got through half a laugh before my painful, partially-healed ribs told me that was a bad idea. My hip wasn't thrilled, either. I gingerly fingered my side and gave Tim a dirty look. "No fair joking when I'm already in stitches." Only then did I realize his expression was dead serious.

"I didn't mean to hurt you even more, but it is the truth."

"I'm too drugged for riddles. Tell me what you really mean."

He drew a deep breath. "The short answer, then, is that I'm getting squishier by the day. Perhaps it was inevitable. We don't share our technology, Annabelle, but to heal your hip, it would require us doing just that. Human soldiers have lost limbs, have lost their lives, while fighting Decepticons with us. Their amity was not enough to justify sharing our technology, but…" He leaned forward to kiss my hand and then rest it on my torso, leaving the sentence hanging.

But I was the Autobots' collective kid sister. No wonder Ratchet was getting so cranky.

Looking into the gaze of the Prime, I understood why he was so torn, too. It wasn't fair for me to put that kind of burden on him, but a sudden flash of anger filled me at the thought. What part of any of this was fair? Why should I have to make things fair for the grown-ups, when they had been the ones to be so unfair to me?

I closed my eyes, surprised by the resentment and how strong it was.

"Rest," Tim said. "Gather strength while I gather my courage."

I lifted my head, opening my mouth to tell him I wasn't tired, but he was already gone.

...

Mom and Dad were in my room when I came around next. "Hi Annabelle," Mom said, grinning. "It's good to see your eyes. You've been sleeping a ton."

"What day is it?" I wondered.

"June 29th," Dad answered.

I squinted at the ceiling, trying to remember what day the attack had been. Giving up, I asked, "How long have I been here?"

"Twelve days."

Almost two weeks now.

Mom squeezed my hand tightly. "You haven't had a surgery for three days. There will be more down the road, of course, but that's a good sign. They say we can begin some gentle physical therapy in a couple of days."

I nodded in agreement. "How about you?" She was still in a wheelchair. A wave of panic hit me that maybe she wouldn't ever be able to walk again either.

"I've already started my physical therapy. I'll set off the metal detector at airports now, but it's human tech that's holding my foot together. I'll be in a cast for another couple of weeks. If all goes well with that, I'll graduate to crutches. So I should be back on my feet in about six weeks."

I wiped away a traitorous tear, and Mom cupped my cheek with her hand. "I love you, sweetheart."

...

That day was a turning point - it was the last one that I needed to push the pain meds button. Without the influence of the drugs, I started staying awake for at least a half hour at a time several times a day. Mom and Dad hung out in my room a lot, when Mom wasn't in physical therapy, and the 'bot's popped in from time to time, too.

On Day 16 of my hospital stay, I woke up from an afternoon nap to see Mrs. Witwicky beside my bed. I sat up a little straighter in surprise.

"Hey," she softly said.

"Hi," I answered. "I didn't realize you and Samuel were still around."

"Yeah, we're still in town. Sam's with the kids right now, but I…" She looked down, seeming to struggle for words.

"Are you okay?"

A smile twitched on her lips. "You really are a human Autobot, aren't you." Looking up, she searched my eyes. "Are you okay?"

I swallowed hard. The way she asked told me she really meant it. Everyone else knew I wasn't okay and had tiptoed around that question. She was the first one to ask me point-blank, to give me a chance to say so. "I mean...well, I'm banged up pretty good, but I'm feeling a little better every day."

"But are you okay? I put you through hell, Annabelle."

I blinked a couple of times in confusion before I realized what she meant. She had said I should escape with Arcee, but Mom had insisted that Mrs. Witwicky go - at gunpoint.

Now she had survivor's guilt. Dad had been hit by that sometimes, especially after Graham died, and Mom had explained it to me. "I'm alive. I'm going to be just fine. Ratchet's going to let me walk again - Optimus is working on it. And it's not your fault."

"I took your place on Arcee's bike."

"It was your place, not mine. Mom was right - you're a Prime."

She bitterly laughed and shook her head. "No, I'm not. That's Sam."

"Well, you're a Prime by marriage. That's got to count for something, doesn't it?"

Grimacing, she said, "Yeah, by Autobot tradition, it makes me their femme commander. If I'd been the kind of Prime's mate they expect, I would have taken better care of you."

"Hey," I said, "you did the best you could with what we had. Even Optimus needed backup in that battle. You had to run. It was fate. You wouldn't have made it. I heard Shockwave…" His voice echoed in my mind, ordering the Seekers to kill everyone but Samuel. I shuddered at the memory, trying to shake it off and mostly succeeding. "He ordered the Seekers to not take prisoners. I heard him. The only reason we survived was because we're Lennoxes. There was a mech who wanted to…" I swallowed hard, unable to say the word "kill" when it would make the whole thing real again. "He wanted to hurt us in front of Ironhide as a vengeance thing. Shockwave literally would have...killed on sight any other human except Samuel or a Lennox."

"If you hate me…"

"I don't, Mrs. Witwicky," I interrupted her, more sure with each passing second that I was right on this. "It was fate. You had to survive, and Mom and I were fated to live, too. I don't hate you at all. It's not your fault...but I forgive you."

It was a guess that's why she'd come but they don't call it survivor's guilt for nothing. I felt a little forward saying it, but she sniffled and brushed away a tear or two, confirming my guess.

"Thank you, Annabelle. And after all you've been through, you've earned the right to call me by my first name."

That made me feel even more bold, so I asked, "Well what is it the Autobots call you? Femme commander?"

She again shook her head. "It's an honorary title, but I don't like it. I don't know the first thing about military strategies or commanding an army."

"Well I think you showed you're a good one. Just saying."

With a wistful smile, she said, "You're a good person, and we're lucky to have you." Taking a second to clear her throat, she added, "What can I do for you?"

"I can't really think of anything…"

Giving me a Mom look, she said, "As your femme commander, Firebrand, what can I do for you?"

If she was going to pull rank like that when she didn't even like the title, I decided to give in. "I'm going a little stir crazy stuck in bed like this. I mean, we've tried a wheelchair a few times, but they have to strap me in and we never go further than the hall. And it leaves me really sore. Anything to help distract me or a change of scenery or whatever."

"Are you okay with the kids visiting you?"

"Yeah, if the doctors okay it."

"We'll be back tonight, then."

She said it like it was a battle plan, and it made me smile. I'd bet she was more like a Cybertronian femme commander than she thought. "Deal."

A little after I finished dinner with Mom and Dad, the Witwickys showed up - all four of them. Daemon had colored me several pictures - of a mountain, an island, a volcano, the surface of the moon - and written "Feel Better" on the island. (I think it was supposed to be Diego Garcia.) He was very proud that he had written it all by his seven-year-old self. At four years old, Beatrice had just drawn a blob made of red-violet squiggles with blue dots for eyes, but she did mix it up by using different colors in the background for her red scribbles. I made a big deal of the drawings, and Mikaela asked if she could tape them to the walls as a change of scenery for me. We got permission from the nurse on staff, and the kids were bursting with pride.

Then Mrs. Witwicky, erm, Mikaela broke out some nail polish and offered to give me a mani-pedi. I picked out a lime green polish for my toes and a lemon yellow for my fingers. The kids told me all about their two weeks with their grandparents while Mikaela applied the base colors and then broke out a pretty lavender polish to use as an accent color on both my hands and feet. By that point, the kids were getting a little rambunctious, and Beatrice tried to climb up on my bed.

Samuel swooped in to snatch her up because Mikaela had her hands full of nail polish. "Sam, we're almost done here. Can you tell the kids a story or something?" she asked.

"How about a story about Cannon Man?" he asked them, and the kids jumped for joy. "I can't start until you're sitting on the couch," he said.

They scurried over and sat down, and I wondered what kind of parenting voodoo came with being a Prime. "A long time ago," he began, "in a galaxy far, far away, there was a very strange planet. Instead of dirt, it was made of metal. And instead of people, robots lived there."

"Metal World!" Beatrice exclaimed. Clearly she'd heard this story before, or one a lot like it.

"That's right!" Samuel said, grinning. "On Metal World, the robots could walk and talk and think and feel just like you and me. They had families and houses and everything. In fact, they even made cake, but it wasn't like our cake. Instead of chocolate, they used the goo you scrape off a car engine. And then they frost it with fingernail polish remover." He pointed at the bottle Mikaela was using for emphasis.

"Gross!" Daemon said, sticking his tongue out.

"Yeah, I think so, too," Samuel agreed. "They had poets and scientists, artists and inventors. And they even had mighty warriors to help protect them."

"Like Cannon Man," Daemon cut in. "And the Great Swordsman!"

"Yes," Mikaela said with a wink at me, "and don't forget Rifle Queen and her sisters - Blue Boom and Motorcycle Lady. Their girls were warriors, too."

I remembered the transforming toy cars I'd gotten for Christmas that one year and had to smile. When I was little and invited Skids and Mudflap to play with those toys with me, they'd told very similar stories, with some of the same character names, even. This was the same thing for Daemon and Beatrice. The stories let them get to know the 'bots without actually breaking the rules.

"Well one day some mean robots tried to take over a city. They said they'd kill anyone who didn't do what they said. Cannon Man and Blue Boom were there with some of their friends, and they weren't going to let the mean robots win. But the problem was there were a lot more mean robots than friendly ones. But do you think they gave up?"

"No!" Daemon and Beatrice chorused.

"That's right. Instead, they made a plan - a very smart and very sneaky plan. One night, they snuck in and stole the mean robots' food and gave it to the hungry robots of the city. Another night, they blew up all the mean robots' weapons so they couldn't hurt as many people. And they even used a scary thunderstorm to sneak in and steal the mean robots' first aid kits and all the medical supplies to give to Docbot. And each time they used a different disguise, so the mean robots thought that Cannon Man and Blue Boom had a lot more friends helping them than there were. With no food, no weapons, and no bandaids if they got hurt, the mean robots decided to leave. Cannon Man and Blue Boom saved the city!"

"Hooray!" Beatrice shouted.

"Tell us another one."

He obliged, starting in on one about Motorcycle Lady and Stripes (my names for the Arcee and Bumblebee toys) who were on a mission to spy on the mean robots. Mikaela winked at me and I chuckled, watching her work but listening with interest to Samuel's story. A mean robot shot at Motorcycle Lady, but Stripes gallantly jumped in front of her, saving her but getting hurt really badly, too. They were in the mean robot's land, and they were surrounded. Motorcycle Lady had to use a bunch of smart tricks to take out the mean robots, fix up Stripes, and keep them both safe. Mikaela finished with my nails just as Motorcycle Lady's sister and her friends showed up to help get them all back to the good robots' side of the fence.

At that point, Mikaela closed up the bottle of lavender nail polish and said, "Annabelle needs to rest, and so do you two. Can you say goodnight to her?"

"Aw!" Beatrice adorably protested, and Daemon said, "But Mom!"

"I'll tell you another story when your teeth are brushed and you're in your pajamas," Samuel said, and the kids reluctantly gave in. They both wished me goodnight, and Samuel paused long enough to shake my hand (and admire Mikaela's handiwork - she had an eye for detail). "She gave you purple hearts," he said, amused.

In a low voice, I asked, "Are those stories...authentic?"

He smiled up at me. "Mostly. I only tell them the chapters with happy endings. Feel better, Firebrand."

…

The next morning (and it was so nice to be able to keep track of the days again!), I woke up to Tim Furst at my bedside again.

"Hey," I said. "Forgive the morning breath."

He gave me a half-hearted smile. "There's nothing to forgive. I came to follow up on our last conversation."

"Oh?"

"Yes." He looked down, shoulders hunching slightly. It was really weird to see him sitting like that. He looked so defeated. "We have identified a suitable company with which to partner. The wheels can be in motion in as little as 24 hours, if this is still what you and your parents want."

"You don't sound very happy about it."

Lifting his gaze to mine, he said, "There are no good options here, Annabelle." He looked away again, and I could see how much he was struggling with this. "But Sam is convinced and I believe that we have made the best choice available to us. It is not without risk, but it will achieve the goal we seek."

"And that goal is making it possible for me to walk again?"

This time, the fire of the Prime glinted in his eyes when he met my gaze again. He didn't look young in this moment - there was too much sorrow, too much worry for that. "Yes."

Guilt slammed into me. "I'm sorry."

He stood, and I noticed that his hands were balled into loose fists that relaxed to his side as I watched. "So am I. Speak with your parents, and I'll visit again soon."

And then he was gone.

Mom and Dad joined me for breakfast just a few minutes after Tim Furst left, sitting on either side of my bed. We talked for a bit, but my conversation with Optimus sat like a weight on my chest the whole time. Eventually I confessed, "I think I might have accidentally tossed a grenade."

Dad tilted his head, his expression serious. "What do you mean?"

"You know how the Autobots don't share their technology? Well Optimus was here a few days ago and he said that the only way to let me walk again was to let humans have access to Cybertronian tech. I understand why they don't share it, but then this morning he came back again and said that they'd do it for me."

"That's great news!" Mom said.

What if they do and it goes horribly wrong?"

"Wrong how?" Dad asked.

"Well, what if I'm the one responsible for the zombie apocalypse or something?"

Mom laughed, but Dad's eyes narrowed slightly. It kind of creeped me out - it was like he was seeing right into me.

"You don't need to worry about that, Annabelle," Mom said, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. "Zombies aren't real, and even if they were, they wouldn't stand a chance against Autobots."

"Annabelle," Dad softly said, "it's not the end of the world if you need to use a wheelchair, for the record. But I thought you wanted to walk again."

"I do. It's just…" I didn't know how to explain my unease with the whole idea. "I'm scared that the price of a normal life for me might be too high."

"But sweetheart…" Mom trailed off when Dad reached across me to catch Mom's hand.

To me, he said, "You're catastrophizing."

Darn him and his college degree in psychology. "In English?"

He sighed and then gave me a wry smile. "You've been traumatized. It's not just your body that's been injured. Now that your body is starting to heal, your subconscious mind is going to have a whole lot of opinions about what went wrong, how it went wrong, and what you can do to avoid being injured again. Unfortunately, the human subconscious isn't exactly logical. Catastrophizing means that your subconscious makes you think a decision will always lead to the worst possible outcome."

I dropped my head back onto the pillow and closed my eyes. "Don't tell me it's not logical to be worried. For Primus' sake - Optimus was agonizing over it!"

"I didn't...Look, all I'm saying is that Optimus isn't worried about zombies. And having some lingering cognitive effects after all you've been through is perfectly reasonable and normal. The Autobots broke more regs than I care to think about to ensure your body has the best chance possible to heal - whatever that ends up looking like. We need to take care of your mind, too."

Lifting my head again, I burst out, "I'm not crazy, Dad!"

"You're not," he gently agreed. "You're human. Trained, battle-hardened soldiers would be screened for trauma-related disorders after being captured by the enemy and tortured. Letting you walk again isn't going to do you much good if your mind is still hurting." He took both my hands in his, his voice getting rough. "I was afraid I'd lost you. I want to see you live your life to the fullest, Annabelle, and that means taking care of your mind every bit as much as your body, and maybe even more so."

Angry tears welled up in my eyes, and I closed them, tugging my hands free from my dad's and crossing my arms. "I think I'm done with visitors for now."

"Annabelle…" Mom said, but again she trailed off. A few heartbeats later, she kissed my brow. "I'll be in the lobby, when you're ready for visitors again. Text me, and I'll be here quicker than a holoform."

I opened my eyes and gave her a half-hearted smile. "Thanks, Mom."

Once they were gone, I started idly surfing the web on my phone, looking for some kind of distraction. Not ten minutes later, though, Ratchet's holoform popped into existence at the foot of my bed. My heart leaped to my throat, and I grumbled, "Try knocking next time."

"My apologies, Firebrand."

Setting aside my phone, I added, "And if you're here to tell me I'm crazy because of the zombie thing, I know they aren't real."

He squinted at me slightly in confusion, and I realized I'd just put my foot in it. Mom and Dad hadn't blabbed, but I just had. "Never mind," I muttered. "What did you need, Ratchet?"

He came to sit beside my bed. "Optimus and I have been working on his half-baked idea for helping you."

My eyebrows rose in surprise. "Does it include zombies?"

"Why are you going on about zombies? No, this is serious, Firebrand."

I sighed and made an effort to actually focus. "Fine. What exactly is his crazy idea? He told me he was afraid to share your medical tech with us but that he had worked up the courage to actually do it."

Ratchet nodded in agreement. "As I said before, I'm an Autobot medic and swapping parts is what I do. My mistake was in planning to swap in Cybertronian parts. You are human, so I've spent the last several days researching the possibility of swapping in human parts."

"A transplant?"

"I initially considered that, but too much bone has been damaged or destroyed. We're proposing to clone the parts you need."

"Clone?"

"Cybertronian physicians have used it before on other, non-sentient organic species. There would be no risk of rejection or compromising your immune system that way, and you'd still be able to walk again sooner. In addition to your genetic material, I would need access to certain earth-made substances, however. And if we involved human research labs that are already working with cloning, I could make the necessary parts for you all the more quickly."

"How quickly?"

"Maybe as little as a month."

I leaned back, stunned for a moment. It sounded almost like magic. There had to be a catch. It couldn't be that easy, could it? "What are the risks?"

He shrugged. "Minimal. I've never performed the procedure personally, but I have all the documentation on how it's done. We should test it first on animal subjects, of course, but I am confident we will be able to do this for you."

"No - I mean, thank you - but what I'm trying to ask is why is Optimus freaked out about sharing this?"

His gaze dropped. "He has always been against sharing any of our technology. By sharing even rudimentary aspects of cloning through your treatment, we could exacerbate existing problems on your world or create whole new ones." Looking up at me, he said, "Instead of just improving the quality of life, it could extend life, perhaps indefinitely. Knowing how great the inequality already is between the 'haves' and the 'have-nots' in your world, this could be put to devastating uses. Dictators who live for centuries."

Oh. Worse than zombies, then. "Can't you just do it yourself? I mean, do you have to share it?"

"If we wanted to protect you - and we do - we would have to make sure there are other, more productive ways to steal this technology than kidnapping and dissecting you."

I remembered again Stockade, begging for permission to kill me, and I felt my lips go numb with fear.

"I apologize for being so blunt, but you asked, Firebrand."

"I did." And now my palms were sweaty.

"I will speak to your parents too, of course, but I wanted to first find out what you thought, since it's your body we're trying to heal."

I wanted to walk again. I wanted to be me again. But what if Ratchet was right? What if I just ended up torn apart anyway - by humans this time instead of Decepticons? My heart was racing, and my ribs started to ache more as my breath quickened.

What the slag? "I can't…"

Ratchet tilted his head slightly. "Are you in pain?"

"I can't...I can't catch my breath."

After a few seconds, he said, "Your father thinks it's a psychosomatic reaction."

"I'm not psycho!"

"You've helped enough, Ratchet," Dad said from the doorway.

"He's trying to fix me!" I shouted at my dad, wincing at the pain in my ribs and hip. "At least he cares about me!"

Something softened in his expression. "Yes, he does care. All the Autobots do." He carefully inched closer to my bed and Ratchet stood, giving him the seat beside me. "Are your lips tingling?"

"Yeah," I gasped out.

"Breathe with me, sweetheart. In and out. In and out. In with me, out with me. In with me, out with me. In, nice and slow. Out, nice and slow." His voice was soft, soothing. Slowly - embarrassingly so - he talked me down from whatever the Pit that was. It was exhausting.

Ratchet watched without comment until I was so relaxed that I yawned. "I will notify Dr. Sarkisian that her services will be needed upon our return to base."

"Who's Dr. Sarkisian?" I sleepily asked my dad when Ratchet's holoform flickered out of existence.

"The real NEST shrink. My bachelor's degree was in Psychology, but she's the one who's actually qualified to help someone work through trauma. And she's helped a LOT of my men over the years." His hand gently brushed over my forehead. "Now rest, sweetheart. You still have a lot of healing to do."

Chapter Text

The next day, Mia and Hyde were the ones at my bedside when I woke up. "Hey," I said, smiling at the femme. It was the first time I'd seen her since we left Diego Garcia. "I didn't realize you were here, too."

She tilted her head curiously. "We've talked twice."

I huffed a chuckle. "I apologize now for whatever it was I said back then. Chalk it up to the drugs."

"That would explain it," she murmured.

"Do I want to know?"

"The second time we talked, you said that your mom was trying to kill you."

I thought of my mom - the Autobot denmother - and could feel the confusion twist my expression. "That...is really weird." Though a memory flashed through my mind - her holding Arcee's rifle, pointing it at Mrs. Witwicky, erm, Mikaela.

"I thought so," she answered. "So even then, I assumed it was the drugs talking."

"Where's Arcee?" I suddenly asked. My last memory was of her trying to fix my hip before sending me off to the hospital with Evac. "I probably need to apologize to her for some under-the-influence conversations, too."

"She's stuck in her base form right now," Mia said with a slight grimace. "She managed to break something and now she can't transform or use her holoform. She's sidelined until Ratchet can fix her."

I imagined her in traction like me. "That sucks."

"When you're feeling better, maybe you'll be able to visit her bedside," Hyde said, taking my hand to warm it. "Ratchet mentioned you had a rough time of it yesterday. Are you doing better this morning?"

"So far, but the day is young. I haven't even had breakfast yet."

"That's the spirit," Mia said, giving me a noogie. "With that attitude, you'll have destroyed the base by lunch."

I waved her hand away from me. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Dad thinks I'm crazy."

"No, he doesn't. He and Ratchet both think you've been traumatized," Hyde corrected.

"And you don't?" Mia asked of me.

"Ugh!" I closed my eyes, since I couldn't walk out of the room or even turn my back. "Can we please talk about something else?"

"Sure," Mia amiably said, "in a minute. But first, I want you to get something through that organic processor of yours. Scars of the spark are still scars. Whether it's your squishy frame or your human soul, if you're wounded, you need care. Whatever the wound is, get it fixed, or you'll always be broken, and you'll be too compromised for any mission. Got it, femme? If you ever want to be fit to help us again, you need to take care of all of you." She paused, and when I didn't respond, she said, "Now we can talk about something else. Did you have a topic in mind?"

I rolled my eyes as I opened them again, but when I glanced her way, Mia held my gaze with all the stern sass she was famous for. I sighed and extended my hand. "I got a mani-pedi from our femme commander."

Grief flitted across her face before she focused on my fingernails. "Did you now…"

...

At lunch, I got a text from Optimus, asking if I could be available at 14:00 hours for a video conference call. I typed out, /Let me see if I can clear my calendar/ before remembering he was the Prime and I was the Autobot Firebrand, when I wasn't acting like a bratty teenager. Deleting the words, I instead wrote, /Of course./

At 14:00, Mom and Dad joined the call from their VIP quarters, as did Joe Marshall. My military physician here at Edwards plus a civilian doctor from Brown Biotech Advancements looked like they were in their offices, as did a suit with the screen name that gave his title as Chief Marketing Executive. On the other hand, "Optimus Witwicky," "Ron Hatchett," and "River Christiansen" all patched in without a video feed - just still photos of their holoforms. I didn't bother turning on my phone's camera either. An admiral with the screen-name of "Black - JCS" joined us from his office, too. Samuel used a green-screen background of a tropical island that could have been anywhere.

After introducing everyone (including the 'bots as "associates of his"), Samuel got down to business. "Thank you for joining in. As you're all aware, Annabelle was gravely injured in a recent car accident. My associates and I have access to technology that is revolutionary, and we believe we can effectively clone Annabelle's own tissues to create a replacement hip and femur for her."

"There's no FDA approval for anything like that," Mr. Marshall interrupted.

"That's true," Admiral Black said, "however, the DoD is willing to request the FDA expedite this treatment option." Grimacing slightly, he added, "We could really use it in every branch of the military."

"I don't mean to rain on anyone's parade, but I'm not sure we can develop a treatment in time for Ms. Lennox," the labcoat from Brown Biotech Advancements' Research and Development division said. "We're still years away from being able to actually transplant cloned organs or tissue."

"I have the medical know-how to do it," Ratchet answered. "What I lack is a functioning lab already set up for human cloning."

His words were met with stunned silence until Mr. Marshall said, "You've had this technology for how long?"

R.C. answered, "A long time."

"Define 'a long time,'" Mr. Marshall snarked back.

"Since before you humans started sailing the oceans," she bluntly said.

(The R&D guy's jaw dropped and he mouthed the words 'you humans.')

"Do you have any idea how many lives this could have saved?" Marshall demanded. "How much suffering you could have prevented?"

Optimus' voice took on a fierce edge. "Unknown. However, the human capacity for violence is unparalleled in the explored galaxy. Not even we whom you have called 'walking weapons' have killed so many of our own kind in a single day."

Ratchet added, "We're willing to buy Annabelle's recovery with this technology - that should be instructive. The sooner you demonstrate true amity, the sooner we will be able to trust humanity to our mutual benefit."

"I take it we're not looking at a conventional path for developing this treatment, then?" the R&D guy said, still looking pretty stunned.

"No," Samuel answered, taking control of the meeting again. "This is information we already possess that we're willing to share - to give to humanity. The only price we're asking is that Annabelle be the first to benefit from it. And we ask that you also share this tech, after Brown Biotech has recouped the cost of bringing it to market plus a reasonable percentage for your trouble."

The Brown Biotech Marketing Executive looked like he'd just bit a lemon. "You expect us to just hand this knowledge out like candy?"

Samuel's expression hardened with a Primely sternness. "I expect you to act in the best interest of the whole of humanity. I could get a different company in on this call in ten minutes, if you're not willing to play it our way."

"We're willing," the exec relented.

"Going back to Mr. Hatchett's comment," the R&D guy said, "You already know how to clone transplants? What kind of time frame are we looking at, then?"

"I've not personally performed a cloned transplant on a human, but my colleagues have used this technique elsewhere. I already have all the documentation ready to share with you, but I'm going to insist on some final testing before performing any procedure on Annabelle. If all goes well, we're looking at 4-6 weeks from collecting the tissue sample to transplanting the bone. Any setbacks will delay that time frame, though."

Mr. R&D let out a low whistle of surprise.

"And just like that, you're compromising all your medical ethics to make a few bucks?" Joe Marshall demanded.

"Excuse me, Samuel," my mom said, "but why is Mr. Marshall even here?"

Answering her directly, Marshall said, "As a senatorial liaison, I'm here to represent Senator Shawn Brown."

Mom glowered (I assume at his picture on her screen). "We're discussing my daughter's treatment, not just business opportunities. Samuel, as Annabelle's mother, I'm asking you to cut Mr. Marshall the hell out of this call. Brown's business associates can represent him."

The human Prime smiled every so slightly, and then Mr. Marshall's screen disappeared.

Well that was unexpected. I looked at my mom's picture on the screen wondering what the attack had done to her heart and mind, too.

"Are there any ethical concerns we're overlooking here?" Dad quietly asked.

"Yes," R.C. answered. "Several of them, actually. We can address most through the testing Hatchett is proposing, but there is some inherent risk that's difficult to quantify. As a test case, Annabelle would be breaking new ground."

"And is that what she wants?" the R&D guy asked.

"Yes," I said, my voice a bit rusty. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I want to be able to walk, and Hatchett's plan is my best shot for that. I've known him my whole life, and I trust him."

The R&D guy added, "As a test case, we'd want extensive documentation, from medical records of the initial injury to the process for cloning the necessary organs for transplant to the path of your recovery. You'd be committing to working with us for years, Ms. Lennox. Perhaps even the rest of your life."

I trusted the aliens - the humans I was less sure of. Still... "If that's what it takes, then that's what it takes. I'm willing, as long as it all goes through Mr. Hatchett."

"I guess that just leaves one question in my mind," the marketing exec said. "When do we begin?"

...

They didn't even have to sedate me to take the tissue samples after the meeting ended - turns out all Ratchet needed was a few vials of my blood and biopsies from a layer of fat in my arm and on my belly. He tried to explain what all they would do with the samples to miraculously turn them into the bones, marrow, and connective tissue I needed, but it all flew over my head.

Normally I would have asked Arcee about it (she was a former teacher, after all, and it showed). She, Optimus, and most of the other Diego Garcia Autobots were en route back to base, though, now that the Decepticon threat had been neutralized and we had a clear path forward for my recovery. I didn't even get to say goodbye to her.

My one consolation was that I'd be able to live in the VIP housing with Mom and Dad while we waited for Ratchet to cook me up a new hip. At last, I was leaving the hospital!

There was a party waiting for me when I arrived at our temporary home, complete with balloons, flowers, and a cake. There was even a present for me - a fitness watch that I was 99.9% sure was Ratchet's mother-hen idea and Wheeljack-enhanced. The Witwickys and a host of holoforms filled the living room - 'Bee, Hound, Trailbreaker, Mirage, Evac, RaFly, Ironhide, Chromia, and Ratchet - with Hound and 'Breaker each carrying a stack of pizzas and Hyde hauling twelve-packs of pop. The kitchen table was so full no one could even sit at it. "The doctors okayed this?" I asked Mia.

She winked. "What they don't know won't hurt them. Besides, there are only six people in here who could actually get you sick or breathe all your oxygen or whatever. It'll be fine."

So no, then. But since Ratchet and Evac were part of the crew (not to mention my parents), I figured worrying about it was above my pay grade.

Bumblebee's holoform, Cam Romero, plopped down beside me and offered me a plate with a slice of pepperoni and mushroom pizza. "Your mom said you'd want this."

I took it from him, kind of tongue-tied. It was strange to hear his voice, and stranger still to think we'd fought side-by-side together. "Thanks," I finally managed.

He searched my eyes and then leaned closer to talk directly in my ear. "Your mom told me what you did for me. She said it was your idea to fight back, to die at my side if it was your fate to die. I'm glad it wasn't, but that doesn't diminish your courage one bit. I should have thanked you weeks ago, but you spent a lot of time snoring."

I chuckled, and he leaned back to look me in the eyes again. It was hard to imagine this adorable college guy as the Cybertronian warrior who fought almost to the death for us, but he was. No matter his form, that's who he was. I swallowed down a lump in my throat. "I was just returning the favor."

A wistful smile spread across his face, and he promised, "We'll talk more later." Nodding toward the pizza, he added, "Want a soda or something to go with that?"

"Sure. A root beer, if there are any left."

"You got it!"

Bumblebee kept me company for the next half-hour, filling me in on Arcee. She was stuck in her base form, but that hadn't stopped her from helping with post-battle repairs. She was bummed that she didn't get to say goodbye to me, either, and he suggested I call her, once things calmed down around the house.

Evac came to check on me and asked how I was feeling.

I patted the rims on my wheelchair. "Ready to roll out!"

He mock-glared at Bumblebee. "You're a bad influence on her."

We both laughed at that one.

For the next couple of hours, the adults and holoforms talked and mingled. The kids didn't make it a full hour before they got bored, but Hound and 'Breaker took them out to play in the backyard, and my heart warmed at the thought of them doting on the kids the way Hyde, Mia, and Arcee had doted on me for all those years. And now that I'd been stuck babysitting them a few times, I saw the value in Autobot nannies, too.

Eventually, Mirage's Amir Raja holoform swapped places with 'Bee.

"Hey!" I greeted him.

He nodded graciously and with dignity - he must have watched a lot more movies since Thanksgiving. And that reminded me of him accidentally putting the moves on Mom. The thought made me smile.

"Bumblebee tells me you are not likely to understand, but I am honor-bound to apologize for failing you, Firebrand."

I kind of coughed in surprise (and winced at the resulting pain). "What?"

He was perfectly serious. "I was there on the field of battle when your hip was crushed. Before it was crushed, actually. I had transmitted to RaFly your conditions, our position, and a request for nannite programming that would numb you. You were injured because I didn't act with sufficient haste."

It was a little trippy to think he'd been there for all that, but I shoved the memory to the back of my mind and felt a burst of irritation. First Bumblebee and now him. "I'm alive because of you - don't you dare apologize!"

The room suddenly became silent, all eyes turned on me, and I blushed furiously. Dad tilted his head, his eyes fixed on me - reading me - and I forced myself to take a deep, calming breath. I wasn't going to have another freak-out again, if for no other reason than to keep him from freaking out.

"What is with you mechs?" I grumbled, hunching back in my wheelchair. "You don't need to apologize for saving my life. Slag happens, and against all odds we're here and alive. And Ratchet's going to make the rest right, too."

"I'll drink to that," Mom said, drawing everyone's attention to her and raising her cola can.

"To life and health," Dad said, backing up Mom, though he did cast a worried glance my way.

"To life and health," everyone echoed, and I took a swallow of my root beer. Too bad Raja had ruined the party for me. His holoform stood and crossed to the other side of the room without a word.

The next morning, the Witwickys and their 'bots headed back to D.C., so that just left me, Mom and Dad, Ironhide, Chromia, and Ratchet here at Edwards. Over the next month, life quickly fell into a predictable rhythm. On weekdays, we'd wake up to breakfast prepared by the Autobots, Ratchet would drive Mom and me over to the hospital for our physical therapy, and then we'd hang out at the house for the afternoons and evenings. I still slept more than usual and needed a nap most afternoons. A couple of weekends, we hit the movie theater or did some shopping in Palmdale, but mostly we binge-watched TV or broke out puzzles or whatever.

The only variation to that was Thursdays, when Hyde and Ratchet would drive the two hours necessary to meet the Brown Biotech people at their lab in L.A. (On those days, Dad and Mia pushed Mom's and my wheelchairs to the hospital and back. Yeah, the humans "rolled out" while the Autobot walked.) Every week, I'd grill Ratchet when he returned. The first Thursday evening, he said over dinner, "We've got a half-dozen cell clusters successfully forming."

"A half-dozen?" I asked, surprised.

"I don't want you to have to wait through the whole process a second time if there are any problems with the first cloned transplant. Any tissue we don't end up using for you will be retained by Brown Biotech for their own testing."

I wasn't sure how I felt about my spare body parts just floating around out there somewhere, but he had a good point about not putting all our eggs in one basket. Better to have a spare hip and not need it than to need it and not have it. I was already living that truth!

The second week, he said, "Your bones are still growing in the anticipated manner and speed, which is good news. Even better news is that the hips we're growing for the macaques should be ready to implant in the next week. That test will give us a better feel for what we're up against with you."

The third week was my medical team's first trial-run at transplanting a cloned bone. Ratchet was more grim when he finally reported back. "This was my first time participating in a transplant on an Earth species. We learned a lot and will try again. Next week should go better."

"Why is the macaque bone ready so much faster?" I asked.

"The bones are smaller, for one, so they're finished sooner. For two, we have accelerated cellular growth almost to the point that it's like a cancer. With the animal subjects, we used more of the accelerant, but we're erring on the side of caution and taking things a bit more slowly with your hip since it'll need to last you for decades. That, and even a slight miscalculation could mean your new hip or femur could be bigger than your other, intact bones. The last thing we want is for you to be limping on your good leg. We need to produce an absolutely perfect match. It's a good thing for you that I specialize in performing transplants - though usually they're not so squishy. For both you and the monkeys, when the bone gets to the right stage of development, we'll introduce a counter-agent to slow the growth back to normal."

I tilted my head curiously. "So, could that counter-agent work against cancer, too?"

Ron Hatchet gave me an appraising look. "I didn't say as much, but yes, it could, and I expect my human colleagues will be intelligent enough to see that. Humanity's getting a two-fer out of you, Firebrand."

I leaned back in my chair, a little stunned at the realization. The 'bots had sat on the cure for cancer my entire lifetime, but they were handing it over now - because of me. I should have felt touched, but instead I felt guilty. Trying to hide it from Dad, I started picking at my dinner salad.

It didn't work. After the holoforms helped me and Mom get settled in and left for the night, Dad knocked on my bedroom door.

A part of me wanted to tell him to leave, but as much as he made me angry sometimes, this was my Dad, the man who would do anything for me and loved me more than made sense. "Come in."

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired," I reflexively answered.

"I'll be quick, then. I want you to know that, no matter what, I'm here for you. Even once you've got that shiny new hip transplanted, even once you're walking again and back in school and everything, I'll be here for you. I've been through firefights, Annabelle. Bombings. I've had men who...men who are as close to me as the 'bots are and they were killed right in front of me."

My heart started racing at the scene he was describing, and I rubbed my eyes, trying to grind out the mental images. His gentle hand rested on my head, and it helped pull me back to the present. "It's kind of hippie, but the saying is true that emotions buried alive don't die. They'll find their way out sideways, in ways that don't make sense, and in ways that can hurt you and your relationships with the people around you. I know you've got a rough road ahead, but I want you to know I have faith in you, and I love you. No matter how sideways things might come out, I'm here for you." He paused, taking a deep breath, and added, You don't have to hide from me."

Clearing the lump from my throat, I said, "You saw that at dinner, huh?"

"Yep. And yesterday on the way to physical therapy, and the day before over breakfast. I'm not an expert, but I can help at least a little bit until you can get to the real expert. If you'll let me."

I started sobbing - I so didn't deserve that kind of love - but I knew it was real, had known it from before my earliest memories. I reached up, and he knelt beside my bed to hug me. I sobbed in my Dad's arms until I trembled, and it was the snotty-nosed, messy crying, too. I'm not sure how long it was before I finally settled down enough for the exhaustion to catch up with me, but he handed me a final tissue so I could blow my nose and my eyes just wouldn't open again.

"Love you, sweetheart."

"Love you, Dad."

"Sleep well." Through my eyelids, I saw the light extinguish, and I heard him close the door behind him. That night was my best drug-free night's sleep since before the battle.

Chapter Text

The fourth week, Ironhide didn't return from L.A. until after my normal bedtime. I heard him come in, and he and Dad talked in quiet voices out in the living room. They were so soft I couldn't make out the words, so I texted Ratchet. /What happened?/

/You should be asleep./

My hands started shaking with a spike of adrenaline and fear. /And you're trying to avoid telling me the truth. Don't freak me out here, Ratchet./

/There is nothing to 'freak out' about, Firebrand. Bone integration on the test subject was a qualified success. At this point, it's a matter of which of several approaches will be less traumatic to your tissues. Since this is a procedure never before performed on humans, we need to consider carefully each step. Either way will result in healing, but I want to make your recovery as easy and swift as possible./

He's just fine-tuning, I tried to tell myself. There's no danger here. He's right for once - nothing to freak out about.

Dad knocked at my door, and I texted, /Traitor!/ to Ratchet. "Come in," I said out loud.

"Ratchet says he upset you and that your stress indicators are rising?"

I snorted. "He does that to everybody."

"True," he said, ambling in to sit on the storage bench at the foot of my bed. "But remember what I said. I'm you dad, and I want to take care of you."

Giving in, I asked, "Whatcha got for a racing heart, sweaty palms, and goosebumps?"

"Breathing exercises are always a good place to start for that sort of thing." Like in the hospital, he talked me through it, slowing my breath bit by bit until I was again tired enough to yawn.

The next morning after he got me into my wheelchair, he asked if he could see my phone.

"Why?" I suspiciously asked.

"Your subconscious reacted to something Ratchet said. I'm curious what it was."

He was right - it was something of a mystery - and so I shrugged and pulled up the text convo.

He read over it several times, looking more puzzled by the minute. "That's it?" he eventually said as he handed the phone back to me.

"Yeah. I don't get it, either. I guess…" I paused and tilted my head, trying to remember. "The words were Ratchet's, but I heard them in Arcee's voice when I read them."

"That's...different. Why hers, do you think?"

Then it clicked. "She tried to downplay the danger, when we had to leave the ranch. Everyone else was rushing around in panic mode, and she had this kind of...calm frosting over a very tense cake."

Dad started chuckling at my description and I crossed my arms defiantly.

"Sorry," he said, forcing himself to settle down. "It makes sense, but it was just an interesting mental image."

I half-smiled in agreement.

He rolled me into the kitchen, where Mom was already sipping a cup of tea and Hyde and Mia were making a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast.

"Hey Sarah," Dad asked her, "what flavor is tense cake?"

"Dad!" I whined, and Mom just gave him a really confused look.

….

Dr. Hatchett met us at the physical therapy wing of the hospital. As the others filed past, he crouched down in front of me and Dad (who was pushing my wheelchair). "I apologize about upsetting you last night. We'll add 'beating around the bush' to the list."

"The list?"

"Of problematic stimuli. Your watch has alerted us to several, and you've noticed some as well."

Because that wasn't going to make me feel spied on. "Like what?"

"When you were at the theater in Palmdale, your body reacted and your father reported that you'd all been walking past an auditorium showing a war movie. The sound of explosions and weapons-fire is a trigger, though that's not unexpected. The sound of tires squealing as they peel out, heavy bass vibrations from neighboring cars, a passing jet, that sort of thing. I also expect that the sound of a metal-on-metal impact or glass breaking could also be triggering. These were all sensory stimuli, though. I didn't expect 'not being forthright' to be problematic for you. I apologize. We will all be more direct in the future."

I sighed in frustration. "You don't have to walk on eggshells around me, Ratchet."

His expression turned grim, and with a flicker of fear, I remembered how terrifying his anger was. "You were damaged enough by our carelessness. We will not traumatize you by unnecessarily subjecting you to additional pain."

"That's Ratchet-speak for 'I love ya, kiddo,'" Dad said. "Something might have gotten lost in translation, though, mech."

Ratchet huffed and stood, gesturing for me to continue on my way to PT.

…

The fifth week, Ratchet and Ironhide made it back from L.A. just after we'd finished cleaning up after dinner. I was sitting in my wheelchair next to Mom (who was on the couch), and we were trying to decide what to do with the evening.

Dr. Hatchett was grinning from ear to ear when he strode into the living room. "The transplant is ready, and we have a clear path forward in terms of treatment. In three days, we'll perform the surgery."

My breath caught, and Mom squeezed my hand tightly.

"Well this calls for tense cake with calm frosting!" Dad said from the recliner. Mom threw a couch pillow at him.

"No," she said, "this calls for chocolate cake from that place in town."

Mia raised her hand, "I second the femme!"

I nodded, grinning at a wicked thought. "Chocolate cake, except for Dad. He gets to stay here and figure out the recipe for tense cake."

"Hey!" he protested, and when he tried to stand, Hyde's heavy hand on his shoulder kept him in his chair.

I laughed and Ratchet started wheeling me toward the door. Dad started chewing out Hyde, but Hyde just winked at me. I didn't relent and text Hyde to bring Dad along until we were all buckled in.

...

I was numb, and it scared the slag out of me. Where was Mom? Was Stockade torturing her? Was she dead? Ironhide? Did Bludgeon kill him?

"Sweetheart," Mom said, her fingers brushing my forehead.

"Not so loud," I mumbled. Didn't she remember Bludgeon telling us to be quiet?

"Sorry, Annabelle," she said in a softer voice. "You're out of surgery. Ratchet says it was a success."

That couldn't be right. Ratchet never made it to the battle. "Mirage?"

"What?"

"You mean Mirage, right?"

Dad said, "Open your eyes, Annabelle," and my surprise at the sound motivated me to try. He was supposed to be on base at Edwards.

Finally, my eyes fluttered open, and I saw him dressed as a civilian with Ratchet's holoform standing next to him.

"You're safe," he assured me. "You're okay."

My brow furrowed as I looked at my IV. "Where am I?"

"We're at Los Angeles Air Force Base," Ratchet said. "It was easier to transport you here than to haul your tissue transplants all the way to Edwards." Tilting his head, he asked, "You don't remember driving here this morning?"

"It'll come back to her, Ratch," Dad said with a small smile. "Give her a few minutes."

"Where did you think we were?" Mom asked.

"The 'cons," I whispered.

"They're dead," Dad said bluntly. "Or the ones who hurt you are, anyway."

That came back to me, too, and it eased some of the tension in my chest. "Optimus killed Stockade. Put an energon blade through his spark."

"You saw that?" Ratchet asked, sounding upset.

I couldn't think of why he would be. "Yeah."

"It's probably good she did," Dad said to him. "Check the watch."

"Hm," he answered.

Mom ignored them, instead taking my hand and squeezing it tightly. "As soon as you're stable, we can go home, sweetheart. Against all the odds, we're both going home and in one, complete piece."

…

It didn't really feel much different having a complete set of bones again, but that was probably because I was in traction. Bones or prosthesis, it was all the same when I couldn't use them yet. The soft tissue had to be solidly on the way to recovery before I could even move my leg and hip again. Mostly, I was just really sore.

It took three days for Ratchet to be convinced they could load me onto one of his gurneys without disrupting the healing process. And that was with him taking the special concoction that sped up my transplants' cell growth and using it to speed up the healing for all my blood vessels, tendons, muscles, and stuff. But on the third day, he declared the transplant a success and we were good to go. Finally, we were going home!

We didn't get to break out Wheeljack's Moonshine, so the flight back to Diego Garcia was another long one. I was basically strapped down on the gurney the whole time, but between my Autobot-enabled cell phone and my folks (who also hung out in the back of Ratchet's ambulance), I was reasonably entertained. The only weird thing was that Mia and Hyde were AWOL. "They're not 'chatting,' are they?" I asked about 12 hours into the flight.

"Don't know and don't want to," Dad answered.

Mom chuckled and winked at me. I just rolled my eyes.

…

Stockade was reaching for me, gears whirring, and Bludgeon wasn't there to stop him. This time it was with an outstretched hand instead of just a finger.

I tried to scramble out of his way, but he grabbed me, making my hip ache. When he turned me over, though, it was Ratchet I was looking up at - with red optics. On the hand that wasn't painfully gripping me, a finger transformed into a saw, the blade whistling as it spun. "Let's see how this primitive ape's hip works," he growled.

I jumped awake with a shout, breathing hard and gripping my sheets. I felt something restraining me, and my fingers found the straps that were holding my legs and hips immobilized on the gurney. Not Ratchet, not a robot of any kind. Just straps. My thigh was throbbing though. I must have been moving it in my sleep.

I looked around, but it was pitch black inside. Through a large window, though, I could see moonlight in the palm trees. Was I home for real? I thought so. I had a memory of the 'bots setting up my bed in the living room, but it was less vivid than the dream.

A mechanical sound from the kitchen made me jump - sending a stab of pain through my thigh - and it took me a good thirty seconds to realize it was just the fridge.

I tried to do the breathing exercises Dad had taught me. In my head, I told myself I was in my own home, in my own bed. I was safe. But the adrenaline was making my heart race, and I gasped again for breath.

With a glimmer, Ratchet's holoform popped into existence in the kitchen. In the moonlight, I could see his silhouette as he walked toward the living room, but he paused under the doorway. "May I come in?"

His voice was gentle, completely unlike the dream, and it soothed me a bit. I answered, "Sure."

"You are unwell," he said.

"It was just a nightmare." But having him here was helping. Having someone to talk to, to focus on, was already making it easier to breathe.

"You haven't had one for the last two months." I couldn't see his suspicion in the dark, but I could sure hear it.

I sighed, trying to wrap my head around the nightmare. All I could figure was that my subconscious wasn't happy about my hip hurting so much. "It's probably just my squishy brain trying to make sense of why I'm in pain again."

"Do you require pain medication or a sleep aid?"

I'd hoped to leave the narcotics behind, but I was never going to sleep now without some kind of drug. "Yeah, probably a pain killer. But don't tell my folks. I don't want them to worry."

"I'm your doctor, not your dealer. I will most certainly tell your parents about this."

Autobots - always had to be the good guys! Remembering my nightmare made me shudder at the thought of them not being the good guys. "Fine, whatever. I'll need a glass of water to wash it down."

"And food to prevent nausea. I'll be right back."

…

The next morning, Mia and Hyde were there to make breakfast like usual, and Ratchet was there to torture me. Technically it was physical therapy, but when he charged the diodes on my leg to electically stimulate my muscles, it sure seemed like torture. Muscle group by muscle group, he went through my lower back, my uninjured glute and thigh, and both my calves. "Another week of this," he cheerfully declared as he peeled off the diodes, "and we'll be able to start some motion exercises."

"Yipee," I grumbled.

"Get the girl some chocolate," Mia called from the kitchen.

"Coming up," Mom answered. She was in a therapy boot, but she didn't need crutches anymore, and it made me happy to see her walk into the living room. Even better, she was carrying a plate with some chocolate crinkle cookies on it.

Ratchet smiled and nodded as he accepted a cookie from her, and then she gave the plate to me.

"Ready for your next patient?" she asked him.

"Victim, more like," I said under my breath.

Ratchet ignored me and answered Mom, "Yes, but let's adjourn to the back porch. Dr. Sarkisian is due to arrive in about five minutes."

I wasn't sure what to expect with this Dr. Sarkisian, but hopefully she'd put me in a better mood than Ratchet. Before I finished my third cookie, there was a knock at the door. Mia let the stranger in and then left out the back door - giving us the appearance of privacy, at least.

Swallowing the last of my cookie, I thought to offer Dr. Sarkisian one. She shook her head and said, "You must be Annabelle."

I set the plate aside on the coffee table beside me. "Yep."

"So where would you like to start?"

I considered that. "What are my options?"

"Well, you could tell me a bit about yourself, I could do the same, or we could jump right into talking about what you need most right now."

That last option sounded more scary than I liked to admit. "Why don't you tell me more about you. All I know is that my dad and Ratchet trust you a lot and that your name is Dr. Sarkisian."

She smiled and nodded. Gesturing to a recliner, she asked, "Do you mind if I…?"

"No, go right ahead."

Sitting down and setting her messenger bag on the floor beside her, she said, "Where to start. I guess at the beginning. Do you know the ethnic origin of the name Sarkisian?"

"Um...the reject twins probably could tell you, but I couldn't."

She solemnly nodded. "It's Armenian. My ancestors were survivors of the Armenian Genocide. You could say my family is a living argument in favor of treatment for trauma. We've passed our trauma down from generation to generation, just like the curly hair. It was even worse for my dad - he was a Vietnam vet. So while I'm not technically military, I have enough of a background to be able to empathize."

I tilted my head curiously. "If you're not military, how did you end up working with a top-secret unit on an isolated military base?"

She half-shrugged. "I was in private practice working with children and adolescents in New Jersey when September 11th happened. I did what I could for the families of the fallen first responders, but as they healed, I realized I wanted to do more. That's when I transitioned into military service with a civilian GS rank. Since NEST is something of a long-term assignment for its servicemembers, and private counselors aren't available locally, they needed someone who could help both the traumatized soldier and the grieving widow or orphan. I fit that bill, and I've been here with NEST for the last eight years."

She paused, waiting for my next question, and I tried to think if there was anything else I wanted to know. "What about your family - immediate family, I mean. Do you have any kids?"

A smile spread across her face. "Yes, my husband and I have twins, a boy and a girl. They're both stateside in college. They went to school here on the island for three years before graduating. My daughter wants to go into medicine and currently is working on her masters in pediatrics. My son wanted to travel the world first before being tied down to a university, so he's graduating this year in business administration."

I squinted, thinking hard. I vaguely remembered a set of twins in high school while I was still in junior high. "They were really good at beach volleyball?"

Her smile broadened. "Yes. So now that you have my life's story, is there anything you want to tell me about yourself?"

I sighed. I could whine about my unusual upbringing, but that's not why she was here. And if she was also the shrink for the frontline NEST fighters, I really shouldn't waste her time. "I don't know. I mean, my dad's convinced I'm crazy, and sometimes my body does crazy things for no reason, so maybe he's right. But it's not like I'm going to go postal or anything."

She met my gaze, all serious. "Trauma buried alive doesn't die - it comes out sidewise. It can destroy careers and marriages. It can drive people to alcoholism and drug abuse. I'm here to help you root it out, Annabelle, to keep it from hurting you any more than it already has. I'm here to help you heal. To do that, I need to know what your wounds are. But unlike Ratchet, I can't just run a scan and tell what parts of your psyche are hurting. I need your help to discover that."

I blushed a little - like Mikaela asking if I was okay, Dr. Sarkisian's words hit home in a way I couldn't dodge. "Okay."

"You said your body is doing unusual things. Can you tell me more about that?"

"Mostly it's this weird breathlessness. Dad's helped me a few times by talking me through it, but unless he's there to coach me, it doesn't always work."

"That would be frightening for anybody. Anything else?"

"I had a nightmare last night. I couldn't breathe afterward and Ratchet had to give me some painkillers for me to be able to sleep again."

"Those can be very disturbing. I'm glad Ratchet was here to help you. If you don't mind my asking, was the nightmare a memory?"

"Kind of, but not really. I dreamed I was...wait. What's your clearance level?"

"Higher than yours."

"So you know about the Decepticons?"

"Megatron. Starscream. Yes."

Reassured, I nodded and said, "I dreamed that one of Shockwave's goons had me - he was the one who hurt me to begin with. But then he turned into Ratchet and...he started to dissect me with his circular saw. That's when I woke up."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "And you trusted Ratchet to get you painkillers after all that?"

"Well, it was his holoform in real life, not the base mode from my dream, but yeah. I think I'd trust him either way. I mean, I still felt freaked out - that's why I couldn't breathe - but I knew the real Ratchet would never hurt me on purpose."

She nodded, smiling just a little. "I know it might not seem like it, but these are all good signs."

Good signs? "I'm sorry, what?"

She sighed once. "Sometimes it's helpful to think of trauma like a physical wound. If you got a bad cut, you'd go through different stages for healing. Things like cleaning the wound, stitching it up, changing the bandages, pulling the stitches out, and so on. Some of these stages would hurt, some would feel strange, and some would be indifferent. You follow me so far?"

I nodded.

"These panic attacks are like cleaning the wound - it's still wide-open and bleeding. The nightmares are stitching it up - your subconscious mind is processing it all and trying to figure out if you're okay or not. Typically they don't start until you feel safe. The fact that you could distinguish between the nightmare Ratchet and the real Ratchet means your mind is already starting to process some of your experiences. So even though these are painful stages, they are signs of progress. The fact that your dad even can successfully coach you through breathing exercises during a panic attack is also a good sign. A hopeful one."

I huffed a frustrated sigh. "Somehow, it doesn't feel hopeful."

She half-smiled. "Are you familiar with the term 'resilience,' Annabelle?"

"Not really."

"In psychology, it means the ability of a person to 'bounce back' so to speak from trauma. It's a learned behavior, but you also have some advantages you probably don't see right now. I've read up on you a bit - neither of your parents have had clinical depression or other mental or emotional disorders. So you won the genetic lottery there. Your dad has both academic training and personal experience dealing with trauma, and he's already shared some of the tools in his coping kit, which also gave you a leg up. And you have a network of strong personal connections, which helps with resilience. That doesn't mean you won't have hard days or rough nights - you will. But you have some significant advantages when it comes to learning resilience."

I hadn't thought about it like that. "It just sounds like so much work."

"It is," she assured me, "but it's much easier than leaving a psychological wound open and bleeding everywhere. And like I said, resilience is a learned behavior. As long as you're willing to learn - even through the tough times - you'll become increasingly resilient. And the good news is you're not alone with this. If the nightmares get too disturbing, there are medications that can help with that. And just like with the breathing exercises, there are other things you can do to help regain control of your body and mind. That's part of what I'm here for, if you want to learn them. But it's your choice. No one can force you into this kind of healing."

I took a deep breath, considering. The one thing I was sure of is that I didn't like what was happening to me. I didn't like that I couldn't sleep without narcotics. I didn't like that I was afraid to fall asleep. That I was afraid of Ratchet. I didn't like not trusting my body to fragging breathe already, and I didn't like making everyone around me worry. But did I dislike it more than I disliked the work it would take to heal from this? Ratchet had a miracle fix for my hip, but somehow I doubted he'd be able to do something similar for a wounded soul.

But what was the alternative, really? Sleeping pills for the rest of my life? Never swimming in the ocean again because I was afraid of a panic attack too far from shore?

Looking back to Dr. Sarkisian, I said, "I kind of suck as a patient."

She chuckled. "As long as you don't give me reason to push the panic button under my desk, you won't be my worst."

"Wait, really?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Flashbacks can be hell, especially when you're dealing with special ops."

"Oh." It somehow made me feel better knowing that she'd helped people who had been through far worse than I had. If she could help someone like that then whatever I could throw at her would be totally manageable.

"When do we start?"

"About twenty minutes ago," she said with a hint of a smile. "For now, let's plan on meeting twice a week for scheduled appointments. I'll work that out with your parents. I'm available via text messaging outside of those appointments, though, and we can talk or schedule an emergency appointment if you need it, too. Don't hesitate to reach out if you feel the need, because I'm here for you."

The thought of her being on my side warmed my heart, and I smiled a little. Nodding in approval, she dug around in her messenger bag, eventually pulling out a journal and a nice pen. Handing them to me, she said, "This is your therapy journal. It would be best if you write in it every day, even if it's just to say, 'Everything was normal today.' No one will read it - not me, not your parents - unless there's a passage you choose to share."

And I swear she was a mind-reader, because she added, "And handwritten really is better than typing it up as a Google Doc or something. Writing with pen and paper is a different exercise for your mind from typing. It's more thoughtful, reflective, and deliberate - since you can't use the backspace key or copy and paste. It will be more effective at helping you process your experiences."

I deflated a little - who wrote with pen and paper? - but as long as I was the only one who had to decipher the chicken-scratch, I guessed it would be okay.

"Any questions for me so far?"

I thought hard for a minute. One question did occur to me, but it was so...childish and terrifying and embarrassing that I didn't want to ask it.

She raised her eyebrows expectantly, and I answered, "No, ma'am."

Her expression turned serious again. "I'll take you at your word, but remember that I can't help you with wounds you hide, Annabelle."

Calling me out on my lie. Dang, she was good. Maybe even as good as Mom, at least when it came to reading me.

She continued on, though. "One other thing that will help your mind as much as your body will be good sleep hygiene. Do you know what that means?"

"Showering before bed?"

She smiled at my half-joke. "It means giving your body every edge possible when it comes to getting a good night's sleep. So that means installing a blue-light filter on your devices and not using them for at least half an hour before you go to bed. It means having a dark bedroom that's quiet or has some white noise. Most importantly, it means going to bed and waking up at the same time every day, even on weekends."

Her talk about going to bed made me finally blurt out my question. "I know it's kind of stupid, but...what about...tonight?"

Dr. Sarkisian didn't laugh, though. Very seriously, she said, "That's not stupid; it's actually a really good question. If you genuinely need a sleep aid, there's no shame in that. I'd like to share a few more tools for your toolkit, though, to broaden your therapeutic horizons. If you still need that sleep aid after you've gone through these exercises, then go ahead and use it."

I frowned at the thought of having therapeutic homework every night, and she added, "Remember resilience - as long as you're trying, you're succeeding."

"Right." I nodded. Then taking a deep breath, I asked, "Whatcha got for my toolkit, then?"

Chapter Text

I still needed a prescription from Ratchet to sleep that night. And the night after that. And the night after that. But on Day 12 of my therapy journal I was able to proudly record, "I fell asleep without any drugs last night! No nightmares either!" Earlier that week, Dr. Sarkisian had introduced me to meditation. She'd let me choose my own intention, and I'd decided on "I'm okay." She'd recorded a half-hour bedtime meditation for me during my second visit that week, and I listened to it every night. It was kind of a silly thing - I still needed help falling asleep, after all - but it made me feel so much better that I wasn't relying on medications to do something so basic. It made me feel a lot less broken, somehow.

Ratchet was seeing me three times a week. He didn't start with the motion exercises until Day 5 of my journal, and they hurt like the Pit. But he said he'd waited too long and I needed to start breaking down scar tissue or something, so even if it hurt, doing the exercises was non-negotiable.

Thankfully, Mia or Hyde were usually there to keep me company, otherwise I would have gone crazy stuck in bed all the time like that. When they couldn't be there, someone else usually stopped by - Ratchet, Wheeljack, even Optimus on occasion. Still no Arcee, though. We watched movies, read books, and every now and then they'd carry me outside, bed and all. (Holoforms' specs like muscle strength were apparently pretty flexible.)

It was during one of those visits that I finally rehashed with Optimus what all had happened exactly during my encounter with the Decepticons. He was the one with the energon swords, so I felt safe talking about it with him. He was the only one who made me feel safe enough, though.

Apparently, when Arcee had brought my dad down to Edwards Air Force Base, Bludgeon saw them and tracked her back to the ranch. That's how the Decepticons knew where to look for Samuel. Why exactly they'd wanted him was anybody's guess, but based on what he'd said, Shockwave had allowed Bumblebee to live in hopes of forcing Samuel to do what he wanted. The Decepticons apparently knew about the Autobot-enhanced C-17's and about Wheeljack's Moonshine, since they'd correctly guessed when Ironhide would arrive, more or less.

On the Autobot side, Optimus had flown ahead of the Diego Garcia Autobots so he could reinforce Samuel's contingent. They'd rendezvoused not far from Mom's ranch and worked their way down toward the site of the battle. They sent in a cloaked Mirage first, to see what they were up against, and that's how he was there before my hip got crushed. Mirage felt really badly because he'd transmitted his report from near Bumblebee's broken frame to hide the fact that he was there, but then Bumblebee got beat up more because of it. To get me and Mom out of there alive, Mirage had first injected us with nanites that paralyzed and numbed us, and then he'd hidden us under his cloak while Hound projected holograms of our bodies. But they had to distract the Decepticons while Mirage and Hound did all that. RaFly remembered that, when Wheeljack had broken open one of the original radioactive pellets, the broken one had sent a signal to all the others and that's what made them attack. So while the Air Force and Optimus attacked the Decepticons, she sent that signal and made Bludgeon's pellets activate and attack him. He'd been out for revenge against Ironhide, but RaFly had killed him without even drawing her own weapon.

The rest I understood pretty well. Optimus kicked aft, Samuel and Mikaela arrived, Samuel used the Matrix to heal Bumblebee, and then Arcee and Evac fixed me and Mom up enough to survive the flight to the hospital.

"How the Decepticons slipped past BINDS is still under investigation, though," Optimus said at the end.

"What's BINDS?"

"It's a network of armed satellites that protects Earth. The Decepticons have only successfully breached it three times - once when it was newly installed and more human-built than Cybertronian, once when your sun was weaponized against it, and this time. Apparently, a virus was uploaded to a single, specific satellite that then spread throughout the network, and that virus flagged all incoming space material as a non-threat. How that virus was uploaded in the first place remains a mystery, however."

Even though there were a few times during the conversation where we had to stop for a minute or two so I could catch my breath, it felt good to finally have the whole sequence of events straight in my mind. It was worth it, but I wouldn't want to have to do that twice.

I did have a few nightmares again after that - Mirage getting caught, Optimus losing a battle with Shockwave, Mom being killed in the kitchen by Stockade - but eventually those tapered off, too. And even before Dr. Sarkisian and I had a chance to talk about them, I realized the nightmares were my subconscious doing the "stitching up" of trying to make sense of what I'd been through. It sucked, but she helped me keep it all in perspective.

Fate's compensation for all that, though, was that I got to hear all kinds of stories from the Autobots' past while they kept me company. Usually they'd show me a hologram of whatever story they were telling me, and that was just mind-blowing. Honestly, my favorites were always about Optimus, because there was something kind of funny about Ironhide describing him as a Cybertronian egghead. Like with Samuel Prime's storytelling for his kids, the 'bots only told me happier stories from their past, but I loved it despite the sugarcoating.

I had to wait until Day 15 of my therapy journal to catch Hyde alone, since bringing up this particular femme might hurt Mia too much. "Do you know anything about Arcee's other sister?" I asked him.

He became very still and looked at me curiously. "Who do you mean?"

"Optimus' mate. Arcee mentioned her, back before I got hurt. I can't remember her name, though."

"Elita One," he said with a wistful smile. His eyes were distant, not like he was using his comm but like he was lost in memory.

"Did you know her?"

He focused on me again. "Know her? She was kin - I could feel an echo of her sister-bond with Chromia. She was...something else, as you humans would say."

"Tell me about her?"

He huffed a little and then disappeared, only to be replaced by a room-changing hologram. I was still on my bed, of course, but I was in a metallic hallway that I assumed was on Cybertron. A rose-red femme even taller than Ratchet was striding toward us, talking to Optimus. I recognized her color scheme - it was the same as one of Arcee's bikes.

"I'm not convinced this mission is necessary, Elita." He sounded surprisingly grumpy.

"It is more reconnaissance than raid," she admitted.

"Then let Jazz's scouts handle it."

She stepped in front of Optimus, forcing him to come to a halt. I'd never seen anybody brave (or stupid) enough to try that with him before, not even in his human holoform. That femme had guts. "It's necessary for the health and strength of the team."

Optimus hung his helm. "They're still grieving. You're still grieving."

She reached up to touch his face. "Moonracer's death shook us all. That is why we must rebuild our confidence and cohesion as a team."

He lifted his helm again. "It's too soon."

Her hand fell to her side. "Dear spark, I'm not asking your permission."

He narrowed his optics at her, but she didn't flinch or even squirm, just stared him down. I don't think even Prowl had that kind of nerve.

Eventually he vented a sigh. "The Elite Guard will do as their leader deems best."

Elita stepped back and to the side, getting out of Optimus' path again. "Thank you, Prime."

He grimaced slightly at the name but kept walking.

The hologram disappeared, and Hyde reappeared in the recliner.

"Were you spying on them back then?" I asked.

"Kind of," he freely admitted. "They'd been unusually tense in a meeting just a few minutes after, so I accessed the security feeds to figure out what was going on. But it gives you an idea of the kind of femme she was. Off the battlefield, that is. On it, she was only rivaled by Chromia."

He flickered for a second, surprising me. "Are you okay?"

Looking a little sheepish, he said, "I was going to show you a holo of her in battle, but...I think I'd better just tell you about that."

Someday I'd be able to have him show me those kinds of holos again - I hoped - but I was nowhere ready for it now. It stung a little to be reminded of that, but I tried to put a brave face on it. "Tell me about her in battle, then."

...

Day 15 was also important because it was the first day I actually sat up again. It made me feel like every muscle in my butt and thigh were all pins and needles, but I could do it!

Ratchet was pretty confident that, with continuing therapy, the pins-and-needles feeling would go away. After that, I got to sit up in the wheelchair for a little while each day. Stretching helped a ton, but I had to be really careful not to tear these newly-attached muscles. Baby steps was the name of the game.

Three weeks after my return to Diego Garcia, the 'bots presented me with a new wheelchair. "Thanks," I said. It looked a lot like the one I'd been using, but the wheels were a bit bigger and sturdier.

"It was designed by Wheeljack," Mom said, a sly smile on her face.

Uh-oh.

"He got approval through all appropriate channels," Hyde assured me.

"Try it out," Jack eagerly said.

Steeling my courage, I nodded to Dad. Smiling, he scooped me up and helped me into my new, Autobot-enhanced wheelchair. It rolled even easier than my old one, and it pivoted on a dime when I got to the other side of the room. I smiled up at Jack with appreciation.

"It's also a transformer," Optimus said.

I blinked stupidly, and Dad laughed. Stepping behind me, he pushed my chair over to the bottom of the stairs. Turning it around so the back wheels were against the bottom step, Dad pointed out a cover on the right wheelchair handle that slid open. Underneath it were several buttons, including one with a picture of a bed printed on it and a three-way switch.

"This is the transformation one," Dad said, enjoying this way too much. "Relax," he added and pushed the button for me. The chair back reclined while the foot rests rose, and I suddenly understood. This was so much more comfortable for my hip!

"Push it again to sit back up," Mom said, and I tried it out.

"Sweet!" I exclaimed as it gently propped me up again.

"Try it on the stairs!" Wheeljack enthusiastically said, and I gulped.

Dad's eyes danced with amusement. "Slide the three-way switch toward you and hang on."

That wasn't exactly encouraging. But since my folks, Optimus, and 'Hide had all approved it, it probably wouldn't kill me. Hopefully. Taking a deep breath, I moved the switch. The whole chair slowly tilted back this time until I had popped a wheelie on the back two wheels. Then, perfectly balanced and steady, the large wheels rolled right up the stairs. At the top, the chair rolled backward to a safe distance from the edge of the stairs before coming to a stop.

"Ready to sleep in your room again?" Mom asked, her eyes sparkling.

Grinning at the Autobot inventor, I all but shouted, "Thank you so much, Wheeljack!"

...

"Let's talk about anger today," Dr. Sarkisian announced on Day 23 of my therapy journal.

"I don't have anger issues," I said, giving her a sidelong look. Usually she was dead on the mark for reading my mood, but today I was feeling pretty upbeat, especially since I was in my Autobot-enhanced wheelchair and it gave me so much more freedom. I didn't need somebody else to help me shift to a comfortable position anymore.

"I didn't say 'anger issues,'" she answered, "just anger. Sooner or later, we all have to deal with it." Before I could protest, she said, "If not with your injury, then with something else. I want to make sure your toolkit is stocked and ready for whenever you need it. You're in a good place today, so let's talk about anger."

"Okay…"

"So what are your thoughts about anger?"

I grimaced as I remembered my three-week tantrum after learning my favorite people were giant alien robots. "That it doesn't do anybody any good."

"So you have negative associations with it?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

"I understand that Optimus personally came to your rescue - that he killed to protect you."

I saw again his optics blazing, his energon sword cutting through Stockade's chassis. The memory always brought an odd mix of awe and relief. "Yes."

"How do you think he felt in that moment?"

I paused and considered that. "I've never really thought about it. Fierce, I guess. Determined."

"Angry?"

It was kind of hard to wrap my brain around the idea of kind, gentle Optimus being angry, but now that she'd said it, I could totally see it. "Yes." He had been angry. It had practically crackled off of him. He'd been furious.

"Angry enough to kill," Dr. Sarkisian added. "We think of anger as a destructive emotion, and it is. But sometimes - if we're protecting someone from harm, for example - anger and the destruction that comes with it can be useful and even healthy. It can motivate us to create necessary boundaries in relationships. It can drive us to make changes in society. It can even save lives. We all have anger as part of our psyche because it gave us an evolutionary advantage. But there are also times when anger is not healthy, when it motivates us to harmful action, or it becomes a sideways expression of something else. It's like fire in that sense - useful when controlled but dangerous if it gets out of control. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah."

"Where do you think anger comes from?"

"Stupidity?" I reflexively said, thinking of my tantrum again.

"Do you think the Prime was motivated by stupidity when he fought for you?"

My brow furrowed as I thought that over. "I'm not sure. You're the one with the degree and the experience. You tell me."

Dr. Sarkisian half-smiled. "Fair enough. Anger is a secondary emotion. In normal psychology, we feel anger because we feel something else. So my guess is that the Prime's anger was rooted in fear for your safety, at least in part. Anger is often a result of hurt or frustration, too. Even physical stimuli like hunger or sensory overstimulation can trigger anger."

She leaned forward on her elbows, looking at me earnestly. "So that's why I wanted to make sure you have this very powerful tool for your toolkit, Annabelle, and it's most helpful to hear all this before a person's already feeling angry. Knowing that anger is a secondary emotion can help people control it. Address the underlying emotion, and you remove the fuel from the fire. So if you find yourself feeling angry and want to control it, ask yourself what's causing it. Maybe you just need a sandwich. Maybe you're hurt or scared. Maybe you wanted things to go one way and they didn't, and you're frustrated. If you ever need to control anger that's harmful, look at what's fueling it."

…

Day 25 was my first day back at school. It was miserable. During summer break, time didn't really seem to pass, but now that I was rolling up the stairs to the building, I suddenly realized the Decepticons had cost me the whole summer and who knew how much of the school year to come.

Even more awful was everyone else's reactions. They'd get quiet when I entered the room and either stared or, when I met their gaze, looked away.

I made it all the way to lunch before one of my classmates - Kathryn - got up the nerve to ask what happened.

"Car accident back in California," I lied, picking at my food as images of red optics and energon swords swarmed my brain. "I don't remember much about it. But at least the hip damage isn't permanent."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Me, too."

...

I still hadn't seen Arcee. I felt badly about it, but she couldn't come down here in her base form - not even on Diego Garcia.

On Day 28 of my therapy journal, Ratchet came over in his holoform for more physical therapy and cookies. As we were finishing up, though, I asked him, "Are you ever going to get around to fixing Arcee?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I haven't seen her since...since California. 'Bee told me she was injured and stuck in her base form. I've talked with her a few times on the phone, but it's not the same. I miss her."

Ratchet nodded in understanding. "The part she needs isn't available on Earth, and two of the metals necessary to manufacture it don't naturally occur in this solar system. She'll be unable to transform or use a holoform for quite a while."

Tears welled up in my eyes, surprising me. She was even more broken than I was!

"I think you're well enough to go see her, though."

I sat up straighter, brushing away the tears. "Really?"

"I can make room for you in my alt-form," he said. "Come on."

When he pulled me out of the back of his ambulance in the Autobot hangar half an hour later, Arcee was standing there in her pink component, arms crossed and looking me over. "Nice upgrade, Firebrand," she said with approval. "You're a full-on Autobot Transformer now." Grinning and waggling her optic ridges, she added, "Let's roll out!"

I burst out laughing and she knelt to hug me close. "I can't tell you how good it is to see you with my own optics."

I hugged her back, pokey bits and all. She was still my Autobot "aunt" Arcee. She was going to be okay. The purple and pink components were both totaled, but Arcee was still here with me. I hadn't lost her that day.

All of a sudden I was sobbing.

Arcee stroked my hair and tried to talk to me, but the relief was almost an agony of its own and I couldn't speak.

Dad appeared at my elbow a few minutes later. "Sweetheart? Are you okay?"

I sniffled, wiping my nose on my sleeve, and nodded. I was too choked up to try to explain, but I hugged him and then reached for another hug from Arcee.

"Grateful she's alive?" Dad guessed.

I nodded and I could hear the smile in Arcee's voice when she said, "Right back at you, little one."

...

By this time, Mom was doing well enough that she wasn't getting physical therapy from Ratchet anymore. Since he only had one patient out at the house, he started having Ironhide bring me up to the base for therapy and then made Arcee his apprentice torturer. While it was all the same to my muscles, I was really glad to have Arcee working with me instead. She was a lot less crabby!

She was the one who convinced me on Day 34 of my therapy journal to try standing up for the first time since my injury more than three months ago. It terrified me, but she knelt in front of me, clawed hands splayed over my sides to support my weight, and helped me to my feet. Little by little, she let me bear my own weight until I was standing straight and tall on my own, with only my hands on her shoulders to make sure I didn't lose my balance. She only let me stand for about 5 seconds before she eased me back into my chair again, but I'd done it!

Once I was sitting down, my cell phone blew up with text alerts. "What did you do?" I asked her.

Smirking, she said, "See for yourself."

I pulled up the app, and she'd group-texted all the Autobots with a photo of me standing up. I had about thirty texts celebrating in emoji, English, and some Autobot slang, along with a text from Ratchet that was in actual Cybertronian glyphs.

Looking up at her, I asked, "Do I want to know?"

"He says 'congratulations.'"

"Sarcastically?"

"Well, this is Ratchet we're talking about. So yes. He's slagged off that he did all the work and then missed it the first time you stood on that fancy new hip."

Ratchet later added in person that he was worried I was rushing my recovery, but even the people from Brown Biotech sent me an email the next day congratulating me on my progress. I couldn't do a cartwheel yet, but I felt happy enough that I wanted to and confident enough to believe I would again someday!

When I met with Dr. Sarkisian next (we were only meeting once a week now), she helped me see how much of a victory this really was. It was more than just the physical recovery. Bludgeon had hurt me with the intent of hurting everyone who loved me, too. Just surviving that attack had been a blow to his plans. Taking back my life and living it to the fullest was the best, fiercest way I had to fight back. I didn't tell Dr. Sarkisian, but I decided during that session that, when I could walk again, it would be the ultimate defeat for him and all the Decepticons I'd faced that day. It was one thing for Bludgeon to be killed by the sabotaged radioactive pellets; it was another for me to be healed enough to be able to dance on his grave. Dr. Sarkisian even got my folks and Optimus on board for a full-on Autobot party at the house to celebrate when I took my first steps.

It hurt, though. Physical therapy had kept the muscles and stuff from locking up, but that wasn't the same as actually using my legs the way I was supposed to. I was weak and shaky, and it brought on a few nightmares at first of being helpless again - captured by Shockwave, chased by a shark in the ocean, trapped in my bed in a house fire. Arcee had to catch me more than once as I used a walker to try to cross the med bay. But I stood every day, and I took those faltering steps every day until I could make it five steps without Arcee's help and then ten and then I could make it from one end of the med bay to the other with nothing but the walker to lean on.

After his hissy fit last time, I made sure Ratchet was there in the med bay to record it when, toward the end of September, I was able to walk five steps completely unassisted. When Dad got the text along with the rest of the Autobots, his whoop of joy made it all the way from the main hangar to the med bay.

…

I still used my wheelchair at school, since I wasn't up to eight hours of regular walking and sitting. But several of my schoolmates had started to warm up to me. They held doors for me or sat with me at lunch.

When I mentioned it to Dr. Sarkisian, she pointed out that, as Colonel Lennox's daughter, I was pretty intimidating. But when I needed my classmates' help, that made me less threatening. "This could be a real opportunity for you, socially," she said.

I hadn't thought about my injury and all the struggle to return to normal as an opportunity before, but it made sense the way she said it. "I think you just blew my mind."

She grinned and leaned back against the couch cushion. "That's why they pay me the big bucks."

...

I'd been walking for a couple of weeks, practicing for a half-hour at a time in the medbay, before I got up the nerve to ask Ratchet, "So...how do I get my Autobot brand back?"

He dropped the part he'd been cleaning and stared at me.

Too soon. My heart rate jumped and my thoughts raced. It was too soon. He didn't think I was good enough yet to be an Autobot again. I was still too weak. Too broken.

"Calm down, Firebrand." He knelt to be eye-level with me. "You're heading into another panic attack."

I closed my eyes and, as instructed, mindfully paid attention to my breathing and heart-rate until I wasn't freaking out anymore.

"Why would you even want that?" he eventually, gently asked. "It was the brand we placed on you - our thoughtless act - that resulted in your injury."

Opening my eyes, I looked up into his optics. "No, it wasn't. It saved our lives."

He tilted his head curiously.

"The only reason the Decepticons didn't squish us on sight was because of our brands. Shockwave pulled Mom's boot off to get a better look at hers. They asked for our designations. They talked to us because of those brands."

He looked away, seeming to process all that.

"You really thought they would have just let us go or whatever if Mom and I weren't marked as Autobots?"

Ratchet focused on me again. "Your injuries were both focused on your brands."

He'd felt guilty this whole time! I placed my hand on his huge metal one. "The brands saved our lives. Don't feel guilty anymore. And besides, you saved me. You gave me back my ability to walk. You did. You gave me back my life. You made it a life worth living."

"A frame doesn't determine whether life is worthwhile," he pointed out, "even if it's a frame that's maimed. Look at Arcee. Choices are what determines our fate, not our frames."

I half-smiled. "Maybe, but the frames sure can make it easier - or harder! And even reduced to one component, Arcee still is whole enough to wear the Autobot brand. What else do I have to do to get mine back?"

"Get parental permission," he said, straightening again.

I pulled my phone from my pocket - that's what texting was for! - and had it in writing 30 seconds later that my parents were both on board.

I walked my wheelchair out of that medbay that day with the Autobot brand on my hip. I still had some healing to do, but finally, I was me again!

Chapter Text

Mom and I were in the middle of planning my birthday party the coming Saturday when Ironhide came to pick me for my next PT session. (Arcee might say it was an abbreviation for "physical therapy" but in my mind it stood for "personal torture.") When Aaron Hyde walked through the door, I kind of did a double-take. Talking about what I wanted to do for my birthday had reminded me about last year and seeing him made me think about all the ways I had changed - we had changed - since then.

He caught me staring and huffed, "What?"

I just shook my head, remembering my bratty response, deleted texts, and him injured and unconscious in the medbay. "Nothing."

"Mind if I come with?" Mom asked. "We're kind of in the middle of something."

Hyde shrugged and helped me to my feet. (Even though I could walk without assistance sometimes, I still appreciated having someone with a steady hand nearby.) "Sure, Spitfire. You can drive."

By the time we got to the main hangar, we had decided that the party itself would be an Autobot backyard football game - which I would sit out, of course - with grilled burgers for my birthday dinner. I was trying to decide on a cake when Ironhide interrupted us. "Sorry, Firebrand, but Ratchet's repairing a twin in the barracks. He wants us to join him there for your measurements and vitals before you do your PT with Arcee."

I sighed, more at twin trouble than at the change of plans. Remembering his description of Sideswipe's and Sunstreaker's amputated-limbs scavenger hunt after Skids' and Mudflap's prank, I asked "How bad is it? I mean, I can come back another time if…"

"No, nothing that bad. Just fine-tuning something."

The lights were out in the barracks, though, and I began to get creeped out as we rolled forward into the dark.

I jumped and shrieked when the lights came up with a shout of "Surprise!" I was surrounded by my 'bots, who had decked out the barracks with streamers, balloons, and a birthday banner, and they were singing the Happy Birthday song. I was safely protected by Ironhide's cab. But my hands started shaking and my eyes were tearing up.

Dad opened my door and caught me up in a tight hug. "Too much?"

"Maybe a little," I sniffled.

"It's the adrenaline," he said in a low voice right into my ear. "Breathe through it, and you'll be fine. Need some help?"

I shook my head and took a deep breath through my nose. As soon as he'd said the word "adrenaline" I understood what he meant. My body was so obsessed with the bad surprise of Decepticons in California that even a good surprise brought on a wave of panic. But just being able to think through it helped more than I expected. Before the Autobots were done singing, I managed a weak smile.

With a nod of approval, Dad smiled and helped me out of the cab.

…

I was curious when I went in for my check up a week later and Arcee was the only one there. "Where's Ratchet?"

"In the brig."

"In the brig? Isn't that an unusual place to repair a twin?"

"No, he's the one in the brig."

I blinked and tried to process that. "Ratchet? In the brig? Ratchet?"

"Well," she continued, trying to act all nonchalant but obviously enjoying this, "he assaulted Wheeljack, and while 'Jack isn't going to press charges, Prowl's holding him for disorderly conduct."

I snorted. "It's October, Arcee. You're half a year off for April Fool's Day."

"I'm serious," she said, offering me her hand to help me climb the platform to the repair berth.

"Ratchet assaulted Wheeljack?" I said, accepting her invitation. "Worse than usual? I mean, he assaults anybody who ticks him off enough."

"The Vette twins convinced Wheeljack to help them with their Halloween costumes."

Laying down on the berth, I gave her a wicked grin. "I hear one Pit of a story coming on."

She giggled. "Like you wouldn't believe. The twin's new alt-forms are pod racers from Star Wars."

"WHAT?!"

"Yep. Totally against regs, of course. Prowl was fit to be tied, since they travelled off the base in those forms, too. I don't have footage of any of that, but I can show you a holo of how it went down in the brig."

"Oh, please yes!"

Around me, the room shifted in appearance from the med bay to the brig. Prowl had both Sideswipe and Sunstreaker in handcuffs and was hauling them along into the room.

"Halloween costumes are fanciful and fictional," he acidly said as he headed toward one of the holding cells. It automatically swished open when they stepped close enough.

"Well people dress up as real things for Halloween, too," Sideswipe protested as he stepped into the cell like this was a regular routine for him. The cell-door closed and the bars started glowing with some kind of power current.

"Like nurses and policemen," Sunstreaker added.

Even I could see from Prowl's doorwings that he wasn't thrilled with a police uniform being considered a Halloween costume. Stepping to the furthest cell over, he was a little more rough as he nudged Sunstreaker inside. "If pod racers are real, then pod races are as well. If pod races are real, then it would be appropriate for you to have a pod race in these alt-forms."

"YES!" Sunstreaker exclaimed as the door closed on his cell and the bars warmed up.

Sideswipe gave Prowl a dubious look and held his still-handcuffed wrists out between the bars of his cell. "You feeling okay? Because you just turned into someone really cool. Maybe you're being possessed by the ghost of Jazz?"

"I am not possessed," Prowl coolly insisted as he removed first Sunstreaker's and then Sideswipe's hand-cuffs, "unless it is by a logical processor. Since pod racers and pod racing as depicted in the movie are obviously a fictional depiction of a real-world phenomenon, then it follows that the rules of real-world pod racing are the same as pod racing as depicted in the movie."

"Except for the Tusken raiders, of course," Sideswipe nervously added. "They were just a literary license."

"Noted." He turned on his heel to leave, but Sunstreaker demanded, "Aren't you letting us out?"

"No," he answered, not even gracing them with a glance while he worked at a console, probably securing the brig again. "Not until I have confirmed that I can clear the schedules of myself, Optimus, Ironhide, Ratchet and Wheeljack to participate in this event."

"But you guys are slow," Sideswipe complained.

Prowl finally looked back, the light in his optics utterly cold. "Precisely. You'll provide an excellent target the entire time."

As the door closed behind Prowl, Sunstreaker looked at Sideswipe. "Well that backfired. We are so fragged, bro."

Sideswipe facepalmed, making his helm clang.

As the holo faded back into the med bay, both Arcee and I were roaring with laughter. It took a few minutes for me to calm down enough to ask, "So is Ratchet in the brig with them?"

"Yep," Arcee answered. "In the middle cell. When Prowl asked him about when he might be free for a pod race, that's when he found out about Wheeljack's involvement and went ballistic and got locked up."

"For how long?"

"Prime went easy on him - he'll be released by the time the Witwickys and the Prime Protection Unit get here from D.C."

"Wait! Samuel's coming here?"

"Yep. Nobody wants to miss this race!"

...

Since I was Samuel Prime's assistant ambassador, I got to be there to greet him and everyone else from DC when they arrived on the island. (Officially, they were there for some kind of summit or something, but that excuse was made up after the race was scheduled.) The C-17 named "Daisy" landed a day early so we'd all be able to have some fun beforehand. Bumblebee led his squad down the ramp in their alt-forms, but Samuel wasn't behind the wheel. Instead, he was with Mikaela and his kids in RaFly's alt-form, and she pulled aside on the tarmac near me with Hound and Trailbreaker right behind her. The others continued on into the hangar, following Bumblebee.

"Samuel, Mikaela," I said, nodding to them as they all got out. "Welcome to Diego Garcia."

Beatrice did a cartwheel, clearly happy to be out of the plane, while Daemon said, "I'm hungry."

"They'll have lunch for you at the base daycare," Samuel said, and Daemon grimaced.

"But Dad!" 'Trice protested.

"I get it," I said in sympathy. "My parents ditched me at the daycare until I was fifteen. It's just something you've gotta do on Diego Garcia. Can't have kids wandering around the base." Who knew what they'd accidentally stumble across.

Mikaela hugged 'Trice. "We'll go out to the R&R cabins afterward, I promise. And we'll be able to go swimming in the ocean, just like last time."

"Your lunch is waiting," Samuel added. "'Breaker will get you there."

Daemon sighed heavily. "Alright, alright."

Mikaela rubbed noses with 'Trice. "Go with Hound, he'll give you a lift."

After the kids were gone, Mikaela caught me in a tight hug, too. Stepping back, she rested her hands on my shoulders and looked me over. "They've shown me holos, but I didn't really believe it until now." Meeting my gaze, she grinned. "You're really okay."

"Yep!"

"I've got some business to take care of with your dad and Optimus before the big race," Samuel said, "but Optimus says you and Mikaela are welcome to hang out with the others in the barracks."

"But first," Mikaela said, "we've got a little something for you."

RaFly rolled closer, and Mikaela pulled a wrapped present from the trunk. "Happy belated birthday!"

I blinked in surprise as I accepted the present. "You already got me that really nice charging station that I wanted."

"That was just a placeholder until we could give you these," Samuel explained. "Go on! Open it!"

Grinning, I unwrapped the package and pulled the top off. Inside was the most impractical gift I'd ever received - and considering how many times aliens had given me gifts, that was saying something. "Boots?" High-heeled, glossy, black boots.

Mikaela winked. "These boots are made for walking."

I just stared, feeling like this was supposed to be an inside joke or something but totally not getting it.

"You know," Samuel said, "the song?"

"...no?"

RaFly laughed as she transformed, and then she projected a holo of Supergirl and Wonder Woman that seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with heroines' footwear. The bouncy song in the background had the line, "These boots are made for walking/ And that's just what they'll do / One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you."

"You just made me feel old, Annabelle," Mikaela complained, but she was grinning.

"Thank you for these," I said, finally getting what she was trying to say with them, and my heart warmed as she pulled me into a hug.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you walking," she said in a low voice. "You're a survivor, just like your dad, and I am so proud of you."

"Thanks," I breathed, and she squeezed my shoulders again.

"Sorry to run," Samuel said as RaFly collapsed back down into her alt, "but for the record, we're both proud of you."

"No worries," I reassured him. "We'll catch up with you later over in the Autobot hangar."

He nodded and climbed into RaFly's driver seat. As they drove away, Mikaela and I started walking into the Autobot hangar, but seeing the med bay hall reminded me. "Oh! I'll join you in a few minutes," I said to Mikaela. "I have a check-up with Arcee."

"Sounds good. Want me to take these for you for now?" she asked, gesturing toward the boots.

"Sure," I said, handing them off to her. "And seriously, thank you again. I might not wear them much until I'm stateside again, but they are awesome."

"Then they suit you perfectly." Grinning, she turned left toward the barracks.

I continued straight on to the med bay. The door swished open, and I froze in my tracks. Bumblebee was standing face-to-face with Arcee, who was kneeling on one of the medical berths so they were closer to each other's eye-level. (Or at least, I hoped that's why she was kneeling on a berth in the med bay!) Their foreheads were pressed together, and he had his hands on her face, his thumb stroking her cheek-struts. She was playing with his antennas, and he was making happy-sounding clicks and chirps, despite the fact that her fingers were basically claws in this form.

I wasn't sure what exactly I was seeing - they weren't even lip-locked - but they were clearly so distracted that they hadn't even noticed I'd walked in on them. I could feel my ears getting hot with my blush and I inched back out into the hallway until the doors automatically closed again. Slowly letting my breath out, I pulled out my phone and texted Ratchet instead. /Arcee's busy. Can you give me my check-up this time?/

/Who's she repairing?/

/Bumblebee?/

/Slag the both of them, those Pit-spawn rust-for-processors. Fine. I'm in the barracks./

I preferred hanging out in the Autobot barracks anyway. It was a full-on party again, with RaFly and Mikaela the center of attention. Ratchet beckoned me over to where he was talking with Evac. Against the backdrop of laughter and music, he went through the familiar process of taking measurements, putting me through various exercises, and finally drawing a blood sample.

"Taken to torturing humans too?" Hound asked Ratchet as he entered the barracks with Trailbreaker.

"No, smart-aft, I'm covering for that fragging femme."

"Can you blame them?" Hound chuckled and continued over to hang out with Trailbreaker, Jolt, and Wheeljack.

I got a text from Arcee a couple of minutes later. /Is everything okay? You never showed up for your exam./

Rolling my eyes, I showed the screen to Ratchet. "She was completely oblivious that I was even there."

"Go on and enjoy the party, Firebrand. I'll bang their helms together. And my med bay had better be intact!"

I really hoped that was the last of the commentary on whatever was going on between those two! They had never been like this before. Even at the ranch they had been flirty but not touchy-feely. Or gropy. Or whatever that was.

Then I remembered - Arcee had committed to Bumblebee, had claimed him as her mate right before Samuel used the Matrix to heal him. Optimus had made a big deal about it at the time, but I'd kind of forgotten. That's why everything was different now, why they were bot-smooching and why everyone else just took it in stride. It was like 'Bee and Arcee were engaged! Holy slag!

How did that even work for 'bots? Did they have the equivalent of an engagement ring? Or a bridal shower? Or a wedding? And how did any of that work when they were stationed on opposite sides of the planet?

Had I missed their whole engagement?!

I could feel my body tensing up again, and I didn't want to accidentally turn this into a panic attack, so I took a few deep breaths. I would ask Arcee...when she didn't have her fiance around. After all, the Witwickys were only staying for a few days.

...

The next morning, someone knocked on my bedroom door.

"Come in!" I said, still snuggled under the covers.

Dad stepped into the room and laid some camouflage clothing on the foot of my bed.

I must have looked as surprised as I felt because he said, "Officially the race will be a training exercise, Annabelle. We'll be arriving there on an LCU. Even guests will be in fatigues."

I swallowed hard, suddenly uneasy, but he was already gone. As I dressed, I mentally batted away images of Mikaela and Sam shooting a bazooka at Decepticons, only this time dressed in camo. Looking in the mirror was hard, though. Dad wore fatigues all the time, of course, so it wasn't exactly foreign to me. But the figure looking back at me in the reflection was a stranger, a warrior. She was terrifying. I didn't want to be her. I didn't want to have to fight. I wanted to be broken enough to be sheltered still, to be kept safe.

But that would mean missing out on today.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. That's not how this works, I told myself. I wasn't in camo when Mom and I fought back for Bumblebee, and just because I look like a NEST recruit doesn't mean I'll be fighting today. This is just for show. I'm just playing dress-up, like Sunstreaker and Sideswipe and the others are. It's basically just a Halloween costume.

That thought settled well in both my mind and my heart. The Autobots were cosplaying Star Wars for this 'podrace' and I was just doing something similar. That made sense. It wasn't scary. Opening my eyes, I looked at the girl in the mirror and nodded. I could do this.

…

Down at the lagoon, we boarded a military ship (Dad could tell you what it was but I couldn't) and set off for the Egmont Island Group and the big race.

Prowl being Prowl, we had a briefing during the voyage. First, we reviewed the entire podrace scene from Star Wars and he gave a PowerPoint of all the rules he'd inferred from the movie and from print Star Wars canon sources. The list was surprisingly short considering he was the one who wrote it.

Then he gave us the rundown on the racetrack. Basically, it was the beach that circled Egmont, with a few submerged sandbars connecting the islands. Egmont didn't belong to NEST, but someone up the chain of command had secured it for today's "training exercise." Yachters liked to put in there, but overnight, the British Navy had shooed away any civilians within a fifty-mile radius. It was home to some delicate coral reefs and several threatened species and, basically, if anything living was disturbed by the Autobots, the culprit would forfeit the race. And face Prowl's wrath.

Sunny's and Sides' holoforms were slumping lower and lower in their chairs, but I nodded in agreement during Prowl's environmentalism rant.

The 'bots alt-forms were already loaded into the LCU's (Landing Craft Unit, according to Prowl's presentation - tank ferries that could land on a beachhead) and they would disembark after us humans. So my first glimpse of my Autobots tricked out as podracers was on the leeward shore of Egmont's Lubine Island. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe drifted down the ramp first. They were sleek and almost otherworldly, looking both organic and predatory somehow. Their pods made me think of silver and gold sharks, heat shimmering from their engines and spoiling for the race. They were dwarfed by Ironhide and Ratchet, though, who both managed to look like tanks despite the fact that they were hovering above the ramp and then the sand. Prowl and Wheeljack were less lumbering than 'Hide and Ratchet, but they didn't have the twins' sleek look, either.

But Optimus… Holy freaking slag, he was awesome! He needed an LCU all to himself. Bigger than both 'Hide and Ratchet combined, he revved his black engines' jets and fire flicked down either side of his pod's red and blue panels. Yeah, he was bigger but suddenly Sunstreaker's and Sideswipe's engines looked kind of dinky by comparison. If they were like sharks, then the Prime was like a killer whale. The other boss-bots might not be able to keep up, but I had no doubt Optimus was going to be breathing down the twins' necks the whole time.

The rest of the 'bots joined us in their baseforms, and I grinned up at Bumblebee. "You're not racing?"

He glanced at Arcee and then back at me. "Naw, I want to stay out of Optimus' way on this one."

Well if he was cheering for the Prime, somebody had better cheer on the twins. Since they looked like they might turn out to be the underdogs, I decided to root for them.

The pod-bots gathered at the starting line (drawn in the sand), and Epps presented a flare gun to Samuel. After a second's consideration, he offered it to his wife, and Mikaela grinned as she raised it in the air. I covered my ears along with everyone else, but I still heard the shot that started the race.

My heart leaped to my throat as I again saw Samuel and Mikaela firing rockets at the Decepticons. The heat and roar of Cybertronian engines brought me back to that day - panic and pain and despair - and I fought for breath as I fell to my knees. Arcee was instantly beside me, her metal hand on my shoulder, but to my surprise, my heart-rate slowed. It allowed me to breathe again.

I shook my head as it cleared and looked around, trying to get my bearings again. We were at Egmont. There was no danger here.

Mom and Dad were watching the racers, and I scrambled to my feet before they could notice me. Arcee exchanged another look with Bumblebee before saying in my ear, "Are you okay?"

"Are you doing that?" I whispered, knowing she'd hear me.

"I'm regulating your pulse and blood pressure, yes."

Forcing me to calm down. "Thanks," I said, and though she really had helped pull me out of that panic attack, I felt uneasy about her taking over something as fundamental as my heart. Like the sleep meds and the narcotics, it didn't actually fix anything. It was just a bandage over the trauma - and trauma covered up didn't heal. "I'm good now."

Again she looked up at Bumblebee like they were talking over the comm, and she nodded slightly before letting me go so my pulse could do its own thing. By then Dad had noticed me. I caught him looking at the place where I'd fallen, where you could still clearly see two knee-prints in the sand. His concerned gaze met mine, and I grimaced. Trying to change the subject before he could bring it up, I asked, "Who's ahead?"

"Sideswipe," Mom said, eagerly handing me her tablet. It was showing a drone's streaming footage of the leaders.

I stared at the screen, trying to mentally shift gears and at least pretend I was interested in the race. I'd missed half of the first lap.

Silver and gold left a wild wake as they skimmed up the shoreline, sometimes over water and sometimes up on the sand. As I watched, they rounded the Isle of Rats, the westernmost point of the islands, and Sideswipe skittered out over deeper water like a skipping stone. He had to slow down which made him sink a bit, though he still hovered inches above the water. He bobbed around like a cork as he tried to get back on track. Sunstreaker had slowed down ahead of the turn and made it through just fine. Prowl was in second place now, much to my surprise, and Optimus was just a length or two behind him. While the Prime roared along streaming fire, Prowl lived up to his name, somehow seeming almost cold-blooded with his blue-glowing engines as he stalked his way along the surf.

They were approaching our position, and I looked up. They whizzed past us in a blur of color and fire, and though my heart quickened, the panic and pain didn't return. I sighed in relief and looked back at the screen, grateful for the drone's eagle-eye view. I also suddenly remembered that I'd stolen my mom's tablet. Fortunately, she and Dad were sharing, and I focused again on the race.

The straightaway along Egmont's southern side gave Sideswipe an opening, and he was coming up on Optimus. The Prime swung wide, trying to keep him from passing, but as they approached the tip of Southeast Island, Sideswipe's pod bounced once belly-first onto the rocky surf, scraping up his finish but also giving him traction to adjust his speed and angle. He leaped forward and ahead of Optimus, cutting through on the inside of the "track."

Behind me, Bumblebee played a clip from Star Wars. "I don't care what universe you're from, that's gotta hurt!"

As soon as he rounded the point, Optimus' engines belched out furious fire, and as I'd predicted, he was breathing down Sideswipe's neck. I half-smiled, starting to really get into it now.

Prowl still raced along between the twins, and Sideswipe had to get past him if he wanted to have any hope of winning. They were coming up on the Isle of Rats again, and Sunstreaker and Prowl both slowed to make the turn.

Sideswipe didn't. This time, his engines banked high as he rounded the island, flying almost vertically for a few seconds before he managed to swing around Prowl and drop back down to racing level alongside his brother.

Optimus wasn't a dunce - he stole Sideswipe's trick and rounded the point with his engines at a vertical, too. He even managed to leapfrog Prowl, spinning in a slow, fiery spiral to drop down to level in front of him.

As they roared down the straightaway of Egmont's southern side, it was increasingly clear that this race was down to the twins and the Prime.

They whipped past us for a second time, entering the third and final lap, and bore down on Southeast Island's sharp tip.

I expected them to slow, but they barrelled down the shore in tight formation. I wasn't sure if that was because the twins weren't about to give up their lead or because they didn't want to let those killer-whale jet engines catch them.

Just when I was sure all three of them would go shooting off into the ocean, Sunstreaker swung wide and slowed, banking his engines as he entered the curve.

Sideswipe, however, held the course, dropping one of his engines to skim along the sand as a pivot point again. After an astrosecond of hesitation, Optimus did, too, allowing him to slip ahead of Sunstreaker.

"He's got it," Chromia said. "That silver punk is going to win unless Optimus takes a shot at him."

"He won't," Samuel chimed in, "even though he's mad enough to out-cuss Ratchet."

They were both right. Optimus didn't fire at Sideswipe even though he couldn't find an

opening to get around the twin on Egmont's northern straightaway. Sideswipe again skimmed the sand on the Isle of Rats to make an even tighter turn there this time. Optimus banked his engines but didn't punish his paint job in the turn. On the final straightaway, though, Optimus opened up his jets and made it a photo finish. Sideswipe only beat him by a yard or so.

…

The voyage back to Diego Garcia was the exact opposite of the trip out. Instead of Prowl's PowerPoints, the 'bots threw a party. Epps was in charge of the music, which blasted out of Wheeljack's speakers. Our ship was too small for Optimus to stand up even without his jet-pack upgrade, so he sat in his base form with a barrel of some kind of fuel in his hands. Ironhide, Chromia, Jolt, Radio Flyer, Prowl, Mirage - everyone joined him in swigging something except Ratchet and the twins. Sideswipe had torn himself up enough that the medic decided to patch him up on the way.

About an hour into the voyage, Ratchet finally decided the twins were repaired enough. When they joined the party, that's when things really started getting loud.

I could only imagine what the ship's brass would think of the ruckus, but if they got to see the race, they probably wouldn't complain too loudly.

We were still more than an hour out from Diego Garcia when I noticed some 'bots were missing from the party - Bumblebee and Arcee.

I started wandering the cargo bay they had us in, and eventually I heard Arcee's laughter rise above the music behind me. I followed the sound to a stack of crates, away from everyone else. When I peeked around the corner, they were both in their base-forms, cuddling, and as I watched, Arcee laughed again and playfully nudged him with her elbow.

Except, he hadn't said anything. It wasn't until that moment that I realized they hadn't talked to each other this entire trip. They'd exchanged looks and talked to other people, but they were using the comm between themselves the whole time.

Why would they do that?

She stroked his cheek-strut, and while he made a happy hum, he still didn't say anything out loud. Why keep using the comm when he had his voice? That didn't make any sense. Unless...

They were talking over a bond instead of the comm!

They were way beyond "committed" to each other - they were full-blown mates!

Fury filled me, and my face flushed hot. I wanted to scream. The anger blind-sided me, and I ducked back behind the crates again. What the slag?

I needed to get away from here - away from them - and I worked my way back toward the party.

Dr. Sarkisian. She could help me tame this, make sense of it. My hands trembled as I pulled up her number on my texting app. /I need to talk with you./

/Scale of 1-10, is this an emergency?/

Logically, it shouldn't be, but I was so fragging angry my hands tingled with a longing to hit something. It made no sense, and it scared me, at least in my mind. In my heart, I was ready to fight but I also felt like I was drowning. /Dunno. I'm not going to hurt myself or anyone else, but I might destroy a relationship or two beyond repair./

/Are you available now?/

I gritted my teeth. /No, we're off-island and I won't be back for at least another hour./

/Think you could make it through to tomorrow morning?/

/Probably, but I have school./

/What's the first class you can afford to skip?/

/English. It starts just before 9 a.m./

/I've got you on my schedule. Do you need additional support right now?/

I looked around at Samuel and Mikaela, Hound and RaFly, people I usually didn't get to spend time with. I would be able to cope for a few hours. Probably. /I think I'll be able to distract myself, at least for a little bit./

/Okay. Feel free to reach out if you need it in the meantime. That was an excellent analysis of your own mental and emotional state, btw. Good job!/

I pocketed my cell phone, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. Only then did I notice my jaw was aching from clenching my teeth so much. Letting my breath out slowly, I relaxed my jaw and looked over at Hound. If anyone would be able to distract me, it would be him. The anger would just have to wait. I'd fake it until I could make it.

Chapter Text

I glared at the ceiling of my bedroom, refusing to look at the clock. It was o' dark thirty and I just couldn't sleep. I couldn't get comfortable. If I laid on my back, I felt like there was a weight on my chest. If I lay on my left side, my ribs ached, and if I lay on my right side, my hip hurt.

And if my hip hurt, all kinds of bad memories returned.

Why was I feeling this way? What was happening to me? Why now?

Angry enough for my eyes to tear up, I threw off the covers and went downstairs to get a sleep aid. After I swallowed it down, I went to turn off the light, but Dad startled me by appearing at the base of the stairs. "What are you doing up?" he asked, worry written all over his face.

"Trying to sleep," I grumbled, slipping past him and back up to my room.

The next morning, I felt drugged still from the sleep aid, but it was better than the nightmares I could pretty much count on, given my mood. The anger punched through even the drugged feeling, leaving me sullen and sluggish for most of my first-period class.

Not even being checked out by Ironhide improved my mood. Fortunately, though, my head was finally starting to clear.

Dr. Sarkisian greeted me with a somber nod and gestured me into her office.

I sat down in the recliner and stared at the carpet for a long moment.

"I hope this isn't just to get out of school," she eventually said.

"No."

"Well then?"

My hands in my lap were balled into fists, and I forced them to relax, spreading my fingers wide over my knees. "I know your clearance is higher than mine, but I just want to be sure. Do you know what makes Autobot brothers, well, brothers?"

"You mean bonds?"

"Yes. And mates?"

"Spark-bonds."

"Arcee and Bumblebee have one now."

"I didn't know that."

I started pacing, feeling that rage well up in me again.

"You're agitated," Dr. Sarkisian observed.

"I'm furious."

"Because of their bond?"

"How dare they!" I shouted, and it felt good to finally voice the rage. "How dare they get something good out of this! After all they put me through, after what Mom and I both went through, how dare they get a happily ever after while I'm still having nightmares!"

She held very still, not reacting, and somehow, it made me even more explosive.

"How dare they! They're all cuddling and bot-smooching and I fragging still can't sleep at night!"

"That is one way of looking at it."

Seething, I whirled and glared at her directly. "He left me. How dare he!"

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought he stayed and fought beside you, almost to the death."

The rage still carried me in a pacing circuit of her room, but I turned her words over in my mind, trying to force myself to think logically about it. It was hard because that fury tried to sweep me away with every step. She was right, though – 'Bee hadn't left me. "That's what it feels like – like he just waltzed off and left me to die." That's why I'd said those things.

I took a deep breath in through my nose and let it out slowly. "Anger is a secondary emotion," I reminded myself and her, "so what's the primary one here? Why am I ready to kill something?"

"I could only guess. You know your own heart best. Tell me what else you're feeling besides anger."

"I'm scared. I'm frustrated. I feel stuck - like I'm drowning."

"Drowning?"

"Like back on the mountain," I realized. "It feels like I'm back on the mountain, and he's sending Samuel away. Samuel and Mikaela." And then I remembered Mom with the rifle. "Mikaela said I should take her place, and Mom told her 'no' and made her mount the bike at gunpoint." Focusing on Dr. Sarkisian again, I said, "Bumblebee could have taken all us humans with him. He didn't – he sent Arcee and the Prime away instead. He left us to die. He stayed with us, but it was his choice who got to escape and who didn't. Mom was just backing him up."

"That sounds like a difficult situation for all of you."

I resumed pacing, getting choked up on the grief as I wore out her carpet. "He chose death for me. He was ready to let me die. He's my friend, Dr. Sarkisian. He has been for as long as I can remember. I mean, it was a betrayal to learn that their holoforms weren't actually humans, but that was a harmless lie. This...Mom and I both could have died." I slumped down on the couch, my eyes aching with fresh tears. I was so, so tired of crying!

Dr. Sarkisian sat down beside me with a box of tissues. I took one and wiped my eyes, but I could barely breathe, I was crying so hard. I wrapped my arms around my ribs and tried to catch my breath. It wasn't enough as the pain ached in my hip again. I doubled over as the crying became body-wracking sobs.

We could have died.

We could have died.

We almost did. It was his choice. It all came down to him. All this pain, all this hurt, it was all his fault. He knew everything that happened to me probably would – and worse – and still sent Mikaela away instead of me.

"He tried to kill me," I choked out.

"Is that what you think or what you feel?" Dr. Sarkisian asked.

"Feel."

She nodded and didn't say anything more, just supportively rubbed the top of my arm.

Thankfully the sobbing slowed down, and the anger ebbed with it. It took several minutes, but eventually I was able to sit up again and breathe well enough to blow my nose.

After I'd filled several tissues, Dr. Sarkisian gently said, "There are two ways to look at this, Annabelle. Probably more than two, but there are at least two I can think of that are relevant here. One is the tactical logic – this was a battle, and so there were rules at play that aren't applicable elsewhere. The other is your own, personal experiences and their consequences. You aren't a battle-hardened soldier; you are a sixteen-year-old girl whose brain is still very plastic and whose psyche was as hurt as your body. Both of these are legitimate ways to analyze what happened. And you'll probably be more resilient if you look at what happened through both lenses, one at a time."

Analyze. Become resilient. More work for me to do while Arcee and Bumblebee just… I remembered again their lovey-dovey whatever in the med bay and their cuddling on the ship. In a flash of anger, I threw my balled-up tissue at the floor.

"When you're ready," Dr. Sarkisian added.

But none of this was ever my choice. It was Bumblebee's. And Mom's. And Shockwave's. Not mine. "Do I have a choice?" I bitterly said.

"There is always a choice," she answered.

She was intense enough that I actually looked up at her again, and the sympathy there surprised me. "Always. You might not like your options, and honestly, I don't think anyone would blame you for that. But your power lies in your ability to choose, Annabelle. Exercising that ability is how you overcome this."

I wrapped my arms around my ribs again. "But I'm so fragging tired."

"Adrenaline – fight or flight – is exhausting. If you think you could rest now, we can call it a day and you can go home. You're the one who reached out to me this time."

I considered my own feelings. While I'd burned through a lot of the anger, the hurt was still there, and if I tried to rest right now, I was worried it would just flare back up again later.

Defeated, I asked her, "What are my choices?"

"Let's talk about the feeling that Bumblebee tried to kill you..."

"I know he didn't."

"But it feels that way," she finished for me. "Why?"

"I don't know," I whined.

"Your conscious mind doesn't have to know right this second," she gently said, "but there's a deeper part of you inside who does know. That part will tell you sooner or later, but it will take some listening and analyzing to understand why. And it likely won't happen until you're willing to work with the answer."

I nodded and hunched forward again. Any thoughts about Bumblebee led to a great big ball of hurt and lingering anger that I couldn't get past. He wasn't just willing to throw away my life – he did. He actually did put me in harm's way. My feelings were convinced of that, and I couldn't figure out why. "I don't know," I repeated. "I just don't know."

"That's okay," Dr. Sarkisian said. "Give it time. Let's try a different exercise. What do you think your options are right now?"

I drew a shaky breath and my eyes teared up again. "I don't have any options."

"None whatsoever?"

I narrowed my eyes at her as I wiped away the tears. "None."

"So you couldn't go home and eat an entire can of whipping cream to drown your sorrows?"

I snorted in grim amusement. "Only if I wanted to throw up."

"Do you want to throw up?"

"No. Who would want…" My voice trailed off as I saw where she was going with that one. "No, I'm not bulimic. And that's not an option. Why would you even suggest that?"

"I'm not," she said with a half-smile. "I was trying to make sure you weren't. And I'm glad you're in a healthier place than that. But since bulimia isn't an option either of us want you to explore, toss out another one. What else can you do?"

"I don't know. Go for a swim?"

"Exercise is a healthy way to deal with stress," she said in agreement. "What else?"

"What do you want me to say?" I snapped.

"Whatever is going through your head," she evenly answered. "I can't run a scan like Ratchet. You have to tell me where your mental injuries are before I can help you."

I grimaced slightly and looked away from her. "I'd love to just hide under a blanket for the rest of the day. So that's an option."

"A better one than my whipped cream idea, for sure."

"I could do homework, but I think I'd just end up snapping all my pencils into kindling. What did you call that kind of thing? A maladaptation?"

"That's the right word, but I wouldn't call breaking pencils one. Keying Bumblebee, yes. Breaking pencils, no. I'd even donate the pencils!"

I half-smiled at her, feeling slightly better. Considering the night I'd had, I hadn't thought that possible.

"Any other options come to mind?" she asked.

I thought for a long moment. "I guess I could confront him about it. Though if I do that before I work through the rest, I probably will end up keying him."

"Maybe you should hold off a bit on that one, then."

"I could talk to Mom. She was there and backed him up."

"Yes, that might be a good starting place. Or your dad. He'd understand those rules of combat even better than your mom."

And it might be easier to talk with him first. My mom chose Samuel over her own flesh and blood, and I couldn't see how that conversation could ever turn out well. "I think that's the first really do-able option we've come up with."

"It's a good starting point," she agreed. "Any other options?"

"Maybe eventually I could talk to Samuel about it." But just like with Mom, I didn't know how I could possibly be civil enough with him about it to have it not blow up.

"Or Arcee?"

I shook my head, feeling the stirrings of that gut-deep anger again. "They're spark-bound. He'll know everything she does. If I talk to her, he'll know I'm angry, too, and I don't want that yet. Maybe not ever. Oh, one other thing!" The mention of Arcee reminded me about my panic attack back on Egmont. "I had a… I don't know, flashback or something during yesterday's race. Arcee did something to me."

Dr. Sarkisian tilted her head curiously. "What do you mean, 'did something to you?'"

I grimaced as I remembered. "It must be some built-in medical equipment or something. She said she was regulating my heart rate and blood pressure."

"Did it work?"

"Yes, but that's not the point. She took over my heart. She forced me to calm down."

"Ah," she said, understanding dawning. "I take it you didn't appreciate it."

"I didn't. Or I guess I did and didn't. I mean, I was glad Mom and Dad didn't notice I was freaking out, but it was just a temporary fix. Like you always say, trauma buried alive never dies."

She nodded in agreement. "And it was on this same trip that you realized they have a bond?"

"Yes."

"Sounds like a perfect storm."

"You could call it that."

"Well what about talking to Arcee about that? It's a smaller fire to put out, but tackling that first might make the rest less overwhelming."

I frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know how to tell her to back off without sounding rude and ungrateful."

Dr. Sarkisian smiled. "This is what we call self-advocacy, and it's a critical life skill. And I know Arcee – she'll be a good partner to practice with."

I sighed, not so sure about that. "Okay, so how do I self-advocate without finding myself on the wrong end of an Aubobot cannon?"

"Annabelle…"

"What?" I said defensively.

"You've known Arcee your whole life. You tell me – how does she feel about you?"

I knew the answer to that without even thinking: she loved me. She was like a favorite aunt. Scratch that, she was my favorite aunt. She'd kill for me. She'd die for me. Even though she was the one who actually made a break for it with Samuel and Mikeala, I didn't think for a second that she would have chosen death for me. She was just following Bumblebee's orders.

Dr. Sarkisian was still looking at me expectantly, so I said, "She loves me."

She nodded with a little smile. "So do you think you could talk with her about not taking over your heart like that again? Before we meet next, that is."

The deadline made me tense up, but I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. This was Arcee. I could do this. Or at least, "I'll try."

"That's good enough for me." She was about to say something more, but I yawned hugely. Instead, she said, "You've got to be exhausted. Is there anything else you want to talk about, or are you ready to call it good for now?"

She was right, I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open.

"I'll text your mom and see if she wants to excuse you from school for the rest of the day."

I nodded in agreement and apparently dozed off, because the next thing I knew, she was gently shaking my shoulder.

"Ironhide's out front. He'll take you home. And you're already on my calendar for Friday. Let's meet weekly or so for a while."

"Oh. Okay." I blinked rapidly, trying to wake up enough to be steady on my feet. The last thing I wanted was to fall on my hip and have to face an irate Ratchet.

As I staggered up and toward the door, Dr. Sarkisian said, "Annabelle…"

I paused and looked at her.

She gave me a reassuring little smile. "I've been expecting something like this from you for the last month, just so you know. As hard as all this is, it's a necessary step in healing, and you might have other realizations hit you just as hard or harder. But if that happens, you will have the tools and know-how to deal with it. I want you to understand you can come out stronger, more resilient on the other side of this."

"Because I'm a Lennox?"

"Because you're you."

I returned her smile and headed for home.

…

I slept the whole morning away, and Dad was in the kitchen eating lunch with Mom when I came down the stairs.

"Hey sweetheart," Mom said, catching me in a hug. "Feeling any better."

I wasn't in a rage anymore, and that was good. "A little bit." Nothing had really changed, though, either.

"Want to talk about it?" Dad offered.

The thought – and the fear that came with it – was exhausting. "Not right now."

He nodded and patted the empty seat at the table beside him. "You hungry?"

"Maybe?"

"Some fruit?" Mom offered. "Pineapple?"

It didn't sound bad, at least. "Let's start with that."

…

I pulled myself together enough to see the Witwicky's off that afternoon as they headed back home. Beatrice leaned out RaFly's open window and shouted, "Bye, Annabelle, and have fun at your princess ball!" I even managed a smile at the innocence and imagination of preschoolers.

But when it came to talking with Arcee about the whole forcing me to calm down thing, I chickened out. When I went into the medbay later that week for physical therapy, I just couldn't think of a way to bring it up. Ratchet was there the whole time, too, which meant we had an audience, and if Arcee shouldn't have done that, she might get in trouble with him, too. So I kept my mouth shut.

Two days later, I had my appointment with Dr. Sarkisian, though, and I kind of slunk into her office.

She took one look at me and sobered. "So. How did it go with Arcee?"

"The physical therapy went well."

"Anything else?"

I hunched lower and cringed, unable to answer.

"You were afraid?"

I nodded, still tongue-tied.

She sighed and gave me a half-smile. "I'm not judging you, Annabelle. This is your recovery – I'm just here to give you a hand from time to time. You're in control of when you advance and how far."

My breath came out in a whoosh. "How in the Pit am I in control of any of this?"

"Well, you made a choice to not self-advocate with Arcee. So you chose to put it off for another week. You're in control."

I looked at my hands, just really not wrapping my head around what she was saying. "But you're supposed to lecture me. I didn't do the homework you gave me. I gave in to my fear."

"That, too, is a choice."

I swallowed hard. Last time when we'd talked about choices, we joked about me eating a whole can of whip cream or snapping all my homework pencils. I hadn't thought that letting my fear control me was a choice. Looking up at her, I said, "I can't just walk up to Arcee and tell her off."

Dr. Sarkisian nodded, accepting that. "Okay, that's fair. So what can you do?"

I looked down, considering the question. I could write it down. Let the words stand by themselves, so I wasn't the one saying them. "I could send her a text or an email."

Her smile became genuine. "That sounds like a good choice."

...

It took me three days to write the email, sleep on it, rewrite it, sleep on the rewrite, edit the rewrite and then finally send it just after I brushed my teeth for the night.

Ten minutes later, I heard Arcee's voice downstairs talking to my mom, and I locked my bedroom door before cowering under my blankets. A minute later, there was a knock on my door. I didn't answer.

"Annabelle, Arcee is here to see you."

In my best sleepy-voice, I said, "I'm tired, Mom. Can't she come back tomorrow?"

"She's stuck in her base form, remember? She got special permission to come down here, since it's after dark."

I sighed and threw off my covers. "Fine."

I followed my mom down the stairs to the back door, and the glowing-eyed figure in the shadowed end of the deck loomed tall.

"Calm down, Annabelle," Arcee gently said. "I won't force you to this time, though. I promise."

I stood with my back against the wall and tried to slow my breathing. It was hard to relax in the dark when my whole body was on red alert for invading Cybertronians.

"Light?" I managed to pant.

She stepped forward into the glow coming from the kitchen window and then slowly sank to sitting cross-legged. She glinted in the patch of light, but the unmistakable pink was more reassuring than I expected. It allowed me to see the kind concern in her optics.

I looked away, closed my eyes, and tried to relax my shoulders at least.

After a minute, Arcee began humming. It took me a few seconds to recognize the melody, but it was the lullaby Mom had sung for me, the Cybertronian one Arcee had sung when I was still a baby and she was still new to Earth.

I started bawling again, and she gently said, "I'm not angry. I'm here for you, but I'll go if you want me to."

In answer, I ventured closer. The scent of hot machine oil and car wax hit the back of my tongue – by now those were familiar, home smells. Kneeling in front of her, I opened my arms, and she hugged me tightly, holding me while I cried. Like when I lost it in Dr. Sarkisian's office, I couldn't speak for a long time. The hurt and fear and anger and relief just tossed me around until the storm of emotions passed and I was exhausted again. All the while, Arcee held me and stroked my hair.

"Love you, little one," Arcee said. "I keep forgetting how quickly humans grow. I'm sorry I crossed a line, and I won't let it happen again."

"Love you, too," I croaked.

"Ready to sleep?"

I nodded, and she stood, gathering me in her arms. As if I were a little kid, she carried me up to my bedroom, ducking her helm in the doorways. Her clawed hands tucked me in, but I felt safer than I had in months. "We'll talk more tomorrow," she promised and was gone.

...

True to her word (or threat, a little voice whispered in my mind, but I shushed it), Arcee was on the back deck the next morning, talking with Mom across the picnic table. They both got quiet when they saw me.

"Breakfast?" Mom asked me, rising to her feet.

I shrugged. "Maybe in a few minutes."

She gave me a quick hug and then continued inside.

I crossed the deck to take a seat across from Arcee. She didn't say anything, and for a long minute, we just sat there in silence.

"Did you stay here all night?"

"I had a lot to think about," she answered. "Ironhide will give me a lift back later this morning."

I looked up at her curiously, and she added, "I'll hide under a tarp in his bed."

Nodding, I looked back down at the tabletop between us.

The silence stretched long again, and more to break it than anything, I asked, "What did you have to think about?"

Arcee didn't answer at first, and eventually I looked up again. She dodged my gaze, staring at her clawed hands. "Samuel's the only other human who knows this, but I didn't have a tripartite form on Cybertron. I was like 'Bee and Chromia and the others. One form each for both alt and robot mode."

I stared, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

In a voice so low I had to lean a little closer, she said, "We all call it an upgrade, but that change was involuntary."

"Battlefield injury?" I guessed.

She huffed a quiet laugh. "Sure, we'll call it that." Sobering again, she said, "There was a night, before Chromia came to Earth, where...where I basically did to Bumblebee what you did to me last night. Complete meltdown."

I winced a little at her description, and her metal hand reached across to gently touch mine. "Hey, at least you didn't give me any dents."

I half-smiled at that.

"I've...found meaning in what happened to me. It's healed me in ways I didn't think possible. I guess… I guess what I'm trying to say is I know what it is to feel broken, and I know what it's like to find healing. And I also know it's a long road between those two. You don't ever have to worry about hurting my feelings or offending me."

I stared at her hand still touching mine.

"And I hope that you can find meaning someday, too."

Was she talking about her bond with Bumblebee? In my mind, I again saw the two of them 'bot-smooching in the medbay and felt my bile rise. "I need to go," I said, jumping to my feet and running inside.

...

I sat in my room, stomach rumbling from my skipped breakfast, until I heard Ironhide's engine coming up the driveway.

This was my last chance today to fix things with Arcee. I curled up tighter under my blankets.

A car door closed, and a few seconds later I overheard voices down in the living room. Every now and then I could understand what they said.

It was my dad's words that struck me to the heart. "...some space, let her choose to do the right thing…"

I had a choice here. The thought struck me like a thunderbolt. And I was choosing to let anger or whatever it was control me. I could choose to go downstairs. I could choose to say goodbye at least to Arcee. Or I could choose to stay here and hide under the covers.

Ironhide, sprawled out in the medbay with Johnston pulling pellets from his chassis.

Sometimes you don't get second chances.

"Frag it to the Pit," I muttered, throwing off the blankets, pulling on a bathrobe, and stomping down the stairs. My hip started aching halfway down, but I kept stomping anyway.

The living room fell silent, and Dad, Hyde, Mom and Arcee (still in her robot mode and on her knees to fit in) turned to look at me.

My stubbornness carried me that far, but at the bottom of the stairs, I swallowed hard. "Thanks for...coming out here," I finally, awkwardly said. "Thanks...for taking the time."

Arcee's clawed hand caressed my cheek, and I felt a flash of satisfaction that I didn't flinch. "Our fighting femme," she said, and even I could hear the pride in her voice. "Fake it until you make it. Because you will make it, Firebrand."

I didn't know what to say to that. I guess I wasn't even faking it. Or not faking it enough.

"We're due back on base, and the twins have tried Prowl's patience enough this morning," Hyde said.

Normally a comment like that would have me begging for the story, but I was...too focused on holding it together to really care.

"Got it," Arcee said and, stooping through the doorways, she went out front and hopped into the bed of Ironhide's alt-form.

"I'll be back to pick you up after lunch," Hyde said to Dad. With a concerned look at me and a nod to Mom, he followed Arcee outside.

...

Later that week, I had another appointment with Dr. Sarkisian. Like last time, I slunk into her office.

She half-smiled. "Physical therapy went well, I take it?"

I fidgeted, staring at my hands. "I told her. I emailed her."

"Then why the long face?" she asked.

"Because I screwed it up," I muttered. "She came out to the house and I...I can't do this, Dr. Sarkisian. Maybe I am too broken."

"Care to talk about it?"

I snorted in amusement. "I'm in your office. Don't have much of a choice."

"There's always a choice," she firmly repeated.

I finally looked up at her. "Yeah? Well, Arcee went to the trouble to get special permission to come down to my house in her robot form so we could talk in person, and then she bared her soul to me, and it made me so angry I wanted to throw up, so I ran upstairs and hid under my blankets until Ironhide came to get her."

"Wait, bared her soul in the human meaning of the expression or…"

"The human," I interrupted her. "And I did go downstairs to say goodbye before she left, and she told me to keep 'faking it until I make it' because she could totally see through me."

She nodded with a little smile. "I see several choices there, for the record."

"Yeah, and I keep making the wrong ones."

She sighed, almost sounding exasperated. "Annabelle, there aren't right or wrong choices here – that kind of thinking is ultimately counterproductive. There are healthy choices and less-healthy ones, ones that will strengthen or weaken a relationship, but nothing objectively right or wrong in terms of your recovery. It's all a matter of your goals and how you want to achieve them."

"Slag it," I grumbled. "Goals? Really?"

"I know, it sounds like a lot of work. And it is. But you know what?"

She waited until I looked up to meet her gaze.

"Arcee put some effort into being there for you, didn't she? And though you haven't mentioned it, I'm willing to bet your mom and dad have, too."

I sighed and looked away.

"This is your journey, but you don't have to face it alone. There are people who care about you – who love you – and who are willing to help you do that work, if and when you're ready to let them."

I stared out the window, considering her words.

"You chose to let Arcee in," she continued. "You trusted her with the smaller of these two challenges. How do you think it turned out?"

I remembered Arcee holding me the night she arrived, before that strange anger showed up again, and how safe I felt with her. "Good, I guess."

"It strengthened your relationship?"

"Yeah."

"Do you feel like you're in a healthier place because of it?"

"I think so." And I felt the truth of those words as I said them.

"Well then, there you go. Making that choice empowered you to strengthen your relationship with Arcee."

With an indignant huff, I glared at her. "How do you always say the right things?"

She chuckled. "I don't. But your case isn't my first rodeo. It isn't anywhere near my wildest ride, either - not even close. You're doing better than you think, Annabelle."

I took comfort in that and even managed a smile.

"So, what do you want to accomplish next?"

Before I could chicken out yet again, I said, "I want to talk with my dad."

Chapter Text

Dr. Sarkisian thoughtfully nodded. "I think talking with your dad about what happened in California is a good idea. What's your deadline?"

I thought about it for a second and realized I didn't want all this to overshadow the holidays. "We're less than two weeks until Thanksgiving. Before then."

Approval shined in Dr. Sarkisian's eyes, and she asked, "And what will be your goal for that conversation?"

I hesitated, doubt filling me to realize I was completely stumped. "I don't know."

"Remember when I said there are at least two lenses to look through, personal and military?"

"Yeah, but I have no idea what you meant by that."

She smiled and tilted her head in agreement. "What questions do you have for him about their tactical choices? What questions do you have about your personal relationships now?"

"I don't think I could..." My words faltered as I tried to imagine that conversation.

"I'm not saying you have to. This is me doing a scan, so to speak. If you had the courage of Optimus and could look them in the eye and demand an answer, what would the question be?"

I looked at my hands, but it was hard to focus, hard to think at all about that day. "Why?" I finally said. "I mean, it sounds so selfish, but... Why did Mikaela deserve my seat? Why did I deserve to die and not her?"

"That's not selfish. It's a good question."

I took a deep breath in through my nose and then blew it out slowly. "As for the personal one…" My hands clenched into fists as that anger came roaring back. How dare they! How could they?

"You're angry again," she observed.

"Sorry." Or at least, I tried to be.

"Don't be. It's a legitimate response, but it's also a secondary one. What else are you feeling?"

I focused inward. Labeling my feelings was easier than trying to control or understand them. "Hurt, for sure. Fear." And one more, one I hadn't been brave enough to name before now. "Betrayal, I think."

She nodded slowly. "Good girl, Annabelle. That was a very good analysis of your own emotions. So which question addresses those emotions best?"

I thought hard. "If I was as brave as Optimus?"

"If you were as brave as Optimus."

"… I'd ask, 'Do you love me?'" Don't you love me anymore? Did you ever love me?

Tears welled up in my eyes, and through the blur, I saw Dr. Sarkisian push a fresh tissue into my hand.

"Do the waterworks ever stop?" I demanded from her.

"Yes. Or at least, you heal enough that they slow down a lot. You're crying instead of shouting this time. I know it doesn't feel like it, but that's progress."

I snuffled a few times, blew my nose, and calmed down enough to ask. "So...for a mere mortal who's not as brave as Optimus…?"

She slowly sighed. "Can I share something with you? They've given me permission to let you know."

I swallowed, filled one more tissue, and then focused on her, nodding.

"Several of the Autobots have sat here in my office, including your dad and Optimus. I've heard the questions they're afraid to ask, too. So I know them really well, better than you probably realize."

My brow furrowed as I tried to imagine it – Optimus or Dad or Prowl, even, sitting here and bawling in front of Dr. Sarkisian.

"If you can find the courage to ask those two questions," she continued, "I think the answers would be very satisfying for you."

I sighed and looked at my hands before slowly nodding.

...

It took me all the way to Sunday to work up the courage to ask Dad if I could talk alone with him. He and Mom exchanged a significant look (almost like they had an Autobot bond), and then she rose to her feet. "I think I'll go for a walk."

It was pretty scary when the door closed behind her a few minutes later. Now it was just me, my dad, and those two big questions.

He sat on the sofa in the living room and patted the cushion next to him. "So…what's on your mind?"

With a deep sigh, I sat next to him and cuddled up to his side. "Dad, you know what happened...that day." I took a deep breath and then the words just spilled out. "If you had been Bumblebee and had to choose who would stay and who would run, what would you do? Wouldn't you have sent away the 'bot with the biggest carrying capacity? Wouldn't you choose to save as many lives as possible?"

I glanced up at him, and he frowned thoughtfully. "That's exactly what he was thinking, Annabelle. If Arcee has all three components, she's a battle unit all by herself. But when she's down to one component, well, there's no way she could have held off the 'cons you were up against. Bumblebee wouldn't have made it out alive either way. The terrain would slow him down too much, and he'd be caught and killed by Decepticons regardless. Arcee was better equipped for a cross-country retreat, and honestly, he probably shouldn't have sent Mikaela with Arcee and Samuel. Any extra weight would slow Arcee down, but he's an Autobot. Besides, in addition to Arcee's better build for off-roading, he's got more armor and a pretty formidable arsenal – he could buy Arcee a fighting chance."

It made sense in my head and I nodded, but the lump in my throat made it hard to swallow. I sniffled a little bit.

He queezed my hand encouragingly and, after a long pause, asked, "Do you have any other questions?"

I drew a deep breath, summoning my courage again. "Would…" My voice broke and I cleared my throat before trying again. "Would you have picked me over Mikaela?"

"Oh, honey," he said, and gathered me into his arms. "I'd die for you. I honestly believe Bumblebee and Arcee both would have, too. Sometimes, it's not about who you love most, though. Sometimes it's about the job that needs to be done and who can do it. The Autobots need Samuel – he can save their whole race. But he's gonna die someday, so the Autobots need Samuel to have a family who can be taught to trust the 'bots and to continue to help them. The survival of their entire species hinges on Samuel and his family. They're the only ones who can do that job."

I squeezed my eyes tight against the threatening tears. "But it just seems so unfair. Everyone else has moved on just fine. And here I am stuck wading through all the emotional fallout. It's like nobody cares, not really."

His arms fell away from me. "Annabelle, stand up and walk across the room."

"Dad…"

He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. "Stand up and walk across the room."

I glanced up at him (he was serious but not angry) and looked away. "I get the point."

"I mean it, Annabelle."

With a huff, I stood and walked to the other side of the room, then turned and crossed my arms.

Dad's wistful smile softened some of my irritation when he said, "We both just witnessed a miracle. Don't ever take that for granted. And I don't just mean the tech behind the cloned hip. The 'bots sacrificed a lot for you to be able to do that. Did you know that, when Arcee got back here from Edwards, she was brigged until the day you went to see her on base?"

I blinked in surprise, tears forgotten. "No, I didn't know that." I crossed the room to sit beside him, my arms falling to my side again. "Why was she brigged?"

He took my hand in his again and squeezed it once. "The human doctors were going to amputate your leg, and they wouldn't listen to her or let her help. So she shifted her holoform to a hologram and walked through you in front of them all – she outed herself as not-human. It made the doctors listen to her, but Prowl was ready to throw the book at her, and Admiral Black was mad, too, and that was with her stunt being in a military hospital instead of a civilian one. She'd probably still be in the brig, but Optimus took pity on her since she's stuck in her base form and made Prowl let her out when Ratchet said you asked to see her."

His mention of Optimus also reminded me of Tim Furst's defeated look and clenched fists on the day he told me they'd share the cloning tech. "Optimus said they don't share their technology. The Autobots broke their own rules, too, didn't they?"

Dad nodded. "They made your miracle happen – because they love you. Especially Arcee, but all of them pushed for whatever it took for you to get a full recovery. When it was about the job that needed doing, they made the choice they had to, but when it was about who they loved, they chose you. And let me tell you, there are not many things that will change Optimus' mind when he's set on something. They love you a lot."

My breath caught as his words hit home and sank in. They love you.

Dad pulled me close and kissed my forehead before resting his chin on my hair. In the safety of his arms, I cried again, but this time, relief was the emotion that flowed the strongest.

...

Dad and I were chatting over chocolate milk when Mom got back. He knew my next assignment was to talk with her, and he nodded encouragement.

"Hey Mom, can we talk?"

"I should probably go…check out that sunset," Dad said and headed out the front door.

Mom took her place at the table and gave me her undivided attention.

This conversation was harder, though. Dad wasn't there that day, but Mom was.

"Sweetheart," she began, but I held up my hand and she fell silent again.

I couldn't do this if she was talking to me like my mom. I needed to ask the tactical question first. I had to talk to her like she was Autobot Spitfire. "Why did you choose Mikaela instead of me?"

Before I could finish the question, though, tears started streaming down her face.

That too-familiar lump swelled in my throat again, and I closed my eyes. I couldn't stand to watch her cry. Not if I wanted to actually get through this.

Eventually Mom said, "I can't tell you how many nights I've laid there in the darkness and asked myself the same question. I mean…" She sniffled and I opened my eyes, but she was staring at her own hands.

Had she been talking to Dr. Sarkisian? I suddenly realized it might do her some good, too. The thought was kind of mind bending.

"I know why I had to," she continued. "I've known since the time you were a baby that Samuel is important. His life is worth more than even Will's to the Autobots. So that made Mikaela important, too. She had to go. But…" She shook her head, choking up again. Her nose was running, so she went in search of a tissue box, and I sat back in my chair.

Mom was the grown-up, the one who guided and protected me. I could trust her to make everything right in the world because that's what she did. Like Ratchet healing people and Chromia being a warrior and Wheeljack being an inventor, Mom was a fixer of whatever might be amiss in my world.

A part of me still expected her to make everything right, but this one time – this most-important time – she couldn't. But the part that had most thrown me for a loop was it was tearing her up. Why had I never seen that before?

The answer crashed over me: because she had hidden it from me on purpose. She'd been tough so I could be the wounded one, to make space for me to heal. How had I not seen that? She was just another mere mortal facing impossible choices and not...some kind of superhero mom who makes everything right.

Mom returned with the Kleenex, and I was wiping away tears by then, too. She knelt beside me, and we hugged each other, not even letting go when one of us needed a new tissue.

"You are my baby," she shakily said, "my only child. You're the one who's most important to me. And I don't know what the hell was wrong with me then that I made the Autobot-choice instead of the Mom-choice."

For the first time since that day, I tried to imagine how it would have played out if Mikaela had been there instead of me.

How would it have worked, really? Would they have kept her alive, if she wasn't a Lennox? Would her name have meant anything to Shockwave? If anything, it would have meant she was killed on the spot. After all, he had ordered her death. The only reason I survived was because Bludgeon had a use for me. The fact that she was the Prime's mate wouldn't have mattered to him. Would Bludgeon have handed her off to Stockade, since she wasn't part of his master plan to torment Ironhide? Would Stockade have tortured her to death before everyone could mount a rescue?

Would I honestly feel better having escaped without a scratch if it meant the human Prime lost his wife? If it meant that Daemon and Beatrice lost their mom?

I clung to my mom and managed to whisper, "You made the right choice."

She sobbed even harder and croaked out, "Forgive me."

"I forgive you." And I really did.

...

The next time I met with Dr. Sarkisian, she took in the dark circles under my eyes and cautiously asked, "How'd it go, talking with your dad?"

"Dad was fine. So was Mom," I curtly answered. "It was actually really good to talk with them. But I've had several nightmares every night ever since."

"I see. Your subconscious doesn't waste any time."

"What?" I irritably demanded.

"Well, it's good news and bad news. And then more good news, probably. The good news is your subconscious has finally decided that you're really, truly safe, so it's doing some unloading in the form of nightmares. The nightmares are the bad news."

"Tell me about it," I huffed. "I can't shake the mental image of Bumblebee having red optics and beating Arcee to death with her own arm."

She winced sympathetically at that before adding, "The 'more good news' is that we can really get down to business now. There's another therapy I'd like to try with you. It's called Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing, or EMDR for short. I think it might be helpful here."

"Okay?"

She smiled wanly at my cautious tone. "It's not painful, I promise. In fact, it might seem deceptively easy."

I snorted. "So why didn't we try this months ago?"

"Because it's more for things that are really thorny, like whatever's going on in your subconscious with Bumblebee. And all it really does is calm down that prickliness so you can work through it. Before you could work through these thornier issues, though, you needed to first master some foundational skills. Up until now, you've mostly been practicing those skills. But this is where the heavy lifting for your recovery really begins."

I drew a deep breath. "Okay, so how do we start?"

She flashed me a smile that was almost proud. "Well, first I want you to understand exactly what we'll be doing. There are certain motions that stimulate your brain in specific, helpful ways. For example, by moving your eyes back and forth or cross-body tapping your own shoulders, you are able to approach and analyze a memory without as much anxiety. Does that make sense?"

"Not really," I grumped.

Her smile broadened. "It's not a whole lot different from the deep breathing techniques. It's a way of using your body's conscious motions to influence your unconscious reactions."

I blinked as I processed that. "Okay, that makes more sense."

She nodded in encouragement. "So we'll go memory by memory and methodically process them. It might stir up other emotions, unexpected hurts, things like that. Just know that's normal and we'll work through it all piece by piece. Once we've got a handle on what your subconscious is doing with a given memory, we can process it in any of several ways. Walking through it a few times can help with desensitization, so then it's robbed of its power. We can counter some of the troubling thoughts and feelings by installing more-rational responses that can also neutralize the disturbing ones. And we'll know we're in a good spot when your body's stress responses have calmed down, even when you recall the memory. We'll make our sessions as long or as short as you like, and we can continue the process until you feel like you're in control of your own body again. Does that sound good?"

It sounded a little scary to tackle something that big, but at the same time, the thought of being myself again was too tempting to just turn my back on. Especially if it made the nightmares stop. "Sounds good."

"Is there a particular memory from that day that sticks out for you?"

I let the memories resurface – and winced. "There are several. Bludgeon and Stockade fighting over us. Shockwave was just…" I hunched my shoulders against the memory of his creepy, single optic. "And then there was the whole part where I thought we were already dead."

"That sounds pretty disturbing," Dr. Sarkisian said. "Can you tell me a little more about that last part?"

I swallowed hard, trying to distance myself from the feelings the memory was dredging up. "I thought we were dead. The pain went away and then I was floating above my own body. I didn't know it was all the work of Hound and Mirage. I could see Mom, too, and she had stopped crying, so I figured we were both dead, along with Bumblebee. The battle kept going on around us, though, and all I could think about at that point was wanting to stay and see if Optimus would win, because he was fighting for his life, too."

"And what feelings are attached to that memory?"

"I dunno." I thought for a second. "I mean, I was sad that we were dead. Disappointed, maybe? I didn't want to die. I wanted to live! And it really hurt that Mom was dead, too, because that would leave Dad all alone."

Dr. Sarkisian nodded. "Those all sound like reasonable responses to me. So here's what I need you to do…" She held up her hand at eye level.

"I'm going to start moving my hand, and I want you to focus on my fingertips. And while you're focused there, I want you to remember that moment you just described to me."

I blinked for a second. "That's it?"

She smiled again. "That's where we start. Don't knock it 'til you try it."

"Okay…Let's go."

She walked me through several rounds of thinking about the memory, processing it while doing the special motions, and digging deeper into it. I realized that one of the stronger emotions making all the rest worse was a feeling of failure. I mean, I never honestly expected to win against the Decepticons we'd faced that day, but it had been my idea to fight back instead of remain hidden. They probably would have found us if we hadn't fought back, but they for sure found us because we did. And it didn't even do any good. We risked our lives and got horribly injured for nothing at all.

Once I realized a sense of failure was part of that whole mess of emotions, I was able to pick it apart and rationally deal with it, with some help from Dr. Sarkisian. By the time our session was up, I was seeing that scene in a whole different light. I was a fifteen-year-old squishy back then going up against some pretty evil Decepticons. Failure would have been dying; the fact that I survived and was thriving was the opposite of failure. I had felt that way about my physical recovery, but now my subconscious was coming to accept that about my mental recovery, too.

Over the course of the next few weeks, we tackled whatever battlefield memories were bothering me: Shockwave and the fear that he'd return, Mom firing weapons and my fear for her safety, the Witwicky's leaving and me feeling abandoned. All the while it felt like we were chipping away at the anger I felt toward Bumblebee. We were halfway through December when we finally got to a tougher memory to crack. It was the time that I was staring at all the scattered body parts of Arcee and Bumblebee while Stockade was still on patrol. I had realized then that we were going to die – that our fates were already sealed. No matter what physical prompt Dr. Sarkisian used, I couldn't let go enough to calm down my body's stress reactions – pulse, tension, tightness in my chest.

"I think we've gotten to the heart of whatever is going on with Bumblebee," she said.

"So how do I fix it?" I demanded.

With a half-smile, she said, "We're both mere mortals, so I can't scan your heart and mind for wounds."

I huffed in frustration. "Why that moment? I mean, we were just sitting there looking at all the pink and yellow broken parts on the ground. No one was hurting us. No one was even menacing us. We just sat there for like an hour waiting for something to happen."

"That's a good question. Want to go another couple rounds on it, see what associations your subconscious can come up with?"

I nodded in agreement. It took three rounds to make sense of the image that kept coming up in association with the scene from California: Arcee in the hangar on Diego Garcia months later, stuck in her base mode because her transformation cog was broken.

I stopped mid-round when it clicked. "She was injured, too."

"Your mom?"

"No, Arcee. She was wounded, too – she's still wounded, in fact. She's stuck in her base mode. Me, Mom, Arcee, we were all hurt that day. Bumblebee was the only one who wasn't. Or he was, but…he was healed." I turned that fact over in my mind, trying to figure out why it was so slagging important to my subconscious.

"What feelings are associated with that?"

I tilted my head, puzzled. "That it was wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Like, not fair."

"It wasn't fair he got healed?"

I looked up at her when the final piece fell into place. "No, it wasn't fair that he fragging won the lottery."

"I'm afraid I don't follow you."

"We all left that battlefield more broken than we'd ever been – except Bumblebee. Not only did he get healed of his injuries, he got his voice back. Pit, he got a bond with Arcee which, judging by all the bot-smooching, is something he's pretty happy about. We all went through hell that day, and he's better off now than he probably has been in his entire life. And it's so fragging unfair!"

She slowly nodded with a hint of a smile. "Excellent analysis. Are you up for another round or two on that revelation?"

I hesitated. We only had about five minutes left, and a part of me really wanted to feel the injustice of it all. This wasn't something I could just sweep under the rug or pretend didn't matter. It did! It was huge! Even his mate was suffering while he got a happily ever after.

"Maybe that should be our starting point next time," I suggested.

She hesitated for the briefest of seconds and then nodded.

In my check-up and physical therapy session early the next week, Arcee was helping me with some standing hamstring stretches, measuring my range of motion. As she knelt in front of me, steadying the foot I was stretching, I asked her, "Do you ever get mad that…that you can't transform? That you're stuck like this?"

When she looked at me with a curious tilt to her helm, I added, "I mean, Dad told me you got brigged for fixing my hip, but here you are," I said, gesturing toward her base mode. "And you're even helping me recover even though you can't."

She studied me for a second and nodded slightly. "I'll be glad to get my transformation cog back someday, I'm not gonna lie. But no, I'm not angry with you."

"Do you ever…get angry at anyone else?" I ventured.

She laughed. "I knew full well that Prowl would probably brig me. It didn't matter, as long as they didn't…" She suddenly sobered and gently put my foot down before standing and putting her arm around me. "I've raised several younger sisters, Firebrand. And while you belong with your parents, there's a part of me that's kind of adopted you, too." She pulled me a little closer for emphasis. "You were already so hurt. I couldn't let them hurt you even more. So no, I'm not mad at anyone else. I made my choices, and I willingly accept the consequences, because your recovery is one of them."

"What about Bumblebee?" I finally asked, looking up to meet her gaze. "I mean, he even got his voice back, and you're stuck in your base form, maybe forever."

She ruffled my hair. "The word 'forever' means something different to a Cybertronian than it does to a human, little one. It might be a while, but it won't be forever."

"So you're not mad at 'Bee?" I asked, surprised at how disappointed I was at the fact.

She again tilted her helm and looked at me carefully. "Should I be?"

I sighed heavily.

"He's got his laugh back, Firebrand. To me, that's even more of a miracle than your cloned hip."

"Yeah, but only because he used your spark energy to get healed by the Matrix." I frowned at the floor. "I mean, has he even thanked you?"

"Yes," she said, sounding puzzled and a little defensive as she pulled her arm away from my shoulder. I looked up at her again. "He's thanked me…in ways I can't really explain. But just hearing him laugh again is all the thanks I could want or need. You have to understand…"

She shook her helm and, straightening her shoulders, looked down on me. "We've logged hundreds of years together on patrol, me and Bumblebee. We've had each others' backs, sometimes literally. He has pieced me back together when I was falling apart. He's seen me at my worst and still cherishes me."

Dropping to one knee, she carefully lifted my foot and I started stretching my hamstring again. She continued, "He's a little broken because I am, and I'm a little more whole because he is. I hope…I mean, I know it's different for humans, but I hope you can cherish someone that way someday, Annabelle. Because it's not about frames or sparks, it's about amity and trust. It's about being interconnected in a way I've seen you mom and dad achieve, so I know it's not just an Autobot thing. I wish that for you. Because I could no more hate Bumblebee for this than I could hate you."

...

When I later plopped down on Dr. Sarkisian's couch, she cautiously asked, "So…how did this last week go?"

"I learned that Bumblebee's one lucky mech."

She turned her head, eyeing me curiously. "Ready to do a deep dive on that one?"

I gave her a half-smile. "I don't know if we need to. I figured it out. I want to be him."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, and I quickly added, "I know, I mean, obviously I can't be a twenty-foot tall alien robot, but…I want to be whole. I want to be better off for this. I want to be able to let it all roll off my back and just thrive no matter what's thrown my way." I looked up to meet her gaze. "I want to be whole. And I'm beginning to think that's never going to happen."

"How long did he go without a voice, do you know?"

I sighed, my gaze dropping to the floor. "I dunno."

"It was about ten-thousand years. I don't think he'd mind you knowing that," she added. Then more seriously, she said, "You're right, he thrived. Bumblebee is…extraordinarily resilient, even as a member of an extraordinarily resilient species. Wanting to be like him isn't a bad goal. But is it that you want to be like him or is it that you want to be him? Healthy and whole and with everything going right?"

I looked at her, confused by the distinction. "I don't follow you."

"Do you want to make choices like him, bring to bear coping skills and strategies that will let you thrive? Or do you want to be in the same circumstances as him? Because you have control over the first one, but not as much over the second."

I considered that for a long minute. I hadn't thought about how traumatic it must have been to not have a voice, to be handicapped in that way all this time. But it wasn't like he'd had to deal with all that on his own. I had no doubt that Arcee and the other Autobots had been there for him just like he'd been there for them. And I knew what that kind of support meant. This was Arcee we were talking about, who was probably the third most-important person in my own life. She cherished me, too. I'd been on the receiving end of her amity and trust, just like he'd been.

She was whole because I was.

That's why she wasn't angry at me, just like that's why she wasn't angry at 'Bee. She was happy for him because she… because she loved him. And she loved me, too. Not in the same way, but still love. Still amity.

"They held each other together." I looked up at Dr. Sarkisian. "That's why you made me talk to her and my folks before doing the EMDR, isn't it. So they could help piece me back together."

"You're lucky enough to have some remarkably strong social networks, Annabelle," she softly said. "Yes, I wanted you to reinforce or repair those first, so that you wouldn't have to face your demons alone when the time came."

"I want to be him," I said, "but I can't, not right this minute, anyway." I remembered again Arcee saying that forever to me wasn't really forever. It felt like I'd never heal, but maybe I was just being impatient. Maybe I could be him someday. But until then… "I can choose to be like him, though."

"Yes, you can," she said with a slight smile. "In fact, you just did."

My heart warmed at the thought.

Chapter Text

Christmas was always busy at our house. The Autobots enjoyed a good party as much as the next sentient, and while my parents had taught me the Christmas story, we weren't too hung up on the religious trappings.

Usually Mom loved it, and not in the shopping-crazed, buy-all-the-things way that I'd seen in movies or commercials. In fact, she often had to rein the Autobots in from doing just that. No, she loved the way traditions brought people together and made them family, no matter what planet they came from.

She wasn't as into it this year, though. We couldn't really do huge strings of Christmas lights, but we always had a pretty little electric candle in the window that went up on Black Friday. We didn't get it out until a week after Thanksgiving. We didn't get the Christmas tree up until about halfway through December. I heard her say to Dad that Christmas cards were a bust, so if he wanted to send holiday greetings to anyone, he'd better put together a digital version and email it out.

I knew something was really wrong when she said we would do graham cracker gingerbread houses this year instead of the real kind. After school the next day, I steeled my courage yet again and said, "Mom, we need to talk."

"Okay." She pocketed her cell phone and gave me her undivided attention. "What's up?"

"Have you been in to see Dr. Sarkisian yet?"

"Oh, honey, she has more important things to do than to hold my hand through a few nightmares."

"Mom…"

She half-smiled at me and shook her head. "Really, Annabelle, I'm fine."

"Graham cracker gingerbread houses? That doesn't seem like 'fine.' You went through everything I did, Mom. If I need counseling, so do you."

She rolled her eyes and wouldn't meet my gaze. "Your dad has been helping me. I mean, he's not an actual doctor, but he's got enough of a background to know the right things to say and the right questions to ask."

"Mom." I waited until she looked at me. "Have you told him everything, though? The angry parts? The parts that would hurt him to know?"

She blinked away tears and shook her head again. "When did you become all grown-up?"

"Sometime since last summer," I answered with my own half-smile.

"I can see that."

"So?"

"All right, fine. I'll call her and make an appointment after the holidays."

"Would you let me wait that long?"

She gave me an affectionate glare, something only a mom could pull off, and I defiantly crossed my arms.

When she crossed her arms right back, I wordlessly fished my phone out of my pocket and dialed Dr. Sarkisian. Once it was ringing, I handed the phone to her, and while she still wasn't happy, she took it and left a message requesting an appointment when it went to voicemail.

...

Mom worked in three appointments before Christmas, and I honestly think it helped.

By the time the Witwickys arrived on Diego Garcia for the holidays, she was more her old self. The Christmas cards were still virtual and delivered via email, but we did have real gingerbread cookies for our Christmas Eve party.

Since most of the seating was taken by the human adults, I sat on the bottom step of the stairs, watching the youngest of the Autobots' allies work on a holiday-themed snowman puzzle set up on a card table. Daemon and Beatrice Witwicky were crowded around it with Danny Epps, and Skids and Mudflap were helping them. It was kind of hard to figure out who was the most mature.

Prowl was keeping an eagle eye on Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, who were eagerly conversing in the middle of the room with Jolt, Hound, Trailbreaker, and Mirage.

Optimus was talking with Samuel and Mikaela, Mom and Dad were over on the couch with Mr. and Mrs. Epps, Ratchet and Evac were deep in conversation in a corner, and Ironhide and Chromia had disappeared into the kitchen where, I suddenly realized, it was way too quiet.

While we weren't always 100% happy, we were one big family, and it warmed my heart to just sit back on the steps and watch everyone enjoy each other.

By rights, I shouldn't even be able to sit up, much less sit in this position and have it not hurt. No matter what was in those brightly-wrapped presents under the tree, nothing could beat the gift of simply sitting, chin on my knees, on the stairs. Being surrounded by the people I loved was just one more bonus.

When another set of headlights pulled up, I went to answer the door, waving Mom to sit back down. I had a pretty good guess who it was, just by process of elimination.

I was right, and Cam Romero was on the front step, a stack of three packages in his hands.

"Hi 'Bee, come on in,'' I said and held the door wide for him.

He extended the packages to me as he crossed the threshold. "These are from RC." Once his hands were free, he wrapped me up in a hug and added, "And so is this."

"Thanks," I laughed, pleasantly surprised that I didn't freak out around him.

He moved deeper into the living room, and I looked at the presents in my hands. With being stuck in her base form and being unable to use her holoform, Arcee wouldn't be able to attend tonight. Not as long as we had guests who were oblivious minors.

The thought made me frown slightly as I put the packages under the tree. Arcee shouldn't be alone tonight. 'Bee was with Sam and Optimus, a hand on each of their shoulders, and was laughing about something. She should be here to enjoy that laugh, but what could we do with the little kids here? Making her hide outside somewhere or eavesdrop from up in my bedroom wouldn't be any better and might even be worse.

"Hey Annabelle," Mom said, interrupting my thoughts. "Come help me serve the hot cocoa."

"We are in the Indian Ocean," I pointed out with a smirk.

She gave me an answering smile with a dash of scold. "And we're eating gingerbread along with the sugar cookies, so suck it up."

The kitchen was conspicuously empty of holoforms, though I could see motion in the darkness of the back porch. "Children present," Mom called out, and the figures guiltily jumped.

I didn't even want to know what Chromia and Ironhide were doing back there.

Instead, I focused on the pot of water that had wisps of steam rising from it, waiting to be turned into hot cocoa.

"I was just teasing earlier," Mom said as she spooned cocoa mix into the mugs.

"I know."

"You seem pretty quiet."

"Just thinking about Arcee. She's stuck alone in the Autobot hangar tonight."

"The broken transformation cog."

"Yep. Do you think…" I paused as the idea started to form in my head. "Do you think I could go back to the hangar to open the presents she gave me? Bumblebee probably wouldn't mind driving me. I doubt he wants her to be all alone either."

"Right now? During the party?"

"If you don't mind me ducking out."

Mom tilted her head and smiled. "I don't mind at all, and I'm sure you're okay with missing the Witwicky and Epps kids opening their presents."

I began ladeling hot water into the partially-filled mugs, and Mom nodded decisively. "That's very thoughtful of you, Annabelle. Yes, that's a good idea. As soon as we've got this cocoa served, go ask him, and please give her our love and holiday greetings, too."

Once everyone had their cocoa, Mom started reading a picture-book of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas for the little kids. I seized the moment to tug on Cam Romero's elbow.

He turned his face toward me, but his eyes remained fixed on Mom, like he was enraptured by her storytelling. "Yeah?" he asked in a low voice.

I whispered, "Can you take me to the hangar after this?"

He blinked and then finally focused on me. "Why?"

"Because no one should be alone tonight."

His puzzled expression gave way to a smile, and he knowingly tapped the side of his head. "Oh, don't worry, she's here in spirit."

So she was watching all this virtually? Somehow that was even worse when we were such a short drive away. "But I want her to see me open my presents in person. She can't be around the other kids, but I'm old enough now. Mom said I could."

He studied me for a second and then nodded. "Sure. As soon as your mom's done, grab your presents and we'll go."

...

It was quiet in NEST's main hangar – human or Cybertronian, nobody liked getting stuck with being on duty during a holiday. Arcee was just coming out of the med bay when we rolled up. I climbed out so 'Bee could transform, and she dropped to one knee to catch me in a hug. "Thank you, Firebrand. This is very thoughtful of you."

I hugged her right back. "Of course. Can't have my favorite Autobot aunt all by herself on Christmas Eve."

She chuckled and rose to her feet. "Let's take this to the barracks."

As we walked, I told Arcee about Mom and the gingerbread cookies, and she nodded in approval. "That's much more like the Spitfire we know and adore."

Once inside the enormous barracks-room, Arcee scooped me up to set me gently on the foot of her berth. She made herself comfortable against the headboard, and 'Bee set my presents in front of me. Then he settled in on the floor beside Arcee, laying his arm on the berth but barely touching her leg and letting his helm rest against her torso. The sight actually made me grin. It was casually affectionate and somehow perfect for those two. It made way more sense than the bot-smooching.

I kind of mentally stumbled at the memory, recalling kind of distantly how angry I'd been and realizing I wasn't feeling any of that in present. Still, to be sure my emotions didn't head that way, I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath. I'm okay. I told myself. We're okay.

When I opened my eyes again, both 'bots were staring at me intently. "Everything good?" Arcee quietly asked.

I grinned and reached for my presents. "Everything's good."

...

New Year's Eve was just a week later, of course, and the big party was held in the Autobot barracks (since little kids weren't going to be out that late anyway).

One of Arcee's Christmas presents for me had been a pretty, pastel kimono-style dress. When I first opened it, I had blinked in surprise, not sure if she was aware this could look like cultural appropriation. Then I realized that they used their holoforms to impersonate alien species, so no, she totally would not get that concept. So I wore the dress to the party, since I knew no one there would be offended.

As I followed Ironhide, Chromia, and my parents past the medbay, I remembered all the times I'd been here for physical therapy in the last six months. By rights, I should have been using at least a walker, but here I was striding along without assistance and even risking low heels on my shoes.

I felt my shoulders tensing as we approached the barracks door. (It wasn't too hard to figure out why – I'd totally freaked out at first during my surprise birthday party here. When I'd been here Christmas Eve, it had been quiet, but I could already hear the music.)

"Go on ahead. I'll be there in a minute," I said.

Mom and Dad shared a look and then Dad nodded the 'bots toward the barracks. "We'll keep you company," he said to me.

"I just need a mindful minute," I said, kind of relieved that we all felt comfortable saying these kinds of things now. "No need to wait for me."

"Let me make the mom-choice?" Mom asked.

I swallowed down a lump in my throat and nodded. She pulled me into a hug, and then Dad wrapped his arms around the both of us. Even before I closed my eyes, I was aware of how safe I felt at that moment. Still, I took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and then mentally counted backward from ten to one. All the tension in my shoulders was gone by the time I was done, and I stepped back a bit.

"Ready?" Dad asked.

I grinned and confidently answered, "Ready."

Mom grinned in answer, gave me a tight hug, and said, "Then let's go!"

I strutted into the barracks in my two-inch heels and internally laughed at myself a little bit. It was like Mikaela's song about boots being made for walking. The blaring music and colored lights enveloped me, and I felt a little more triumphant with each step.

There was food for us humans, fuel for the 'bots, and a few of them (mostly Skids, Mudflap, and Bumblebee) tried busting moves. Arcee sat with me on the sidelines, and it reminded me that she was still down to one component, which was really too bad. With three components, she would have shown up all the mechs. It wasn't like human dancing, more like one long transformation sequence set to music. But it was fascinating to watch, and we had a great time cheering them on. Even Sideswipe took a turn, though Sunstreaker was too cool for that.

Dad danced with Mom for some of the slower songs and I wandered over to the buffet to refill my plate. Skids' holoform caught up with me just as I sat next to Arcee again. "May I have this dance?"

My jaw dropped a little. I thought I'd made it very clear that I wasn't going to be dating any Autobots, but I didn't want to make a big scene at the party. Instead, I stated the obvious. "Ratchet would kill me if I tried anything like that on this hip."

Apparently he overheard, because from across the room, Ratchet hollered, "Yes, he would!"

Optimus narrowed his optics at Ratchet, but Skids was as clueless as ever. "I call dibs on next year!" Then his holoform disappeared.

Beside me, Arcee muttered, "You'd be fine!"

I glanced up at her. "You really think so?"

"Trust me," she answered with a wink, "Ratchet's an aggravating, overprotective mother hen. And I offer that as an expert opinion."

I grinned at her and started in on my snacks.

As midnight rolled around, 'Bee found his way to Arcee's side again, Mom and Dad had their arms around each other, and even Ironhide and Chromia were more cuddled up than I'd ever seen before.

I didn't want Brian back – not in a million years – but it would have been nice to have someone to ring in the New Year with.

My thoughts were interrupted when Optimus' holoform brought me a champagne flute, a goblet of his own in his other hand. "Sparkling cider," he assured me as he handed the flute over.

"Thanks," I said, and I meant it. Sure, it was his middle-age holoform and not Tim Furst, but either way, the pity canceled itself out and we had a good time when the clock struck twelve.

We shouted "Happy New Year!" and clinked our glasses together and swung noise-makers while Mom and Dad blew on kazoos and Skids and Mudflap sprayed confetti over everyone. (Thankfully, nobody brought any munition-type fireworks.) We all laughed and Optimus put his arm around my shoulder to pull me into a hug as reassuring as one from my own father. Mom and Dad kissed and I felt more hopeful than I had in what felt like forever. A New Year's party is always fun, but this time, it also really felt like a new beginning. Sparklers got passed around, and Optimus and I swayed with the sparklers and hummed along to Auld Lang Sine. (Because honestly, no one bothers to learn all the words to it.)

We stayed for almost another hour, eating all the foods that were supposed to bring good luck. It wasn't until we were driving home with Ironhide that I started to get sleepy. I contentedly leaned my head against the window and remembered again how Optimus made the effort to be my first toast on New Year's. He was just taking care of me as one of his own – I understood that – but still. He was Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. He had so much to do and so many people to take care of that the 20 minutes he'd spent focused on me felt like a real gift.

"What's the nicest thing someone could do for Optimus, 'Hide?"

"End the War," he gruffly answered.

"The nicest thing I could do," I clarified.

"Grow up healthy and strong so you can help lead the next generation of our human allies."

I sighed. He clearly wasn't getting it.

…

In the days leading up to Valentine's Day, I spent a couple of hours looking for the perfect sympathy e-card. I didn't know much about Elita One, but it had to be hard when even his fellow 'bots had their mates around while his was extinguished. I'd never seen an Autobot grieve, but I knew better than to think that meant they didn't feel it. Since Cybertronian traditions wouldn't work here, I fell back on human ones. The Prime who took the time to toast the New Year with me would understand. I hoped. I was still pretty anxious when I hit "Send," though.

Optimus' reply arrived just seconds later. "Thank you, Firebrand. That was very kind of you." But that was all he sent – until mid-March.

Just before school ended for the day, I got a text from him that said, "Please meet me at the beach behind your house."

Okay?

Since Mom had an appointment with Dr. Sarkisian, I walked home as fast as I could. The familiar, fiery semi was in the driveway, and I ditched my backpack in the living room before heading out back and down toward the shore.

Optimus' teenage-looking holoform Tim Furst was sitting in the sand under the shade of some palms, looking out over the waves.

I was sweating from the rush home and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand before walking at a more dignified pace down to the water.

"I apologize if I alarmed you," Tim said, and he gestured toward the sand next to him.

I sank to sitting cross-legged, grateful for the shade. "That's fine. It's just…unexpected. But I'm happy to help in any way I can, Prime."

"The name's Furst," he answered, "and this is a mission that requires the utmost secrecy and skill." He smirked, removed his white cowboy hat, and handed it off to me. "I knew I could count on you."

The gesture reminded me of the time I'd stolen his hat when I'd talked him into helping me prank Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, and I looked up from the hat to him in surprise.

"What did the twins do?" I warily asked.

"Nothing. April 1st is coming up soon."

"Wait! Seriously?" I blinked in surprise. "You're getting in on that action?"

"It is tradition," he answered with a shrug. "I'm still proud of those holoform hiccups."

"That was you?" My jaw dropped. Prowl's holoform had fumed and cursed tin-plated twins under his breath for the whole holiday last year – between hiccups. "What about 'I can't prank my own warriors' and all that?"

His smirk became a grin. "Appearances have to be maintained – for the Prime."

I felt an answering smile spread over my own face. "But Tim Furst can get into all kinds of trouble?"

He shrugged again and leaned back on his elbows. "That is the point of this format, is it not? And you have proven your pranking prowess and ability to keep a secret. Care to be my co-conspirator?"

I plopped his cowboy hat on my head. "I am so in!"

…

April 1st was a Saturday, and I was planning on spending it with Arcee on base.

Over cold cereal at breakfast, Mom, Dad, and I all got a notification at the same time. Usually that meant 'bot chatter, and I reached for my phone at the same time Dad did, but he was faster. "What the frag?"

"Ironhide is a bad influence," Mom tisked, putting a bowl of sliced bananas on the table before reaching for her own phone.

I stared at my screen in pretend consternation. "I think this time the 'bot-cussing might be justified."

Outloud, she read, "The 'Dastardly Decepticons Ghost Hunter App' has now been installed?"

"Twins," Dad grumbled.

"Probably the closet linguists," Mom sagely chimed in. "'Dastardly' gives them away."

Some Pac-man style ghosts wearing Decepticon symbols wandered across my cell phone screen. Every ten seconds or so, they were joined by another ghost. I added a few sliced bananas to my bowl and shoveled some Cheerios into my mouth to hide my grin.

"Unless it's Sunstreaker and Sideswipe trying to frame them," Dad pointed out. "Prowl's gonna have a cow again." He tapped at his cell phone screen and huffed in frustration as the ghosts kept coming. "I'd better get up to the base."

"OH!" Mom exclaimed. "Hold your finger down on the screen!"

Dad gave her a puzzled look and then tried it. The ghosts started flashing and an Autobot Pac-man appeared at his fingertip. He smiled in fierce satisfaction as he swiped the Autobot around the screen, clearing it of Decepticon ghosts.

"Well, that's harmless enough," Mom said.

"Am I good to still go visit Arcee?" I asked Dad.

"Yeah. Let's hope this is as crazy as it gets today."

'Hide and 'Mia were on duty today, so Mom gave us a lift in her minivan. (She wanted to see Arcee for a bit, too.)

We entered the Autobot hangar to see mechs and femmes waving their arms in a scissor-pattern that reminded me vaguely of mimed animals that go "chomp" in children's nursery rhymes.

"What the frag?" I said, playing my part. Mom elbowed me but was too stunned herself to coherently scold me.

"Thomaczech, report!" Dad barked, heading to the command scaffolding.

"The Autobots' HUD's have been hacked," she said. "We think."

Dad let fly a mix of human and 'bot swears, and Thomaczech added, "Skids and Mudflap figured out for us that the app will pause temporarily as long as battle protocols are engaged, but Prowl doesn't think it's wise for the Autobots to walk around with their battle protocols turned on all day."

Arcee "chomped" her way over to us.

"You're seeing ghosts?" Mom asked her.

"Yeah, and instead of a phone app, we have to…" She clapped her hands together with a soft growl. "...catch them with our own servos. It's like a VR set gone rogue."

Prowl and Optimus strode into the hangar, and Prowl reached out to "chomp" his hands together. "...another April Fools' prank."

"I'm going to kill the twins," Arcee growled.

"Which ones?" Mom asked at the same time Optimus rumbled, "You'll have to get in line behind me."

My eyes widened. For the leader of the good guys, he was doing a really convincing job of acting upset.

"This is above the coding skill of even the twins," Prowl softly said, but I was close enough to hear him.

Optimus looked at him sharply. "Then who do you suspect?"

Prowl held his gaze for a second too long. "Ratchet."

I faked a cough to cover my laugh and thumped my chest.

"This is unacceptable," Optimus said. "I don't care who you have to interrogate. Investigate this and get to the bottom of it."

"The prank itself is one of the more harmless ones," Prowl evenly replied. "I'm more concerned about the security flaw it exposed. If our prankster can hack all our HUD's, so can the Decepticons."

"Then the prankster has done us all a favor in revealing it first," Optimus said.

How he managed to not sound smug, I'll never know. Still, Prowl's doorwings twitched in irritation.

"Let's just hope it doesn't last longer than today," Arcee grumbled, but she was looking at Prowl, not Optimus.

…

Sunday evening, I heard the unmistakable rumble of the Prime's engine in the driveway, but when I glanced out the window, it was Tim Furst who stepped out of the cab. "I'll be outside," I called out to my folks, who were in the kitchen debating what to have for dessert.

I stepped out onto the front porch and did a double-take when Tim reached out and "chomped" at something to his right. "Still seeing ghosts?"

His shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Prowl's security patch didn't work for me, for some odd reason." He sank down to sitting on the front steps.

"So Prowl figured out it was us?" I guessed as I joined him.

"He never admitted as much, but given the evidence…" he shrugged. "He no doubt reviewed all the Autobots' recorded communications, so he knows I met with you a couple of weeks before April Fools, and let's just say that we all have a healthy respect for your devious mind when it comes to pranks."

"Uh oh." It slipped out before I could stop myself, but he laughed again.

"You are a minor – you have nothing to worry about. I'm the responsible adult, at least as far as Prowl's concerned."

"And that's why he's punishing you by not turning off the ghost hunter app?"

"He won't confirm or deny anything, but we were both there when Arcee gave him that suggestion. I programmed the prank to only last for 24 hours, but that time constraint has apparently been overridden for me and only me, and I've been locked out." Ducking his head slightly, he admitted, "I am, unfortunately, entirely at Prowl's mercy."

"Ouch," I said, but it was with a grin.

He grinned in answer before "chomping" at two or three ghosts only he could see. "Perhaps, but still worth it. If he makes the punishment fit the crime, I'll only have to endure a total of an additional 24 hours of this. In the meantime, would you like to see the highlights?"

I laughed as I nodded and sat beside him, and he activated a projection for me.

Chapter Text

The doorbell rang. Crappy way to start a story, I know, but that's how it began. I was in my bedroom doing homework and the doorbell unexpectedly rang at a little after 16:00 hours. Mom was at the commissary, shopping, so I pulled out my earbuds and went downstairs to answer it.

Tim Furst stood on the front porch, fiddling with the cowboy hat in his hands.

"Oh. Hi!"

"May I come in?"

"I'm sorry! Of course, please…" I stood aside, making way for him before shutting the door. "What's up?"

He squared his shoulders. "I understand the prom is coming up."

Oh. No. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Mom's been talking, hasn't she."

"Actually, it was Arcee who mentioned that you were in an unusually foul mood. I asked Spitfire why, and she mentioned you had negative associations with prom."

"Yeah, you could say that."

"Because of us."

"Because of the idiot boy who asked me last year."

"Because he was your only option and Ironhide drove him off."

The words stung as they hit home, and my reply was sharper than it should have been. "What do you need, Prime?"

"The name's Furst," he corrected gently. "And if you haven't already been asked, I was wondering if you would go to the prom with me this year."

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I just stared at his steady blue eyes until I started to feel a little faint.

"Will you go with me to the prom?" he formally asked.

"Uh…"

He gave a wry smile. "You pity-date me and I pity-date you…"

I sat down on the couch, running my hands over my face once before looking up at him. "I'm so going to kill the twins."

"You've already had your revenge," he said with just a hint of a smirk, "and for the record, it was one of the best pranks I've ever seen. I'm including you in my April Fools plans for the rest of your life. But you still haven't answered the question. I'm starting to get nervous here."

"Says Shockwaves's mortal enemy," I snarked at him.

"As two friends spending an enjoyable evening together, will you go with me to the prom?"

"You're serious."

"Perfectly."

All the air whooshed out of me, and I tried to convince myself this was just Furst, just another guy and not the godlike leader of an awesome alien race. Doing anything socially with Optimus Prime was out of the question, but with Furst…wasn't that the whole point of giving him a human designation? "I…Yes. I'll go with you."

He nodded his head, putting his hat back on. "I'm technically AWOL right now, so I can't stay any longer. But this is something between Tim Furst and Annabelle Lennox, not Prime and Firebrand. I'd prefer that the other Autobots didn't find out about all this. I'd never hear the end of it."

I chuckled. Yeah, I could only imagine – Skids and Mudflap on one side and Prowl on the other, Arcee standing in front of him with crossed arms and tapping her foot. And Ironhide looming behind his shoulder complaining he was too old for me. "I understand – this stays just between us humans."

He nodded. "Good. I'll be in contact through Will later this week to hammer out the details."

…

Mom came home ten minutes later, bustling in to stash the stuff in the fridge that needed to be frozen or refrigerated. I numbly followed her into the kitchen, and the shock on my face must have shown, because she did a double-take and asked, "What's wrong?"

I sat down in a kitchen chair. "Optimus…Tim just asked me to the prom."

"What?" she half-laughed.

"No, serious. He asked me out."

Realizing I meant it, her smile faded. "What did you tell him?"

"Yes? I mean, what else was I going to say? 'Sorry, you're too old for me, but thanks for humiliating yourself for an ungrateful teenager.'" I shook my head, still trying to figure out what had just happened.

She chuckled then, and patted my arm as it rested on the table. "I'm glad you said yes."

Telling Mom made it seem suddenly real, and my brain finally kicked into gear. "What am I going to wear?"

"I'm sure Arcee will have another trick up her sleeve. After last time, I doubt she'd have any less than two fancy-dress gowns on hand for you."

"But I can't tell her," I said. "Optimus wants this to be just between us humans. The 'bots would tease him to the Pit and back if they found out." Not to mention Ironhide's reaction.

"That dress last year was cute," Mom mused.

"Yes, but there's no way on Earth or Cybertron that I'm wearing it to a second prom. I don't want to jinx the night."

Mom's eyes started to sparkle, and a grin spread over her face like the sun coming up. "You know, I just might have something for you." Grabbing my hand (and abandoning the rest of the groceries), she ran upstairs with me, leading me into her bedroom where she threw open her closet. "Arcee has found a few gems for me over the years, and you and I have similar coloring and are close to the same build." Throwing me that brilliant grin over her shoulder, she added, "And I've kind of missed bonding with you over clothes."

A little sigh actually escaped me at that one, and I threw my arms around her. I hadn't even thought about how all Arcee's primping and accessorizing over the years was stealing me away from my mom. "I'm sorry!"

"Don't be," she laughed, turning to catch me in a hug. "I'm just pleasantly surprised." Letting me go, she turned back to the closet. "I just hope I have something that will work." Shuffling clothes out of the way, she dug to the back of the closet to her fancy dresses. She had half a dozen, but I'd never tried any of them on before – mostly because I always had my own. There was a little black-velvet cocktail dress that was pretty but there was no way I could actually dance in it, a midnight-blue power suit coat with a matching pencil skirt that would make me look like a corporate raider, a red knee-length dress with a V-neck and an empire waist that was way too brazen for me, a deep-purple crepe number that looked frumpy on me, a fitted peach evening gown with elbow-length gloves that would have been perfect if it hadn't made my bust look conspicuously flat, and an ice-blue sleeveless full-length gown with a royal-blue bolero.

As I tried each one on, I tried to imagine myself standing beside Tim Furst and I couldn't quite wrap my mind around it – until I tried on the ice-blue gown. Mom zipped it up, and then I could see it. The color would bring out the blue in Furst's eyes. The cut of the dress was stately enough that I wouldn't feel embarrassed standing beside him in it, unlike the evening gown with the plunging neckline. The bodice was fitted to the waist in velvet with satin for the flowing skirt.

"I don't know about the bolero," I mused as I stared at myself in the mirror and swayed from side to side, watching the way the skirt rustled and moved. "Royal blue isn't a popular color this year."

"So go without it," Mom said, resting her hands on my shoulders and grinning at me in the mirror. "It's pretty on you. Do you think it might work?"

I turned around and caught her in a hug, tears coming to my eyes. Nothing made my mom happier than when she made other people happy, and I knew this meant a lot to her. "I think it's perfect."

…

Over the next three weeks, I quietly got myself ready for prom. If Arcee hadn't been holed up on base thanks to her injury, I never would have been able to keep it a secret, but since Chromia spent less time focused on me, I could hide my growing excitement.

Unexpectedly perfect dress from Mom? Check.

Shoes of my own that matched? Check.

Silk-flower boutonniere made for Op… Tim? Check. (Because fresh flowers were all but impossible to get on Diego Garcia under the best of circumstances.)

Jewelry, make-up, and hairstyle selected? Check.

Both make-up and hair were much simpler this time, since it was just Mom and not a small army of holoform!femmes who would be primping and prepping me. And make-up was going to have to wait until after dinner.

Tim had apparently looped Dad in on what the plans were, and he'd passed them along to Mom, but neither of them would spill the beans, no matter how much I pestered them. All Mom would say was that Tim's plans would allow her plenty of time to fancy me up. And Dad mentioned that Optimus' absence from base for prom night was causing a bit of a hubbub on base, including a betting pool. "But I'm keeping your secret," he promised with a wink.

About 16:00 hours a familiar, flaming semi pulled up to the house and parked in Ironhide's normal spot. Dad climbed out of the passenger seat, though, and he and Tim lugged two coolers into the house.

I held the front door open for them. "What's all this?"

"This," Dad said, setting his cooler down on the counter, "is dinner."

I looked at Tim for an explanation, but he just gave me a little smile and shrugged.

Mom clapped Furst on the shoulder. "You know your way around the kitchen."

Wait, he did? Since when?

"Thank you, Sarah," he said with a tip of his hat to her.

Then Dad held out his elbow for Mom, she looped her arm through it, and she said to me, "Have fun!" They both started walking toward the front door.

"Um…?"

"We're going out for dinner at the Officers' Club," Dad explained to me as he held the door for Mom, "and you two are dining in."

"Okay. I guess...you two have fun, too."

Dad grinned, nodded, and closed the door.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to look at Furst, who stood awkwardly with his hands in his pockets for a second or two. "Shall we?"

"Uh...sure," I answered, following him into the kitchen.

He started unpacking a cooler. "Your mother said that you enjoy Indian food. I have the ingredients here for lamb saag –"

"My favorite!" I blurted out. Anytime we visited India, I ordered it at every restaurant.

"– with basmati rice, naan, and mango lassi."

"That sounds amazing!"

He grinned and nodded. "Good."

And he didn't go halfway either. The cooler he was unloading had fresh mangos, chile peppers, spinach, and a coconut in them, which were all a rarity on DG (except for the coconut). In the other cooler, I found some fresh lamb, along with some bread dough for the naan, whole spices, and a jar of uncooked rice.

I glanced sidelong at him. "Do you know what to do with all this? Because I'm not sure what half of these spices even are." But holy slag, one of them was real saffron! "And don't we need a tandoor for naan?"

"I've found several cooking blogs and videos to be very instructive," he coyly answered. "As well as an improvisation for baking the naan, though that does make it less than authentic. And of course, your mother's assistance has been invaluable. I didn't prepare much in advance, though, because I wanted it to perfectly suit your tastes."

A little, "Aw," slipped out before I could catch myself. (Did I seriously just coo at Optimus Prime?) He chuckled once, so I guess he didn't mind. Besides, he really was going above and beyond. "Thank you, Furst."

"Of course." He brandished a kitchen device I didn't recognize, and considering Mom's legendary hospitality was literally military-grade sometimes, that's saying something. "Let's begin by grinding these spices."

He gallantly chopped the onion and peppers while the lamb browned in the pan and I ground coriander and cumin seeds. The aroma began to fill the kitchen, and it was amazing.

Over peeling garlic, he asked how I was doing in my classes.

"Could be better, could be worse," I hedged, pouring the ground spices into a bowl and reaching for the cilantro.

"I understand you have an IEP due to your injury that's designed to help you stay on track."

I half-smiled at that. "Showing up for prom probably means no one will believe that excuse anymore."

"Annabelle," he firmly said and waited until I looked up at him. "It is a reason, not an excuse."

I flushed a little and went back to cutting up the cilantro with kitchen shears. "Yeah, well, either way, I'm fully accountable now for my own C's." Glancing up at him, I added, "Because of you and the others. Thank you."

"Freedom is the right of all sentient beings," he recited, "even if it means freedom to get C's."

I chuckled and shook my head at him. By then the meat was browned and he set it aside to make room for the onions in the pan. We went through the motions of preparing the meal, and besides being in great company, it was fun to learn how to do it all. If I could ever get my hands on the ingredients, I was totally making the saag again. My mouth was watering the whole time.

Once we had the saag simmering, Opti...Tim got the basmati rice going and showed me how to roll out the bread dough for our kinda-naan. The work-around for the tandoor was to pan-fry the rolled-out pieces in a covered, cast-iron skillet. As I finished pan-baking each piece, I placed it on a plate in the oven to keep warm. He was right that it wasn't as perfect as naan from a tandoor, but it was good enough for Diego Garcia.

He dished out the lamb saag just as I finished with the last piece of naan, and then we brought it all out to the picnic table on the back porch. That's when I finally noticed that the table was set with Mom's best dishes, a nice tablecloth, fancy cloth napkins, and even goblets. "Whoa."

"I have to treat my prom date well," Tim answered, nudging me with his shoulder.

"Well so far you're two for two," I assured him.

"Two?"

"Saag and this," I said, nodding toward the table.

He nodded in agreement and held the chair for me when we sat down. He even graciously let me take the first helpings of our meal. It was so good! Considering the cooks were an alien and someone who might as well be, I couldn't have asked for better.

"So what excuse did you give Prowl so you could get tonight off?" I wondered.

"None," he said between bites.

I tilted my head. "None? But I thought we were keeping it just between us humans."

"We are. He asked what I was doing with my personal time and I simply told him it was personal."

I choked on my sip of water. Laughing to myself, I said, "You seriously told Prowl to mind his own business?"

"Not in so many words."

"Do you think it will work?"

"If Jazz were alive, it wouldn't. But since Prowl doesn't have an accomplice...I expect so."

"You've got guts."

He chuckled. "Yes, it takes uncommon courage to tell off Prowl."

I wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not, so I let it go.

…

We'd finished dinner and started clearing the table when Mom and Dad got back. "That's my job," Dad said, taking the plates from my hands. "You're supposed to get all gussied up."

"We haven't had the lassi yet," Tim pointed out.

Mom said, "We're just in time, then. You two get started on that while Will and I clean up."

Tim and I made mango lassi for all four of us, and we sat on the back deck chit-chatting for a few minutes while we enjoyed sipping our lassi. Once mine was gone, though, Mom took the empty glass out of my hand, put it on the table, and almost as giddy as me, she dragged me up the stairs.

It only took about twenty minutes for her to put on my make-up and do my hair. It was a style I hadn't worn in years – she made a small braid on either side of my face and then pulled them back to form a "crown." She added a few jeweled bobby pins for fun, zipped me into the blue dress, and draped a sheer white shawl over my shoulders.

Mom grinned at me in the mirror. "You look beautiful. I hope you have a wonderful time tonight, honey."

I grinned right back. "Well considering my date is literally 'the best,' I'm sure I will."

She laughed and helped me into my shoes.

...

My ride to prom was a bobtail semi, of course. It raised a few questions in my mind, though. "So how did you manage to get tickets to prom? I mean, no one over 19 is allowed."

"Will personally vouched for me. He claimed I was the eighteen-year-old younger brother-in-law of his friend and co-worker Aaron Hyde. In an unusually good stroke of fortune, the ship I'm working on is scheduled to be in port for a few days, including tonight."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, and he shrugged with a half-smile. "Ironhide is considerably older. And very few people have ever seen this format for my holoform."

I guess that made a certain sense. It was close enough to the truth that I'd be able to easily remember it. "Just so I can keep my story straight, where is Tim Furst originally from?"

"I grew up on a ranch in the mountains outside of Bakersfield, CA."

I fought a smile, knowing exactly which ranch he was referring to.

"And which ship did you come in on?" I asked in mock severity.

"The USS Lassetter, a supply ship for the base currently in port."

I nodded in approval. "That'll work."

Chapter Text

There weren't many buildings off-base that could hide Optimus' alt-form, so we ended up parked behind the repair shop that serviced everything from air conditioners to yachts. It was a block away from the Enlisted Men's Club where we were holding prom, and since I was in flats, I didn't mind the extra walking.

Like with Brian and Ironhide, Optimus' door didn't open under my hand once we got there. Instead, it remained closed until Tim Furst walked around to my side and opened it for me. Offering me his hand, he helped me navigate my satin-and-chiffon way to the ground.

Because I was on a date with a gentleman. And he was not going to let me forget it.

When he held out his arm for me, I knowingly smiled and looped mine through. "Thank you."

He glanced sidelong at me. "For what?"

"For dinner. For this," I said, gesturing toward the club where my fellow students were also arriving.

"Don't thank me yet," he said. "We still haven't tried to dance."

I laughed at that, and he grinned in answer. There was a part of me that was very happy to know I'd made him smile.

He presented our tickets at the door, and then we were inside the blessed air conditioning. The DJ was up on a dais, already blasting out tunes, and the whole place was decorated with streamers and balloons in patriotic colors – because we were all military brats. Speaking of, the room was half-full of kids, with a few parents and teachers sprinkled in. I noticed Kathryn and Shannon staring bug-eyed at us, and I shyly waved.

"May I take your wrap?" Tim asked.

I focused on him and nodded, a little tongue-tied by his formality. He lifted it off my shoulders and walked toward the coat-check. Seizing the opening, Kathryn and Shannon descended on me.

"Wow!" Kathryn whispered. "Where'd you import him from?"

"Is he even young enough to be here?" Shannon demanded.

"Yeah, he's only eighteen," I answered. "He's the kid brother-in-law of one of Dad's friends on the base. He happened to be on one of the ships that pulled into port earlier this week."

"Lucky you," Kathryn said wistfully.

Shannon sniffed. "He's a bit too cowboy for me."

Furst returned, minus the offending cowboy hat, and inclined his head toward us. "Ladies."

Their jaws dropped, and a hint of mirth sparkled in Tim's eyes. It wasn't until then – when I saw their reaction – that I really thought about Optimus' voice. He was always one of Dad's buddies. I'd grown up with that voice, and it was a friendly, reassuring one. But here and now, I heard just how…how…sexy his voice was.

Sweet Cybertron! I'd just had a teenage-girl thought about Optimus Prime. What was wrong with me?

"Annabelle," Furst invited in a suave tone, offering me his arm. I accepted, and as we walked away, I think someone may have swooned behind us. He led us to the refreshments table and chose a glass of punch for both of us.

"I'm impressed," I admitted, taking the glass he offered me.

"Why is that?" he asked, leading me by the arm again toward the tables that ringed the dance floor.

"You're a perfect gentleman. I mean, of course you would be a gentleman but I didn't…um…" I sighed and shut my mouth, deciding I'd dug a deep-enough hole already.

"I helped rule a planet, once upon a time," he softly reminded me, speaking into my ear. "Though I haven't had an excuse to for a long time, I am capable of being polite. Even cultured, on a good night."

I chuckled a little breathlessly, awestruck as I suddenly recalled the stories Ironhide had told me about Optimus' past. No wonder Sunny and Sides had laughed themselves silly at the idea of him taking me to a movie.

We arrived at a secluded table and Furst pulled out a chair for me. Taking his seat beside me, he wistfully looked over the dance floor. "So unlike, and yet it brings back many memories."

"Good memories?"

A sad smile flitted across his face. "Very good."

"Did you dance…back then?"

"No." He looked down and played with his glass, swirling the punch around. "But we did have contests of skill and speed and agility. Sometimes individually, and sometimes as teams or couples. Party games, I guess you'd call them."

"Were you any good?"

He finally looked at me in surprise and then smirked. "Very good."

I chuckled. "Naturally. What was I thinking?"

"Strength and skill I excelled at. Speed and agility, however…"

"You got spanked?"

He softly snorted at the term. "Let's just say the femmes were better at those."

"So you got spanked by a femme?"

His shoulders shook with quiet laughter as he looked at the table, avoiding my gaze. "Among other things." Sobering a little but still smiling, he said, "She and I were unstoppable as a team."

"Is that how you met her?" I asked softly. No question about who 'she' was, not when he was still studying the table like that. It was the first time I'd ever heard him talk openly about Elita One.

"No, not in the games. We discreetly enjoyed each others' company for a long while before she felt comfortable going out in public with me. But once the secret was out…unstoppable."

"I'm trying to imagine it…"

"Think something along the lines of capture-the-flag combined with paint ball where tackling is allowed."

Okay, definitely NOT what I was imagining. "And this was high-brow culture?"

"You should have seen the games of choice for the ruffians," he deadpanned.

"I'm not sure I would have had the stomach for it."

Leaning back in his seat and taking a sip of punch, he amiably agreed, "Probably not."

"You miss her." The words were out before I could think about them.

"Yes," he answered, looking down again. Something about the tone of his voice ended that conversation.

My cheeks blushed hot while cold guilt made me sick to my stomach. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The last thing he needed on his night out was to be reminded that his mate was dead. Completely at a loss, I floundered for a minute, focusing on breathing my way clear of an anxiety attack. "I'm sorry," I finally whispered.

"Do not be," he stoically answered, still studying the table. "She was a valiant warrior, and her sister avenged her." He hesitated, taking a deep breath. "She was…very fond of my voice. Seeing the girls' reaction reminded me."

"You definitely haven't lost your touch." He looked up at me sharply, and I managed a little smile, nodding toward Shannon and Kathryn. "I think they're jealous just because we're talking."

"And that makes you happy?"

"Maybe a little bit," I confessed.

"That's what tonight is all about," he said, rising to his feet and offering me his arm again. "Shall we make some memories?"

The somber moment was suddenly gone, and I realized he was bottling it all up again. For me. Because this was my night and he didn't want his grief to ruin it. It didn't seem fair to him at all.

"But I thought you didn't dance."

"Not back then," he admitted, "but it wouldn't be much of a prom if you didn't get to dance. I learned. I can do everything from waltz to polka to salsa to hip-hop."

"Break dance?" I tentatively asked and then remembered the rhythmic transform sequences from the New Years Eve party. I'm not sure if he could pull off the human or the 'bot form of break dancing.

He glanced at my waist – my hip – with concern. "If you want to."

"No way," I protested. "At the first sign of a fast song, we're taking a breather."

"Agreed," he answered, obviously relieved. "If I tried something like that, the ghost of Jazz himself would return from the dead to laugh his head off at me." Then he frowned thoughtfully. "Or upstage me. I'm sure he would have taken to dancing like a fish to water, as the saying goes."

Not sure what to say to that, I asked, "How did you learn to dance?"

"How else?" he asked with a smirk. "The internet."

"Oh, good grief. That's cheating, you know."

A sly twinkle of amusement danced in his eyes. "Only if it's a competition."

Grinning, I rose to my feet, taking his arm. "When you're sixteen, everything is a competition."

We stood on the edge of the dance floor, and a slow song was playing. Furst asked, "What dances do you know?"

"Um…none?"

He frowned slightly, looking down at me. "None? But you attended last year's…never mind." He led me out onto the floor. "We should have practiced for a few minutes before we came inside. Can't be helped now." Stopping, Furst turned to me, taking one of my hands in his and placing my other hand on his shoulder. Then he rested a hand on my waist. "It's my responsibility to lead, but I can't do that if you're not willing to follow. Like so…"

I felt a light pressure on my waist, pressing me to one side and back just a little.

"Move where and when I guide you. My objective is to ensure we don't crash into anything and to lead you through the steps. Your objective is to keep us the same distance apart when I step toward you. Always. Brace your arm against my shoulder so we will move as a unit. Begin by stepping backward with your right foot. Ready?"

I almost giggled – he made dancing sound like a battlefield operation. "You forgot the most important objective."

He tilted his head curiously. "What is that?"

"Having fun."

Fighting a grin, he answered, "You said it was a competition; therefore, it was implicit."

I chuckled, and he moved forward, talking me through the steps, "Back…back…side…close."

It was surprisingly easy. For never having danced before, he led flawlessly. I always knew exactly where he was going next and my stride didn't falter. We might have even looked like we knew what we were doing. We even managed a simple turn pretty well. After a half dozen slow songs, I started to relax and really get into it.

A series of faster songs followed in which we talked at the table about random topics. I asked him why he went for the cowboy look. ("You know how 'Hide has a thing for Clint Eastwood? I have an affinity for John Wayne.") He asked if I planned to go to college or into the military after I graduated. (I hadn't really thought a whole lot about either one, though I knew my dad would be nervous about his young lady following in his footsteps. "College, I guess. Somewhere stateside, probably.")

"For our next song," the DJ interrupted us, "we'll be doing a snowball dance. Two couples will start the dance, and when prompted, they'll split and the four dancers will go ask someone else to dance so we have four couples. We'll repeat this until everyone is dancing. So to start, can we have Annabelle Lennox and her guest and Heather Thompson and Jason Lansing out on the floor please?"

Furst gave me a curious look, but I shrugged. Of course everyone was eager to have a turn with the mysterious stranger. "Good luck out there," I murmured to him as he led me out onto the dance floor.

"And to you," he answered, dead serious. "I'll keep you in visual range and return to you as soon as the song is finished."

I sniggered. "Just don't be bringing any cannons online, okay? I can handle my own classmates."

"You forget who you're talking to," he murmured. "I also excel in hand-to-hand combat. And I don't doubt your ability, but it's my place as your date to ensure your safety."

"Arcee would cuff you to hear you talk like that. And I should, too."

He looked at me almost like he was seeing me for the first time. "I stand corrected. My apologies, Firebrand."

"Don't worry about it. Just…trust me. I'll call for backup if I need it, so don't come running in with fists swinging – unless I holler first," I answered with a wink.

"I can live with those terms."

"Snowball!" the DJ called.

He stepped away and I turned, surveying my options. The pickings were pretty slim.

I'll say this for Furst – he was a perfect gentleman with every girl he danced with. Though I'd never admit it, I kept him in visual range, too, and for the same reasons. Guys weren't the only ones who could aggressively pursue the one they wanted, and Furst was here as my guest. I had a duty to watch out for him. The fifth time the DJ called snowball, Furst managed to snatch me up again. "Everyone will have a partner," he assured me.

"You calculated it, did you?"

He just gave me a grin. Then his eyes widened. "Oh…"

"…Pitt," a familiar voice said behind me.

Incredulous, I turned to see Kathryn in the arms of a young man I almost recognized. He had a narrow, angular face and jet-black hair, and he was wearing a black suit and tie with a white shirt. If he were thirty years older, he would have been Prowl.

"Harrison Pitt?" Kathryn said politely. "That's an unusual name."

"Is it?" he quietly asked. "I was named after a celebrity."

I whirled back to face Tim, trying to avoid looking at the coming train wreck. "What's he doing here?" I hissed.

"An excellent question," Furst intoned, and I could hear he was Not Happy.

"He stands out like a sore thumb. May as well stamp 'Men In Black' on his forehead."

"Agreed. If you can distract your classmate, I'll send him away."

I instantly envisioned the stir this would cause. "Um…that might not be the best idea. He's already made an appearance, and there will be questions asked."

He gave me a perplexed look. "Interrogations?"

"Not officially. More like where'd he come from, where'd he go, and if anyone got his phone number. We have a pretty small dating pool. You at least have a cover story. If he just disappears, and then someone sees his…him later, it could be problematic. He's already crashed the prom – it'll look less suspicious if you claim him as a buddy and the two of you leave together at the end of the night. Or you both leave with me. Or whatever."

"Perhaps it would be the better punishment, anyway," Furst growled. "More fitting for the crime."

I glanced over my shoulder and sniggered at Prowl's obvious awkwardness with dancing. Turning back to Furst, I said, "Have pity on Kathryn at least and give him some of your online study materials. She's one of the nicer girls. She actually talks with me at lunch sometimes."

"Did she not come with a date?"

"Officially, she and Shannon are here stag – "

"Stag?"

"Without a date. But Brian Lee's been hitting on Shannon ever since he saw you. He's trying to make me jealous."

His bright eyes were amused. "Is it working?"

"Do I look like an idiot?"

He chuckled. "Point taken." Then he unexpectedly sobered. "Except…he's human."

"Allegedly. I'll take a gentleman over that jerk any day."

Furst's grin returned. "Your mother raised you well."

"Damn straight. And don't forget Mia and Arcee."

"How could I? And your father and 'Hide. Can't forget them."

"Indeed," I solemnly intoned, and Furst laughed at my poking fun at him and his voice.

The song ended, and taking Furst's hand, I dragged us both over to the table where Prowl was trying to take his leave of Kathryn. "Hey!" I greeted her, sliding into the chair at her left.

Prowl stood just as Furst – with an Optimus glint in his eyes – laid a hand on Prowl's shoulder. To any casual observer, it would appear friendly, but I caught Prowl's slight wince. "Harry!"

Another fast song started up.

"You know each other?" Kathryn asked, surprised.

"Oh yes," Furst easily answered. "Harry and I go way back. I just didn't expect him to track me down here tonight." Turning to the object of his ire, Furst added, "I thought you said you had other things you needed to be doing."

Prowl shrugged. "Someone else was able to cover for me."

Furst grinned innocently (which is enough to make even a Decepticon run in panic) and said, "Since you're here, you may as well stay and enjoy the party. I understand Kathryn is here alone, why don't you dance with her?"

Kathryn ducked her head. "Uh, guys, you don't have to…I mean, I'm just here to have fun."

"So's Harry!" Furst exclaimed jovially, shaking his friend's shoulder a little before unhanding him. "Though I'm sure he'd appreciate being introduced to any other of your female friends who are here stag, as well."

Prowl rolled his shoulder a little, and I could just envision him twitching a doorwing irritably.

"We're over at that table," Furst added, pointing to where we'd left our punch. "Why don't you join us?"

"Um…" Kathryn looked at me and then at Furst and Prowl. I could almost read her thoughts as she weighed her options. She was risking social blackballing by ditching Shannon to hang out with me, but on the flip side, she could spend her sophomore prom at the same table as The Voice and Tall-Dark-and-Bodyguard instead of being a wallflower while Brian and Shannon danced the night away. "That sounds nice," she finally said, rising to her feet. "Thank you."

Furst offered me his arm and then gave Prowl – I had to stop thinking of him as an Autobot or I would slip up in front of Kathryn for sure – gave Harrison a Look. Glancing sheepishly at Kathryn, Harry mimicked him, offering her his arm, and together we walked back over to our table. Furst pulled out a chair for me, and Pr…er, Harrison did the same for Kathryn. As I watched him try to navigate the world of human good manners, I realized he'd set himself up for the best prank ever. Optimus could use his memory files from tonight for blackmail to get away with anything. Which, come to think of it, was probably a good thing since I was 100% positive that "dating humans" was on Prowl's "If an Autobot, Do NOT Do the Following" list.

"Um…Annabelle?" Kathryn suddenly said. "I need to freshen up. Do you?"

"Oh! Sure." Glancing at Furst, I said, "I'll be right back."

He gave me another perplexed look, and I mouthed, "Later." It was a lie. I had no intention of explaining to the leader of the Autobots why teenage girls always went to the bathroom in groups at social functions. Firstly – too embarrassing. Secondly – he'd never get it anyway.

"Where did you meet them?" Kathryn breathed as soon as we were safely hidden away in the women's room. "You didn't tell me there were two guys from the States around town."

"Like I said, Furst's the kid brother-in-law of one of Dad's friends from the base. Harrison…" I caught myself just in time. Maybe he'd already given her a cover story. "I don't know him very well. In fact you probably know more about him than I do, if you talked while you danced."

"He didn't say much. Just his name and that he was here alone. That's as far as the conversation got before the end of the song. He seems really shy or something."

Or something, I thought, like alien and not organic. "Oh. Well, all I know is that Furst is related to one of my dad's friends, Aaron Hyde. I guess Harrison…and maybe another couple of guys," I added for good measure, just in case anyone else got it into their processors to come tonight, "tagged along to keep Furst company."

"So…is he going to be here long?"

Longer than our grandkids. "I'm not sure. Furst's shipping out in a couple of days, but I doubt I'll see him again before he goes. Tonight's kind of a pity date."

"Even if it is, you're still the luckiest girl here," Kathryn said earnestly.

And that sounded just about right.

Chapter Text

Apparently Furst and Prowl, er, Harrison had made good use of the time alone, because Harry seemed much more at ease, rising fluidly before pulling out a chair for Kathryn. Furst, of course, was as genteel as ever, but he offered me his arm instead of a chair. "Shall we?"

I hesitated. Up until then, we'd only danced to sappy slow songs; this music was a little too fast for the steps I'd learned so far.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

"I don't know if I can waltz to this."

"I didn't intend to. It's much more suited to the cha-cha."

I just about choked to hear Optimus Prime say 'cha-cha,' even if it was coming from Furst's mouth. He misunderstood me. "I am certain you are up to the task, Annabelle."

Shaking with giggles, I nodded my consent and he led me out onto the dance floor. Even if I did end up looking like an idiot, at least I was embarrassing myself with the best voice ever counting the steps for me.

Most of the other kids were just kind of swaying or bopping around a little. Furst took me into a dance position and counted out the steps. "Right, rock, cha-cha-cha. Left, rock, cha-cha-cha." After about five times of trying to make it through the basic step, I was able to control my giggling enough to get it right. A couple more times through, and then he started to mix it up. "Turn, step, back-to-me. Left, rock, cha-cha-cha."

Still handicapped by fits of giggles, I realized I was genuinely, truly having fun. Tonight was one of the best times of my life – better than backyard football games, better than being given a real Autobot nickname, better even than Phase V of The Perfect Prank. I was being me – the sixteen-year-old human girl – and having fun!

At the end of the song, Furst again offered me his arm and started escorting me back to our table, but the DJ's words stopped me in my tracks. "And this song goes out to all the cowboys in the crowd!"

Some dippy, twangy, stomp-your-feet kind of music with the stupidest lyrics ever started up.

"Where did you come from, where did you go?
Where did you come from cotton-eye joe?"

My cheeks flushed hot as my hands balled into fists. Brian!

Furst gave me a sidelong glance, curious about my reaction. "Shall we?"

"No," I growled. "It's a crappy old line dance that no one will do with us."

"So? Let's dance."

"But…we'd look stupid dancing by ourselves."

"Annabelle…"

"They're making fun of you," I finally blurted out, the words burning my throat. Furst had been nothing but courteous to any of us. Respectful, not that any of us deserved it. And then I thought about who they were really mocking and tears stung my eyes.

Understanding lit his face, a flicker of sadness following. Then his expression turned to one of wicked amusement. "Let's dance anyway."

I shook my head. "I'm done with these petty humans. Let's go."

Extending his hand, he asked, "Annabelle, do you trust me?"

Slag him! I looked up into those blue eyes, seeing both the illusion and the reality. The eyes that sparkled with laughter and glinted with determination right before he threw the football. And I saw the light in them – the optics that witnessed uncounted alien worlds and blazed as he battled the demons.

What a stupid question for him to ask. In answer, I put my hand in his.

He swung me into a dance position and, deliberately placing his lips to my ear for all the jealously-watching eyes to see, he said, "Hold on to your hat."

I would have sniggered any other time, but I just rolled my eyes.

"Country swing," he continued. "Basically one big rock-step, repeated over and over. We'll begin at half-speed. Ready?"

"Sure."

He caught my hands and held them up between us, and then he proceeded to sweep me off my feet…to a beat no less. "Rock-step, rock-step. Turn-and-rock-step." I didn't have time to feel embarrassed or angry, he was throwing new turns and twists at me so quickly. But not so quickly that I couldn't keep up. Soon I was breathless and realizing that we were doing good. Really good.

Happiness softened some of the wicked amusement in his eyes. "Ready to speed it up?"

"I'm game if you are," I answered, easily holding the rocking rhythm steady. After all, if he didn't care that they were making fun of him, neither would I. Like wearing my mascara after breaking up with Brian, this was an act of pure rebellion.

Bringing us up to full speed, we all but flew through the rest of the song – and at one point, he did actually pick me up and swing me around his back. The sheer shock of it made me laugh. And then I was laughing and whirling and turning into his arms. I felt the rush of power that came from taking all that meanness and pettiness and defiantly throwing it right back in their faces.

Now Brian was the one who looked like an idiot.

The song ended, and our breathless dance ended with a low dip and both of us laughing at the heady pleasure of victory. First and Best, indeed! Much to my embarrassment, a round of applause broke out at our table, and we looked to see Prowl and the three girls sitting with him clapping their hands and even whistling.

As we straightened out of the dip, the opening chords of the next song began playing. They were slower but the song had a hint of country, surprisingly. Raising an eyebrow, I asked, "Is this one your doing?"

"Bumblebee isn't the only one who can shuffle a playlist," Furst confirmed and offered me his arm. "Shall we?"

Grinning, I answered, "Let's."

I didn't recognize the song, but as I listened to the words, I understood why he had chosen it specifically.

Don't let some hempen heart leave you bitter,

When you come close to selling out, reconsider,

Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,

I hope you dance.

"Thank you," I murmured, ducking my head a little. I made a mental note to look up the complete lyrics later.

In my ear, he said, "My pleasure."

…

We danced until I was out of breath, and then Furst took a couple of turns with Kathryn. Not to be outdone, Prowl – er, Harrison – took a break from his growing flock of admirers and danced with me once.

"Why are you here, anyway?" I asked him, once we were safely secluded on the dance floor.

"It is unusual for Prime to take time off like this. There was concern for his safety."

"Yeah, Dad told me about that. And about Jolt's betting pool."

"You have your answer, then."

I smirked. "You're here to officially find out what Furst is up to for the betting pool?"

"Furst?"

I flushed, realizing my slip. "That's the name he's going by tonight. Tim Furst."

"…Tim…Furst?" he repeated with an incredulous smile. In my sixteen years, that was the closest he'd come to laughing.

"Yeah. You got a problem with it?"

"Not at all," Prowl answered, his expression turning speculative as he examined me. "But I am curious about his appearance."

Shrugging, I said, "I couldn't very well bring someone old enough to be my dad to the prom, now could I? I dressed up for the occasion, and so did he."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied by my answer. "One final question. Who asked whom?"

I bit my lip, wondering if Prowl was able to actually brig Optimus if it came to that. Deciding the boss 'bot was able to handle the consequences, whatever they might be, I admitted, "He asked me."

"Interesting" was his only response, and we finished the dance in silence.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, if you didn't count Prowl getting the email addresses of no less than six girls, beginning with Kathryn, of course. When she asked for his, he got a panicked look and turned to Furst like a drowning man looking for a life preserver. That wicked amusement flashed in Furst's eyes again before they grew distant for a second. Focusing on Harry again, he said, "Why don't you give them harrison-dot-pitt-at-hotmail?"

Prowl glowered at Furst but jotted the email address down on a napkin and slid it across the table to Kathryn. I smothered a grin – Prowl and Prime were so going to have words over this.

"Hey Harry," Furst said over his shoulder as he led me back onto the dance floor. "Don't disappear tonight before we have another chance to talk."

When another fast song came on, Furst and I walked toward our table, but Prowl, erm, Harrison jumped up and intercepted us on the edge of the dance floor. "You wished to speak."

I smirked. And you wish to escape all those teenage girls.

"The timing of your exit is important," Furst quietly explained. "The D.J. currently has three more songs lined up. If you wish to avoid excessive questions or embarrassment for Annabelle, you should leave before then."

"Would you object to me leaving now?"

"Your harem might," I blurted out before I could stop myself.

He sighed and glared at Furst, who smirked.

"Just go," I said, taking pity on him. "Just wish the girls a good evening, say you're needed back on your ship, and walk out."

He surprised me by nodding deferentially. "Agreed."

Furst and I got refills for our drinks, and I watched from the punch table as Prowl utterly failed to sneak out of the dance. Two of my classmates made such a fuss about him promising to email them that I could hear them all the way across the room, and a third walked him to the door.

"Can I get an info dump after you two hash this out?" I asked Furst.

He chuckled softly. "As long as it's not classified."

After the last song, Furst retrieved my wrap and his cowboy hat, pointedly ignoring the chatter all around us about the post-prom party Heather was throwing. We weren't invited, not that we would have gone, anyway.

Tropical stars twinkled above us as we walked back to his alt, and I rested my head on his shoulder, except he was tall enough that it was more like I was resting my head on his bicep. Regardless, I felt so safe with him, no matter his form or the setting. All those months ago when we gave Optimus his human name of Tim Furst, Mom had teasingly whispered to Dad that no one could be good enough for his daughter. It had been a joke, but I wasn't sure if any mere human could ever top this evening. I mean, I hoped a human boy would one day give Tim Furst a run for his money, but there weren't going to be that many out there who could.

"I am sorry about Prowl's interference," Tim said out of the blue.

I lifted my head to smile up at him. "He didn't interfere, not really. And you've got the best blackmail ever to leverage against him now, so no harm done, I guess."

In his Not Happy Prime voice, he added, "It is fortunate for him that you feel that way."

I chuckled and rested my head on his shoulder again. Now that the thrill of the prom was winding down, I began to feel just how tired I was. Physical therapy had helped get my hip into shape, but I hadn't dared to do much cardio before tonight. At his alt-form, I managed to hold back my yawn until after Tim had helped me into my seat and closed the door to walk around to the driver side. The short ride home was in contented silence.

When we arrived, he again helped me out and to the ground. The lights were bright in the living room and on the front porch, so I didn't need his help to make my way up the porch steps and to the door. I took his arm anyway. This was almost as awkward as when he first asked me to the prom. No good-night kiss, obviously, but how was I supposed to let him know that he'd given me one of the best gifts I'd ever received?

"Good evening, Annabelle," he said at the door, tipping his hat before turning to leave.

I caught him in a quick, tight hug, resting my head on his chest. "Thank you, Optimus. You really are the Best."

He squeezed me back and chuckled. "Thank you, child. I had an enjoyable evening. More so than I expected, to be honest."

When he relaxed, I stepped back and said, "Good. See you at the football game tomorrow."

"See you." He nodded and retreated back to the waiting semi.

Chapter Text

After my last check-up in May, I asked Arcee if she was going to meet Bumblebee in California again this summer.

“Probably not,” the femme answered. “It’s not really feasible with my transformation cog broken. Why do you ask?”

I took a deep breath. “Yesterday Mom was talking about making the trip by herself this year, and then last night I had another nightmare. It’s been a while since I had one, and I think it was triggered by the talk of California.  I think… I think it’s time for me to go back. To stand in the same place and know that the demons are gone. To make new memories for the place. It’s my civilian home, and I want to reclaim it.”

“You’re Iron Will’s daughter, alright,” Arcee nodded with approval, but then her optics dimmed. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to teach you to ride a motorcycle.”

I smiled up at her. “Ratchet would probably have fits if I tried to with this hip. Maybe Bumblebee could let me take a turn behind the wheel, though? The Decepticons set me back a year, but I do still need to learn how to drive if I ever plan to live off Diego Garcia.”

A smile warmed her faceplates. “Maybe a trip to California could be arranged after all.”

…

Just to be safe, I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Sarkisian before we headed stateside. I was worried she’d think I was crazy to do this, but surprisingly, she didn’t try to talk me out of it. Instead, she asked, “What do you need from me?”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know. This feels like a big step, so maybe…do you have any other tools for my toolkit?”

She nodded slowly. “Maybe. There’s a technique that you might be ready for. It’s called TIC.  It helps you recognize the lessons learned from your traumatic experience and then turn those lessons into a mantra.”

“I’m game for that.”

The first step, once I’d made myself comfortable in the big leather recliner, was to briefly retell the story of what happened, to help me get back into the memory (but not too deeply into it). After that, we discussed what my role had been in the experience. I hated the label of ‘victim’ but it was true on several levels. Then we talked about what other people’s roles had been. Bumblebee’s role was the most complicated, of course, but I’d already hashed that one out for the most part. Same thing with ‘Bee when it came to the next step: assigning responsibility for various aspects of the traumatic event. The Decepticons were overwhelmingly the most to blame. 

The question that actually made me pause was the fifth step.  Dr. Sarkisian asked, “So what truths have you learned in relation to or because of the incident?”

I sat there for a couple of minutes trying to figure that out. Truths were good things, and nothing good came out of that day. Well, not for me, anyway. Bumblebee won the lottery.

Thinking about ‘Bee reminded me of Arcee making the special trip out to my house and telling me that her triple-changer “upgrade” was a trauma of her own. She’d said that she’d found meaning in it. Was I ready to find meaning in being squished like a bug by a Decepticon? 

“I don’t know,” I finally admitted.

“Have you learned anything about yourself?”

“That I’m grouchy during physical therapy?”

She half-smiled and tried again. “If you could go back in time and tell last-year’s Annabelle something to help her get through her ordeal, something you’ve learned since then, what would it be?”

That I’m loved . I wasn’t sure if that would have actually helped me get through, but it was a truth I hadn’t really, truly understood until this year. Mom and Dad loved me. My Autobots loved me. Even Optimus Prime had a soft spot for squishy me. But I don’t know how that would have helped when my ribs were broken and I was going into shock.

That I’m safe.

I looked up to Dr. Sarkisian. “I’ve learned that I can be safe again. That I’m surrounded by people who love me and will work to make sure I’m safe.”  Even if it means breaking their own rules to clone my hip or take me to prom.

Dr. Sarkisian nodded. “I think we can work with that. Let’s turn it into a mantra, something you can repeat in stressful situations. So if you start to feel anxious during this trip, how would you tell your younger self that you could be safe again?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted with a shrug. “I don’t really know what a mantra is supposed to be. I mean, before this conversation, I thought it was kind of like counting the rosary.”

“There are similarities, but for our purposes, it could be something like, ‘I am safe now.’”

I tried it on for size. “I am safe now.”  It felt good to say it, to taste that truth on my tongue and let it settle into my heart. “I am safe now.”

…

When we showed up on base to catch our flight stateside, a black topkick and blue motorcycle were waiting on the tarmac. Some cargo was in Ironhide’s bed, covered with a tarp. “Okay?” I said as we approached. “You’re our security detail for California?”

The tarp lifted slightly and two blue optics peeked out from underneath. I yelped in surprise. “No, I’m still your security detail,” Arcee declared. “Mia and ‘Hide are my ride.”

I laughed a little shakily, and Dad lifted our suitcases up to her to stash in the bed.  “Glad you could make it,” I told Arcee, and I really was. Even though I was in a better head-space around ‘Bee, there was still a part of me that felt it was deeply unfair that Arcee was still damaged from that horrible day.