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Complete silence blanketed the room, heavy, and stifling. Nightstalker clutched Bumblebee's chest, but the mech was bound by his loyalty to his leader, and could offer no comfort in return. Her wings fluttered in a frenzy.

Finally, he spoke. "Nightstalker." She flinched into Bumblebee's chest, hearing a faint whir of concern from Bumblebee's vocals. "Face me."

After jaw-grinding reluctance, Nightstalker forced herself to turn around, but she still couldn't look at him straight—not after what she had done to him. Nightstalker gripped Bumblebee's knees tightly, shallow breaths cycling in and out of her systems as she stared at Optimus's peds.

His hard voice spoke again. "Look at me."

Her breathing began to hiss audibly between her teeth. After a space of time of just working up the last scraps of courage, Nightstalker bent her head backwards and looked up at him.

Her claw marks stood out vividly on the front of Optimus's helm, and she cringed seeing his ruined audio receptor. Traces of solidified lava were still caught in the grates of his metal. His own energon was spattered down his front, and it still stained Nightstalker's hands.

Nightstalker tried to keep her optics level with his, but they were so cold she couldn't bear them. Sucking in a weak gasp, Nightstalker dropped her head in shame, optic lubricant welling up. She blinked rapidly. Her cooling fans kicked on to compensate for her rushing energon and fear.

Optimus spoke again, voice severe and flat. "I brought you into this base with great reluctance, Nightstalker. You were a Decepticon, and the one who tortured Cliffjumper within an inch of his life." Nightstalker recoiled like it had been a slap in the face. "However, I held fast to one hope—you were also the one who saved him.

"I believed in the traces of good I found within you," Optimus stated, voice hollow. The sheer impact of his indifferent tone sliced across Nightstalker's countenance because any drop of warmth was gone, leaving nothing but cold disregard. "I was proved correct when you showed courage saving our human friends, and meshed well with my soldiers."

There was a pause. "And then, this." Nightstalker flinched, servos spasmodically gripping and releasing Bumblebee's knees. "Nightstalker, your crimes this day are of the highest treason." Her breathing cycles hitched painfully, and Nightstalker fanned her wings desperately, struggling to keep herself from hyperventilating. "This kind of treason is punished by nothing short of termination."

Bumblebee cut in with a sob. *Optimus, PLEASE—!*

"Silence." His word wasn't cruel to Bumblebee, but tired and resigned. The scout bottled up his objections, but Nightstalker felt him shudder with tears. Still, Optimus's warning kept him on a tight leash—though his hands twitched with the urge, he didn't touch her.

Nightstalker braced herself for the end, but Optimus didn't stop there. "You attacked me," he continued relentlessly, "while I was incapable of defending myself, a deed that is the mark of Decepticons." Nightstalker winced at each lethally accurate observation. "You employed skills upon me that are torture tactics. You threatened me, you spat my teachings in my face, you were intent on snuffing my spark—

"And you did not kill me."

Nightstalker swallowed, wings waving restlessly. He let his words sink in, and then continued.

"Once again, you showed that side of you that pressed upon me to give you a chance. That mark of good shone again; you did not follow through with your diabolical plan, and you stopped of your own free will. You wept at my feet." Optimus paused, and a frustrated breath vented heavily from him. "For this, I revoke the punishment of termination to give you a second chance."

Bumblebee was openly crying with relief behind her, trying a bit unsuccessfully to tone it down. Nightstalker looked up in shock, but the sorrow in Optimus's optics made the fires of guilt blaze inside her. She looked away, unable to keep his gaze.

"The penalty for your treason is as follows," Optimus stated, and Nightstalker braced herself for it. "Manual labor will be your designation around the base. You will cut, weld, and repair anything Ratchet demands of you for the next six weeks, and you will follow his orders with swiftness and thoroughness. Your weapons will be permanently offlined until I deem you credible to wield them again. You are not permitted to speak through the private line on the communicator. For the next six weeks you will be confined to the base, and you will fly none. You—"

Panic tore through her. "No!" she burst before she could stop herself, leaping to her feet. "I can't possibly—I can't do that! You can't do that! Please—!"

Nightstalker choked on her pleas from the strict gaze that shuttered his optics. Trembling in agonizing hysteria of the long weeks to come, Nightstalker sank to the floor. SIX WEEKS. She had barely been able to endure a month when she was a prisoner of the Autobots, but SIX? She tried desperately to control her gasping.

"For the next six weeks," Optimus repeated sternly, "you will be confined to the base and fly none. For each time you break this charge, another two weeks will be added." Nightstalker began to rock in terror of enduring that long of time without flying, weeping gasps catching in her vocals.

Optimus gazed down with meticulous indifference. "And lastly," he continued, "because you have broken our trust so severely, you will work for our trust until you have proven yourself worthy of receiving it again. This is my word as a Prime, and you shall abide by it."

Nightstalker trembled. She flinched when Optimus knelt down, but he merely offlined her weapons as he said, and then she felt him work her communicator until it was impossible for her to access anyone's private line. Then, he backed away and stated, "Remove yourself from my presence."

Nightstalker felt the hot tears coming. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she tried to hold back the crying surging up inside, and she felt Bumblebee's hands take her, helping her. *Come on* he whispered gently, steering her towards the halls.

"She will go alone."

Bumblebee froze, and then his hands dropped from her. *Optimus, please* he begged, big blue eyes filling with optic lubricant. *Please, she needs me. Please, just let me—*

"This is her punishment," Optimus reprimanded him gently but sternly, "not yours." Nightstalker felt the wetness spill down her cheeks. "She will endure it alone—"

Nightstalker ran, hysterics rising quickly. She was already sobbing as she ran down the halls, staggering blindly through a film of tears, and she slammed against the walls as she groped her way to her bunk. Flinging the door open and slamming it shut behind her, Nightstalker threw herself down on her ragged berth and just barely managed to offline her vocals before she howled to the heavens.

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Optimus watched her flee from the room. She cried in shame, and he heard her hit several walls because she stumbled. His spark clenched again.

Silence fell over the room. "You were too easy on her," he heard Ratchet mutter. "It should have been two months at the least . . ."

"You are not to question my judgment," Optimus stated mechanically. He returned to the medical berth, tilting his head for Ratchet to continue his ministrations to the throbbing wounds on his helm. The pain absolutely pulsed in agony, and currently, his right audio receptor was shorted out.

Bumblebee was the next to speak, as Optimus had guessed. *How could you . . .*

Anger and tears laced his thick voice, and Optimus heaved a tired sigh, vents pushing out a hiss of air. "Bumblebee, the same goes for you."

*You could have at least let me stay with her!* he burst, voice breaking. His hands clenched, and then, it all drained out of him. His arms and hands fell limp, and his door wings drooped until they sagged against his body. *You could have . . . just let me . . . Please . . .*

Bulkhead clenched his hands, shaking his head. "Bumblebee, how can you keep siding with her? Did you even HEAR what was happening? I couldn't see it, but by PRIMUS I could hear it, everything she said, the sounds Optimus made—"

*I saw it!* Bumblebee exploded, whirling angrily on Bulkhead. His wings snapped straight and his eyes dilated. *I saw it, the gore, the energon, everything!* He trembled before his wings wilted again, and he crossed his arms. *I know*

The dissident silo quieted again. Finally, a serious voice asked, "Hey, Optimus? How you holding up?"

Optimus looked up at Cliffjumper who was uncharacteristically quiet, and he caught the many layers hidden beneath his simple question.

"I will be fine," he said instead, giving a faint nod to him as Ratchet worked.

An ironic smile tipped Cliffjumper's lips. "She's quiet terrifying once she shows how ruthless she can be, isn't she?" he said with a slight drip of bravado. His lips twitched impassive again, and Cliffjumper swallowed, wetting his lips. "You sure you're all right?" he asked his leader again.

Optimus's optics warmed faintly with Cliffjumper's concern. "I will be," he said tiredly again. Cliffjumper nodded and dropped his optics, a hand kneading behind his neck. Optimus studied the mech closer. Clearly, he was still overcoming his ordeal so many months back. After enduring only Nightstalker's lava and whips for minutes compared to what she could do to him for hours, much less days, he felt his respect for Cliffjumper grow.

Optimus let a deep, concerned rumble vibrate from his chest when one voice, the most vocal, failed to respond. "And . . . Arcee?" he asked Ratchet softly.

He didn't pause in his work, but replied, "She's rather resilient . . . for a two wheeler."

Optimus cut his optics over to glance at her hunched form. "It is the external wounds which heal the quickest," he said quietly.

Arcee glanced back at them, and she took a shuddering breath. "I thought settling scores would help me to move on," she murmured. "But I guess I was wrong." She dropped her head in shame. "Instead I chased away any chance we had of winning this war anytime soon."

A depression of air hissed agitatedly from Optimus's vents. "Wisdom cannot be granted, Arcee, it must be earned." He stiffened when Ratchet probed a sore spot, and he closed his optics, grieving for the femme in the back. "Sometimes, at a cost . . ."

He clashed in a war with himself. He now, more than ever, wished that he could go back to that moment and save that poor boy whose bright, desperate optics he had never forgotten—Nightflier. Nightstalker's bigger brother. A guilty weight pressed upon his spark, but Optimus's logical side argued that even if he had tried harder to save him, he would have only ended up perishing with him.

'It's not your fault.'

Optimus breathed deeply, quelling his emotions trapped in turmoil. As much as he wished, he could not change the past. He could only embrace the present and hope for the future. He lifted a prayer to Primus for Nightstalker, and thanked her internally for sparing him and seeing the error of all their ways.

His spark gave an uncomfortable squeeze. He was surprised she hadn't thought of it yet, but he knew she would soon.

Save him now, Autobot scum!

The high-pitched mech's voice echoed tauntingly in Optimus's mind, and he tried to shake the memory of the seeker that had truly been the one to murder Nightflier. Nightstalker would want to know who he was, and then, her lust for revenge would be reignited and know no bounds. He prayed to Primus that he would cleanse her soul of that plight so she wouldn't end up embittered like Arcee, laden down with the past. She had to let go . . .

His thoughts returned to his decision on her punishment. Ratchet wanted more—Bumblebee wanted less. In truth, Optimus had originally begun to think as Ratchet had said, but . . .

His spark thundered in his chest. He could still hear her weeping, the desperate clasp on his foot as she literally wept tears over his ped, not begging for forgiveness, but just so sorry she couldn't say anything else. Not as haunting, but just as hard to bear, was the echoing sounds of her terrified screams when Airachnid had attacked her, that moment where Optimus had been powerless to help and certain that Nightstalker was going to die at his feet pleading for forgiveness. That hideous sound where she was screaming and choking at the same time . . .

Optimus breathed deeply, stilling his embroiled emotions. Perhaps he was too compassionate. He had been accused of it several times as a disciple of Primus, but . . . The sounds of suffering always stirred his mercy, a sympathy he showed to everyone, even his greatest enemy.

And even as he went about all these thoughts in his head, contemplating every angle, he found he stood with his original decision even stronger. Thus, as Ratchet put the finishing touches on his repaired audio receptor, readying him for testing it out, Optimus gave grace to Primus and prayed for Nightstalker once more.

After all . . . Teaching a lesson was no easy pain to bear, and Optimus felt his sorrow overflow once more.