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Bumblebee paced the main hangar of the silo restlessly. Bulkhead had been generous to take Raf to school with Miko for him, and now, while the kids were at school, Bulkhead was scouting for energon, as was Cliffjumper and Optimus. Arcee was too, but Bumblebee suspected it was more blowing off steam.

Instead, as he paced restlessly, the day slowly stretching from morning to noon, he sent a worried look up to Ratchet. *What if she's in stasis lock?* he whispered nervously. *What if she—*

"You heard Optimus's order."

Bumblebee made an impatient click, and a vibrating whir of frustration left his vocals. *I know, Ratchet, you don't have to tell me. But she was injured—by Airachnid's venom! She was leaking . . .*

Ratchet didn't even look away from the computer. "Hardly enough to send her into a stasis," he grumbled.

Bumblebee stiffened at his disappointed voice. *I bet you probably wish she WAS in stasis lock!* he shouted at the medic, clenching his hands. *I bet you're just HOPEING that she'll just waste away and die back there—!*

Bumblebee caught his words tight when he heard a slight sound come from Ratchet's computer. He looked, seeing the dispatch from Nightstalker on the open line—prohibited from speaking in the private lines, it was the only way she could talk to them from a different location—and he waited with baited breath for her words. However, they heard only an unsteady breath before the communication shut off.

Bumblebee blinked. *She contacted us!* he burst, poised to take flight. *That counts!*

"No, no, no, it doesn't," Ratchet growled, grabbing his arm before he could rush off. "She either has to show up in this room or explicitly state that she wants you to come back. You heard Optimus!"

*But she CONTACTED me!* Bumblebee fought. He threw an arm towards the way to the back. *That has to count, it has to!*

"It doesn't!" Ratchet said severely, blue optics glinting. "If you go, I'll be obligated to report your insubordination to Optimus. Are you really going to cross him?"

*Maybe I should!* Bumblebee shouted, annoying lubricants pricking his optics again. *Maybe I should! Since, clearly, she has NO ONE! No one! And you guys are all willing to sit here and let her rot in the back like obstinate—!*

"And YOU'RE the only one willing to take her side," Ratchet snarled back just as mad. "She deserved this and MORE for what she did to Optimus!"

*No she doesn't!* Bumblebee cried out. *She stopped! She knew it was wrong, and she stopped, Ratchet!*

The medic scoffed. "That HARDLY makes up for what she did to Optimus in the long run."

*But she didn't do it!* Bumblebee persisted, growing more infuriated by the minute that they were all so sparkless. *She was crying! Ratchet, she's sorry, can't you see that?*

"I've yet to hear it," he said coldly.

Bumblebee flinched back, eyes dilating open in shock. Ratchet had the good grace to look at least a little bit carangid at his tone to the scout, but Bumblebee's optics dilated tight with anger. *Well, then why don't you give her the chance to say it?* he growled, artificial vocals rumbling in a lower pitch. He glared at Ratchet a moment more, and then, a dispatch showed up on the computer screen.

Bumblebee stopped his angry tirade, blinking wide at the feedback from Nightstalker. Finally, a hoarse and tentative, " . . . B-Bee?"

Bumblebee jumped up to the computer screen so quick he nearly knocked a fuming Ratchet over. *Nights!* he burst, standing on his toes. *Can I come back?*

He heard her take an audible breath before whispering, "Bee . . . B-Bee, I . . ."

*Nights, can I come back and see you? Please!*

She paused. After a moment, she finally asked, "What . . . Why couldn't you?"

Bumblebee felt his articulators hitch in his neck. It was Optimus's order. *I can't come back until you let me* he explained. *Can I come back now?*

Nightstalker was silent for a moment or two more, and then, she finally whispered, "Yes, come here . . . please . . ."

*I'm coming!* he exploded, wheeling around and darting away so fast he nearly collided with Ratchet again. *Hang on, Nights, I'm coming!* he shouted. When he turned the corner to run down the hall, he skidded and banged into the wall before he was able to shift his weight and go hurtling forward again. *I'm coming, Nights!*

Bumblebee hurtled down the halls at breakneck speeds, managing to slide into one more wall before he made it to Nightstalker's door. Granted, he was moving so fast he nearly zipped past her door too, but he backtracked with a quick leap and came inside. He froze.

She was sitting on the floor, curled up in a ball in the corner. Her berth was in tatters, clawed and almost incapable of being slept upon. A painful hitch splayed in Bumblebee's systems at the sight of her festering metal.

*Nights . . .*

Bumblebee swooped down next to her and cuddled her close, carefully shifting her when he felt her stiffen in pain. *Are you all right?* he whispered, kneading that spot between her wings.

The stress was helpfully soothed from her taunt gears at the motion, and he felt her tremble before sighing. "Bee . . . I'm . . . okay . . ." She said it slowly, as if she wasn't sure she was, and he heard her take another steadying breath as she cuddled into him. "I've had a lot of time to think . . . And he's right."

Bumblebee stopped, looking down at her in shock. "W-What? You mean, Optimus?"

She nodded, and then she blinked up at him with orange optics. "Yes, I . . . I do deserve it. I—"

*Nights—*

"Let me finish," she said gently, a lip tipping up a little before falling straight. "I . . . Optimus is our leader, and for trying to kill him, that was of highest treason. I was lucky to get away with what I did and not termination. That's how things in war go, Bumblebee, and I'm not an exception. I'm not special like that, no one is. If Bulkhead did what I did, he would have to bear some kind of punishment too."

Bumblebee gave a sighing whir, squeezing her tight again. *I don't like it*

"Neither do I, but I've had a long time to come to grips with it." Bumblebee gently rubbed that special spot between her wings in the small room, and she lifted dim, but resolved orange optics to him. "I know I deserve it, and I'm willing to try and make it up to everyone. But . . ." She took a breath. "I'm scared, Bumblebee. I'm scared of how they're going to treat me, and I'm scared of not flying for the next six weeks. You've got to promise me that you'll help me through it all. Don't let me out of the base, no matter what, no matter what I say to you—and don't ever let me give up, no matter what I think or feel. Okay, Bee? Promise me."

Despite how much he didn't like it and how uncomfortable it made him, Bumblebee nodded—anything for her at this point. *Sure thing. I promise*

She relaxed a little then. "Thanks, Bee." Nightstalker started to get up then, but since she was still a little weak from her festered wounds and loss of energon, Bumblebee quickly helped her up, cooing supportive things.

Nightstalker sighed heavily as he helped her down the hallway to see Ratchet. "The kids are going to be so disappointed in me . . . and angry."

*It'll be okay* Bumblebee said immediately, squeezing her hand.

She fluttered her wings a little. "Bee? Ratchet's going to be rough when he fixes me up. Don't say anything. It's part of the punishment."

*No it's not* he said back, tensing immediately at what she was suggesting. *That's just him being spiteful*

"And that was Optimus's word," Nightstalker replied, shaking her head. "I have to earn by everyone's trust and respect, so they're free to treat me like a dirty Decepticon until I prove myself to them. Okay? So promise me you won't do or say anything."

Bumblebee stopped before they turned into the main hangar of the silo. *You ask me the hardest things . . .* he said softly.

She squeezed his hand in return. "Only because they're necessary," she whispered back. "Now. Promise?"

He gave a heavy sigh. *I promise . . .*

Nightstalker kissed his cheek. "Thanks." He watched her take a steadying breath and swallow before they went into the hangar.

Ratchet scowled at the sight of her, and pointed to the medical berth. "Sit."

Bumblebee let go of her finally, watching as she sat down meekly on the medical berth as he treated her injuries. It was just like she had said. It burned Bumblebee to watch her in pain and do nothing, but he honored his promise to her even when he knew Ratchet was purposefully doing things to hurt her just a little more out of spite.

When he was finished, Ratchet didn't spare her a second glance. "Get an energon cube and get back here. I've got work for you."

Bumblebee expected her to bolt because she looked so tiny and afraid, but she swallowed and fluttered her wings quickly. "I—" She caught her breath before continuing. "I'm still willing to use my own lava as a source of energon for myself," she whispered to the medical officer that had his hard back turned to her. "To help stretch the low energon reserves . . ."

She kept her head bowed as she waited for Ratchet's verdict, and she nearly jumped out of her protoform when Ratchet slammed an empty tub next to her. "Fill it up," he ordered brusquely, and he onlined her lava.

Nightstalker did so, both hands in the tub as the lava began to flow out, and she looked uncertainly to Bumblebee. He gave her a small smile and thumbs up to bolster her courage, and she let her eyes soften to him. She stiffened like she had been shot when Optimus's voice filled the silo.

"Ratchet. No sign of an energon deposit. Bridge me back."

Nightstalker immediately began to flutter her wings with anxiety. Since Ratchet moved away from the medical area, Bumblebee moved closer and kneaded the base of her wings again to soothe her. The ground bridge blasted open, and Optimus drove through, transforming up.

He looked their way with shielded optics, a shadow over them, but Nightstalker looked up with guileless ones. "I—" Her voice hitched a moment, and she was forced to clear it and try again. "I'm—I'm sorry. For all it's worth . . ."

Finally, Optimus faced her fully, and he nodded once. "It is worth much more than you may think it is," he told her. After a moment of hesitation, a silent war waging in his optics, he knelt in front of her. A solemn gaze focused in on her face. "I would like to offer my most sincere condolences over your brother," he said quietly.

Nightstalker could just nod. "T-Thanks," she whispered, opening and closing her wings. "I—don't hold it against you. I—" Her words tangled suddenly, and looking at him—with Ratchet's repairs, looking as if nothing had happened—and the full weight of her actions suddenly crashed down in her mind.

The optic lubricant welled up so quickly Nightstalker couldn't stop it. She had shed all of these last night—no more crying! No more—!

She felt herself begin to sob. Overcome with guilt, Nightstalker pushed from Bumblebee's arms and threw herself at Optimus's feet again, crying out, "I'm sorry! All of it—I shouldn't be allowed here! I'm so sorry—!"

Taken aback, the Prime quickly grabbed her shoulders, unwilling to see her prostrating herself before him. "Nightstalker, please," he said, lifting her to her knees, "contain yourself." Even though his spark trembled in fear of the alternate side of her he couldn't understand, Optimus found himself saying, "What is in the past is in the past, Nightstalker. I for—"

"Don't you say it!" she exploded suddenly, jerking from his grip. Her orange optics glared at him, dancing with passion and tears. "I don't deserve it, and you don't mean it!"

Crossing her arms to try to contain her shaking, Nightstalker swallowed hard, struggling to stop crying. The silence stretched as she quivered, and preoccupied with herself, she missed the conflicted look that raged inside Optimus's optics. His servos twitched uncertainly. Nightstalker winced away from Optimus when she felt his hand take her shoulder, but he didn't let go.

"But I will mean it," Optimus told her gravely. Nightstalker kept her optics fixated on the floor, unbelieving. But . . . hadn't she believed that Cliffjumper would never forgive her, and he had? "I may not today . . . but I know for a fact that in the future, this will not ever stand between us." When Nightstalker failed to respond, wrestling on the inside with her guilt, Optimus's hand squeezed her shoulder lightly. "Nightstalker, promise me one thing."

Despite how her lips trembled, she whispered, "What?"

"Don't ever degrade yourself so far that you don't believe you deserve forgiveness."

Startled at his words, Nightstalker looked up, finally able to blink away the leaks in her optics. "W-What?"

The Prime's optics seemed to sigh as he murmured, "No one is undeserving of forgiveness, you least of all." He took a rather hard breath, and Nightstalker witnessed him looking away from her as he spoke, literally . . . unable to look her in the eyes. His hand clenched tighter on her shoulder. "You wept at my feet . . ." Clearly her actions had rattled him more than he would let on, and he lifted ancient blue optics to her face. "I am so, so sorry about your brother, Nightstalker. I—wish there was something more I could have done . . ."

Finally, Nightstalker unstuck her glossia from the top of her mouth. "Then don't you say that," she said. Clearly, her words surprised him. She wet her lips. "If I'm going to believe I'm worthy of forgiveness, then you're not going to feel guilty about Fli-Ni. Got it?"

The great Prime's sorrowing eyes finally lifted of some of the shadows that plagued his spark. "Then it's a deal, Nightstalker," he said easily, and she felt the pressure on her own chest ease. "Let this be the start of a new chapter between us," he said, optics gentling on her.

Nightstalker bobbed her head. "Of honesty," she agreed.

Bumblebee thought his pride over her would make his chest explode. As Optimus headed down the halls, he picked Nightstalker up and hugged her from behind, giving a wordless coo.

"I can do this," he heard her whisper to herself. "I can do this . . ."

He felt her shift to fill the tub of her lava again, and when the tub was filled, Ratchet took it from her. "You can start by cleaning up the mess Arcee and Bulkhead left in the training rooms," he stated, "including repairing the wall." Bumblebee wasn't even about to ask how they had managed to break a wall. "Then you can follow all the energon lines and repair any of the tiniest leaks. Come back when you finish that and I'll have more."

Nightstalker nodded, jumping to her feet. "Yes, sir," she replied, and Bumblebee watched her head off to do his bidding.

For some reason, he had a feeling that it was going to be a very long six weeks.

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Easy?

The Prime pressed his hands against the closed door of his berth room.

NOT easy. Almost impossibly hard.

And, as much as he hated to admit it, Nightstalker was right. His forgiveness was premature. While the white lie had eased Nightstalker, it had nearly ripped Optimus to shreds as he used every ounce of self-sacrifice he had to assure her that he wouldn't hold it against her.

His fists clenched tightly. He felt a tiny tremble run its way down his frame. Dear Primus, was it going to be that hard every time he saw her? Would it always be a constant fight, deep inside, like he was trying to tear his own spark out? He almost hadn't had the strength to do it . . .

Desperately, before he fell back into his slump that had kept him up half the night, Optimus brought back the look of pure misery on Nightstalker's face.

Don't you say it! I don't deserve it, and you don't mean it!

Her words cut like daggers. That she could possibly believe she was scum enough that she should be condemned forever—it was almost unfathomable to try and think! NO one was without the chance for redemption—a fact that Optimus had shown the many times he should have taken down Megatron. But the worst . . .

He didn't mean it. And THAT was the thought that haunted Optimus the most.

He shuddered to himself, taking a deep breath to control his churning emotions. But the way Nightstalker had finally smiled softly with hope—Optimus seized that moment with all his spark. He tried to ignore his body that twitched in remembrance of her torture, tried to ignore the echo of her cruel voice mocking him.

'Why sacrifice so much for her? You owe her nothing. You would have been better off terminating her—you wouldn't have to endure this, you wouldn't be worrying about your own personal sin of lust, and her evils would have been snuffed forever.'

Optimus winced back when Orion's snake-like voice returned. His spark rate started to gallop before he took a deep breath, assuring himself that he would go away when he fully calmed down.

'Go away?' A dark laugh echoed. 'I can't just "go away" dear Prime. I AM you. I'll always be with you.'

Optimus flinched then, gritting his dentures.

"I want nothing to do with you," he growled to himself. "I did the right thing. Nightstalker needed reassurance, and I gave it to her. I—"

'"I, I, I, I" can't you care about anything else? Are you really helping her for HER sake or merely to justify yourself as a worthy Prime?'

Optimus jerked back like he had been attacked, and hand leapt to his writhing spark. Orion tutted his tongue.

'Look at this. So much self-doubt crashing down. And it all started with Nightstalker. If you had just put her out of her misery like a strong and capable commander when you saw what she did to Cliffjumper, none of this would have happened.'

Taking a deep breath to control his embroiled emotions, the Prime shook his head. "No," he whispered softly again. What, indeed, would have happened if he put her out of her misery? Would the United States have been destroyed in an atomic meltdown because of the DYNGAS? He didn't know if he could have stopped the train without Nightstalker's help. Would all three of their precious humans have died to Skyquake as a zombie Decepticon if she hadn't been there to protect them?

Orion's voice turned venomous. 'You still believe that wretched femme has a shred of goodness in her? Ha! How ironic! Isn't that what you had believed of Megatron? That there was still some piece of Megatronus in him? Oh, if only you could bring it to the surface! If only you could bring your gladiator friend back and end this war! Well, that's where you're wrong, Prime! Megatronus is DEAD and in his place, a new, stronger, more worthy Decepticon leader was born in his place!'

Optimus cringed back into himself, sinking heavily to his knees. The lethal accusation hurt so much because it was so TRUE. Just like Orion had been turned into a Prime, Megatronus had turned into Megatron. Before their transformation, they had been the closest of friends, and after . . . mortal enemies. How was he supposed to combat the cold truth?

Orion scoffed another laugh. 'Did you honestly think you could hide that from me, dear Prime? You still want your long lost friend to come back and would be willing to do anything to make it so. But, you know what I realize, that even YOU haven't figured out?'

Optimus's hands clenched on the ground as the dark voice mocked him with slow laughter.

'You see Megatronus in Nightstalker.'

The Prime's intake seized in his body, stilling everything at once.

Megatronus . . . in Nightstalker?

'Oh please, don't act so surprised. Her bipolar switch from a friendly façade to a cruel torturer is just like Megatronus—so amicable off the field, charismatic and handsome, and then, in the gladiator pits, a ruthless monster.'

Against his will, Optimus felt his spark reaching out for his closest friend that had died so long ago to become Megatron. It was no secret he missed him after all these millennia, even Ratchet could see it. Was that why he was so lenient with Nightstalker?

'Do you not see it yet?' Orion continued to taunt him. 'THAT is why you lust so much after Nightstalker. She carries the same demeanor as your best friend Megatronus, and you find that . . .

IRRESITABLE.'

A harsh cry caught in Optimus's vocals. No! Primus no, that couldn't be—!

And why not? It's clear you care for this femme more than just lust. You care for her as deeply as you did Megatronus—

Before Orion could twist the truth that like, the Prime growled, "No! You're wrong." His jaw gritted tightly, and he shook his head, bowed over on hands and knees. "It is pure lust, and you know it! It is evil, and I will not allow you to lie to me that it is something better than that. I know what the truth is there, and you will NOT convince me otherwise."

Orion paused before digging deeper.

'But you wish it could be more, don't you?'

Optimus hissed, balling his hands into fist. He quaked on the floor of his berth room, wrestling with his inner demons.

'Imagine: what if you weren't a Prime? You and Megatronus could still be the best of friends.'

"No," he cut in quickly, shoulders tensing. "Not while he carried such dark wishes in his spark. I could have never supported it."

'But someone else would have been Prime. You wouldn't have had to bear the burden of leadership, you would not have to have been alone all your life. You could have had friends, cared for Nightstalker as more than just her superior. The lives lost in this heathenish war would still be alive—'

"No," he hissed again, shaking his head. "You're wrong. War was imminent. It would have happened anyway, and I would have been forced to choose sides. And I know in my spark that I would not have sided with the Decepticons."

'That's the Prime in you speaking. Tell the truth, Optimus. Would you really not want to keep Megatronus as your friend? Would you really not want to let go of leadership and finally enjoy your life, free to make friends and love? Do you really dislike the thought of having Nightstalker by your side? Her friendship yours, free to support her with every breath, free to make her yours and YOURS ALONE . . .'

Optimus shook his head vigorously again, trying to dispel Orion from his central processor. "Do not speak to me," he snarled to himself, quaking in anger. "Get out! Leave me alone!"

Surprisingly, Orion's deceitful voice faded away at the irate command, leaving Optimus alone to his own devices. Trembling minutely, Optimus took a deep breath, struggling to control his rampaging emotions.

Nightstalker . . . he was attracted to her because she was like his best friend—only, a tiny, sultry femme that had no idea how black complimented her curves. A pained whine caught in the back of his vocals as he sought to kill the memories of Megatronus and control the present so it couldn't get out of hand. Worst of all . . .

She was irresistible . . .

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So, where were all the bots? Besides Ratchet, out trying to claim a Cybertronian data cylinder. And where was Nightstalker? In the back, using a human-sized mop to clean the floors.

She sighed to herself. It was hard to keep herself as resigned to her punishment as it had been since when she first started that first week back. The manual labor was starting to get to her—how in the WORLD did Ratchet manage to think of so many things for her to do? She had a feeling the silo was nearly spotless and she was often used for her small fingers to do small jobs.

Nightstalker still didn't know exactly how well she was received by the rest of the bots. She had apologized to them all individually as well, but Arcee had spat it back in her face as she expected. Ratchet ignored her. Bulkhead and Cliffjumper had seemed uncomfortable, and for some reason, she expected them to forgive her first.

Apologizing to the humans had been an adventure. Raf hadn't held any qualms, too much like Bumblebee to stay mad, but Miko had made it perfectly clear that Nightstalker had better be sorry and get back to work. Jack had been . . . frank. It had actually surprised Nightstalker. He told her in no uncertain terms that while in time he may forgive her for attacking Optimus, it wasn't going to be immediately. Once he was sure of her loyalties again, they would be fine, but for now, he was going to be wary.

And so, she cleaned floors with a human-sized mop. She sighed to herself tiredly, shuffling across the floor as she worked in straight and parallel lines of five feet from one wall to the other. This way, she would get it done as quickly as possible, if quick could be put in the same sentence as cleaning the silo floors . . .

With a human sized mop.

Miko was absolutely giddy. She got to get out of cleaning floors. Well, Nightstalker was forgotten in the back until her mop was confiscated for a paint brush for Bulkhead.

WHAT had she missed out on while cleaning floors? Obviously, the Cybertronian data cylinder contained a formula for synthetic energon, and the information had been jettisoned out when Miko touched it—the cylinders considered her an alien life form, and "threatening." However, Bulkhead got in the way and was now spouting out that formula like the world ended in mere minutes.

The synthetic energon was exciting—toting the heavy metal sheets were not since they probably weighed more than Nightstalker did. As Bulkhead muttered something to himself about atomic coordinates and tertiary structures, he used her mop to paint down the formula on it. When he filled yet another sheet of metal, Nightstalker did as told by Ratchet—grabbing the heavy sheet, she grunted and pulled it aside.

Groaning, Nightstalker struggled to drag it across the floor. She wasn't as strong as the others, so it was horrible to try and move these things across the floor. After all, they WERE nearly up to her shoulders. Panting and pulling, she heard a depressed coo from Bumblebee—clearly, he wanted to help, but wasn't allowed too.

"I've got it, Bee," she gasped to him. They were big enough that probably even Arcee would get help, but this was her punishment, and she could take it—maybe. Placing it against the other pile, Nightstalker had just enough time to suck in a breath, see Arcee and Optimus and Ratchet congregating at the computer to talk about something, and dart out again because Bulkhead had finished the next sheet of metal.

That was her designation for the rest of the day. She pulled and restacked sheets of metal for Bulkhead to write on. She didn't even get a chance to rest, and it wasn't really her fault—the sheets were just so heavy for her that there was no way for her to get to the other side quick enough to rest in between sheets of metal.

It went on for HOURS. Nightstalker thought it would never end, this list of complicated formulas for the synthetic energon. Bulkhead constantly mumbled to himself and used up the paint—which she also had to refill—and the redundant process tired her. Eventually Bumblebee took Raf home and Arcee went home with Jack. Miko stuck around, too stubborn to leave Bulkhead.

Then, everything fell to heck in the late hours. The bots went out barter with Megatron because the formula was eating up Bulkhead's brain cells, and when Nightstalker had went to the back to refuel on energon, Miko and Bulkhead left the base. Nightstalker ran to Ratchet since she couldn't leave base, and Ratchet contacted the Prime all the while sending her scathing glances as if she were the reason Bulkhead and Miko were in trouble.

It turned out that the formula for synthetic energon was shot into space, Bulkhead's mind was cured, and Nightstalker didn't have to tote the heavy sheets of metal back and forth.

Instead, once he got them transcribed down, Ratchet forced her to clean them.

The obvious penchant he had for giving her busy work was really grinding on the second week of punishment. Nightstalker praised herself for managing not to go stir crazy—she had a feeling all the busy work helped in that retrospect—but there was a niggling urge in the back of her mind that was slowly closing in and refusing to be ignored. She chanted to herself only four more weeks, she was almost halfway through, but she found herself instinctively fluttering her wings, moving them, and trying to brush off the need to fly.

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Nightstalker scrubbed.

And scrubbed.

And scrubbed . . .

And scrubbed . . .

Scoffing in irritation, she threw the rag down in disgust and crossed her arms. Ratchet had promised it would come off!

Bumblebee sat crisscross across from her. His big blue eyes blinked at her struggle, and finally, he said tentatively, *Ratchet says you have to scrub hard*

"I'm scrubbing as hard as I can!" Nightstalker burst in irritation, rinsing down the fifth metal sheet of the big stacks. Still, tiny specks of white paint refused to come off, and if she let Ratchet inspect her work like she had the first several, he would say it wasn't good enough, ALL the specks had to be off. Curse Bulkhead for using paint for his synthetic energon formula instead of washable markers!

"It works! Bee!"

Nightstalker and Bumblebee both looked up to Raf and Ratchet who had been experimenting with the new synthetic energon Ratchet had whipped up. It worked? Nightstalker felt excitement start to beat in her chest until Ratchet doused it, saying that no one gets to try it until he performed more tests on it.

So, Nightstalker went back to scrubbing. After detecting more energon on the move, Optimus took everyone but her and Ratchet to confront the Decepticons. Jack was at work, Miko was in detention—so that left Nightstalker trying to clean and Ratchet with his synthetic energon, and Raf . . . with whatever he did. He was probably studying right now since he was so quiet.

Glass shattered, Nightstalker looked up to see Ratchet stagger back woozily, and her optics widened. She leapt to her feet just as he passed out, crashing to the ground in a heap.

"Ratchet!"

Nightstalker leapt up, leaving her work to move quickly towards the fallen medic. Unsure what happened, she immediately tried to perform a scan on him only to remember that she couldn't—weapons, comlink, EVERYTHING was offlined for her punishment. Raf came running up with scared eyes, asking, "What happened?"

She shook her head, kneeling at Ratchet's side. "I—I don't know. He just . . . passed out, I don't know." She jumped back up, picking up all the broken glass so Raf wouldn't cut himself. "Ratchet! Ratchet! Ratchet!"

Nightstalker glanced back when she heard him groan heavily. "Wake up!"

Ratchet groaned again. "How is it that such small beings can be so loud?"

Nightstalker let out a breath when she heard his snarky remark, and suddenly she knew it wasn't as horrible as she was thinking it was. She began to help him to his feet, but once he realized it was her, he brushed her off.

"I'm fine," Ratchet told a worrying Raf. "I'm—" He paused suddenly, seeming surprised. He rotated one of his arms, making a strange face. "More than fine." Checking his own levels, he gaped in shock. "Energy efficiency is up thirty percent? Motor functions optimal?" He laughed for once, a warm laugh, but it stopped short as he shook his head. He looked down at Raf, pointedly ignoring Nightstalker. Sighing, she knew a dismissal when she saw one. Retreating back to her corner to wash again, she heard him ask, "Any word from the others?"

Dunking her rag back in the bubbly water, Nightstalker bent over the latest metal sheet and resigned herself again to her designation around the silo. Soft footsteps approached, and Nightstalker looked up to see Raf coming closer.

"Are you sure I can't help?" he asked, and Nightstalker held out a hand.

"Stop right there, Raf, and don't come closer." At his puzzled look, Nightstalker let her lips quirk up. "The chemicals are too strong for you humans," she told him. Then, narrowing her eyes at Ratchet's back, muttered, "But obviously not too strong for paint . . ."

"Ratchet! Lock on to Arcee's coordinates and prepare an emergency ground bridge!"

Nightstalker jolted at Optimus's terse voice, and Ratchet's hands were already flying over the console. "I'm locked on," he replied. "Arcee, decelerate and prepare to return to base!"

"Save it, Ratchet." Nightstalker felt her eyes pop at Arcee's disobedience. Did she ever listen to orders? "I'm too close!"

"Don't be a fool!" Ratchet snapped, but this time, there was no response.

Nightstalker felt her wings flutter. Whatever had obstructed the way between her and the rest of the Autobots, she could simply fly over it and provide her with back up since she refused to return. And it would give her a reason to get flying again . . .

Nightstalker jumped to her feet, staggering with the sheer amount of desperation that suddenly swelled up inside for flight. No—She had to stay in base. Just four more weeks, almost halfway there . . . She took a deep breath, struggling to contain the urge when she heard the ground bridge blast open.

She jerked away like it was hell's gates, optics popping wide when she saw Ratchet run through. Getting a grip back on her sanity, she looked to Raf with wide eyes. "What happened?"

"Didn't you hear?" Raf squeaked, a sheen of sweat on his upper lip. "Arcee's been hurt! Ratchet just left to help her and left me with ground bridge controls!"

It hit her like a punch in the gut. "Arcee?" Nightstalker looked to where the ground bridge closed, and she swallowed. Cliffjumper would be worried mad.

She chafed her arms, frowning at the sight of the dark tunnel for the ground bridge. "I hate waiting . . ." she muttered.

Raf nodded from across the base. "Me too. I always feel like something bad's going to happen."

Casting a glance to her charge, Nightstalker sighed and began to scrub the metal sheets again. "Well, at least work can keep my mind off things . . ." Particularly the want to fly again.

The minutes ticked by slowly, but there wasn't anything urgent said through the consol. Instead, later, Optimus asked for a ground bridge that Raf opened immediately. Nightstalker let out a breath when she saw everyone walk through unscathed, albeit, Arcee a little more banged up than the others—Ratchet must have done a few repairs out in the field this time.

Stunned, Raf asked, "What happened?"

"I only saw the gory aftermath," Bulkhead laughed, "but I heard the Doc was a one bot wrecking machine!"

Nightstalker felt her optics pop—and she meant POP—when Ratchet gave an exhuberant laugh, picking Raf up in greeting with a grin. "Hey there, little fella!"

As Ratchet sat Raf down and waltzed away, Arcee hiked up a mildly amused brow. "All right. What's your secret?"

"No secret," Ratchet said with much more swag than Nightstalker knew he possessed. "Just a little something I like to call Synthen."

Nightstalker stared dumbly as he tossed a cylinder of the synthetic energon to Arcee, a comfortable smirk on his face. Since when did Ratchet SMIRK!?

"From the data Bulkhead transcribed?" she asked. "I thought the formula was—"

"Incomplete?" Ratchet interrupted. He gave a laugh—ANOTHER LAUGH—and scoffed, "Not anymore."

Nightstalker felt her lips twitch when all Bumblebee could think to say was, *It looks weird*

Cliffjumper barked with laughter, pounding Bumblebee's shoulder. "Of course it looks weird! It's synthetic!"

Bulkhead was still guffawing in delight. "So Ratchet makes a better tough guy than I do a smart guy?" Clearly, he was getting a lot of kicks and giggles out of that thought.

As they passed the cylinder of green liquid around, Optimus's hands came to rest on it, frowning slightly as he did. "Ratchet," he began to say, "I question the wisdom of using yourself as a test subject."

"Optimus," Arcee said, still star struck at what she had seen. "You didn't SEE Ratchet out there. He was in overdrive! We should all try this stuff!"

"Or give Ratchet MORE so we can take a vacation!" Bulkhead echoed with a laugh, the high of excitement only slowly wearing off of the worked up bots.

Nightstalker began to scrub again, eyeing Optimus out of the corner of her optics. "I agree that the initial results seem promising," he said slowly, "but I recommend that further testing be confined to machines."

And he clearly didn't mean the living kind.

"NOT Autobots."

Nightstalker felt her brows pinch in confusion at the extremely serious tone Optimus used. What was he so worried about? Was it Ratchet's sudden change in disposition? Nightstalker had to give the Doc bot a little slack—it had been his first time out in the field in . . . forever, and he had to have been running on an adrenaline high. But, Optimus was staring down in Ratchet's optics thick with worry, so Nightstalker could only assume that perhaps he was getting something more she had missed?

At the slightly crestfallen face of Ratchet who had been so sure of the Synthen, Optimus rested a hand on his shoulder and said gravely, "Outnumbered though we may be, old friend, we need a warrior in the laboratory right now more than we need another in the field."

That effortlessly killed the excitement for the synthetic energon. Sighing in resignation, Nightstalker began to scrub again—and then her heart did a little leap as she washed off the metal sheet for the last time.

It was clean! No specks, no nothing! Making a slightly relieved noise, Nightstalker hefted the clean sheet over to stack it with the rest. Then, she pulled down another dirty sheet and began the redundant scrubbing again.

Letting her mind drift, Nightstalker found her mind returning to the Decepticons of all bots. Really, the only ones she had talked to—besides Megatron—was Knockout and Breakdown. Airachnid she never saw because she deserted the 'Cons to fly solo, but Nightstalker's lips twisted up in remembrance of the two bots. Believe it or not, she had a couple good memories of the NEMESIS and some of the 'Cons there.

*

"Well, look who's dropped by for a visit! It's about time I seen those fine legs around here!"

Nightstalker snorted at Knockout, waltzing into the med bay. "Hello, Knockout," she said to the vain Decepticon.

"What can I do for you today?" he asked with a smirk. He crossed his arms. "Are you willing to take my offer yet?"

Rolling her orange optics, Nightstalker ignored his offer for sex again. "Knockout, ask all you like, but I am MEGATRON'S. You want my valve you go through him, and I sincerely doubt that you'd want to get that pretty little paint job of yours scratched up."

Knockout just shrugged as if it were a pity. "Whenever you change your mind . . ."

"Not going to happen." Jumping up and sitting crisscross on a medical berth, Nightstalker shrugged her shoulders at him. "I'm bored. Entertain me."

Knockout laughed them. "Please, Nightstalker. If you want me to entertain you, you should let me show you some berth skills. That way you'd be entertained for hours."

Nightstalker rolled her optics again in exasperation. "Get over it, Knockout."

"I'm just saying femmes look sexy in black."

Flopping on her back with overzealous exaggeration, Nightstalker whined, "C'mon, Knockout! I'm so bored! Don't you have something to do?" Before he could speak, she added, "That's not fragging each other's brains out?"

"Well now you just took all the fun out of that," Knockout chuckled. "I hate to disappoint someone like yourself, but there's not much going on. Why don't you go out flying again?"

She groaned again. "I've BEEN flying. I've been flying all the time for the last several months until Starscream got pissed that I was wasting energon. So I kept flying just to piss him off more, but then he eventually gave up fighting and it got boring again." Nightstalker rolled onto her stomach, looking up at Knockout. "I've practiced the pole dancing Megatron likes until I'm sure I've got pole burn somehow, and I'm BORED."

Knockout shook his head sadly at Nightstalker. "Hey, the big man hasn't been back for over two years now. If we knock boots he isn't going to know a thing."

"KNOCKOUT."

He raised his hands in surrender. "It makes sense to me, and don't you tell me you're not going stir crazy without him. You two were all over each other."

Nightstalker turned over, wrinkling her nose at the ceiling. Okay, now Knockout was hitting the truth of the matter very closely. It was true she and Megatron had lots of fun and without that nighttime banging the world did get a lot more boring on the Decepticon ship. Still, Megatron took his leadership to the Decepticons very serious and had gone searching for more troops. It didn't help that on the especially lonely nights and the especially boring days that she almost DID decide to take up Knockout's offer.

"You know, I bet that pole dancing Megatron likes could use a good critique."

Nightstalker huffed. "I'd tell you to suck it and that my pole dancing skills are perfectly fine, but you'd probably try to take the sucking thing literally."

"How come every time I walk in here you two sound horny?"

Nightstalker groaned in irritation, but Knockout laughed at Breakdown as the big mech walked into the room. "She's bored," Knockout told him.

Breakdown grunted. "They why doesn't she just let you frag her?"

That made Knockout laugh harder and wink her way, but Nightstalker gave up, throwing her hands up with exasperation. "Look, I said I'm BORED! I didn't come in here for your perverted talk!"

Breakdown chuckled, sitting down on the opposite medical berth. "Well, I don't know about that one. I walk in and you're talking about pole dancing and sucking? Sounds to me like you're just TRYING to get Knockout here to jump you."

Snarling in frustration again, Nightstalker flopped face flat on the berth she sat on. "Knockout," she muttered, "please put your dog on a leash."

"Hey!"

"Get me the dog collar and I might," he retorted back, ignoring Breakdown's indignation.

Tapping her fingers on the berth, Nightstalker popped back to a sitting position. "C'mon, Knockout, let's go for a race."

He crossed his arms, arching a brow at her. "Not until you get some proper wheels, chick. I keep telling you that you should get some tread—"

"I'm not a triple changer—"

"You could drop the wings. I'm thinking a Ferrari is perfect for you, just small enough, but definitely sexy enough for those curves—"

"Knockout, I'm not getting rid of my wings."

He clucked his tongue sadly. "That's a pity. You would have made a gorgeous Ferrari."

When his red optics trailed over her again, Nightstalker narrowed her eyes. "Knockout, I so swear, if you don't stop looking at me like that I'm leaving right now."

Knockout laughed then, sitting on the berth next to her. "It's your fault," he told her. "You're the one coming in here and talking about sex and pole dancing and sucking."

She crossed her arms. "YOU'RE the one that brings up sex. All the time. I can't get a normal conversation out of you."

He shrugged, most infuriating as he sent her a sly smile. "Well, you're lonely and missing Megatron, and I promise to never bug you about it again if you let me get in one good interface."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"How could you resist this face?"

"Just like this," Nightstalker said, immune to his pouty eyes. "No."

"How about a face like this?"

She rolled her own optics when he put up a sultry look, trying not to giggle. "Nope, not that either. Face it, Knockout, I'm untouchable by you."

Breakdown laughed at Knockout's disgruntled face. "What's wrong, Knockout? Is this a sign that I should up the ante even more tonight? You scream enough as it is."

Knockout scowled, especially when Nightstalker had to try to stop laughing at him. "Shut up, Breakdown."

"Not my fault you're a horny little fragger."

Nightstalker laughed again, winking at Breakdown. "I do wonder, if I put on a show for you two, how quickly could I have you on each other?"

Knockout seemed to take great delight in this idea as his optics brightened. "That doesn't sound too bad! Getting an eyeful of you on a pole would be good enough for me, and there's plenty of Breakdown and me to go around." He winked at her. "It might turn into a threesome."

Nightstalker groaned, jumping to her feet. "All right, I'm outta here."

"What? C'mon, Nightstalker, I was just kidding—"

"No you weren't," she interrupted, glaring at his innocent face momentarily before turning her back on them. "Bang him up, Breakdown," she cajoled to him as she began to waltz to the door. "Make sure I can hear him screaming even if I'm in my recharge room."

"What? You little glitch!"

Laughing at how infuriated she had made Knockout, she heard Breakdown echo her laughter, clearly getting a kick out of her playing with him. "Suck it, Knockout," she snickered. She slapped her aft, saying, "This fine aft here is Megatron's only."

Leaving the room and chuckling to herself, Nightstalker meandered aimlessly through the halls. Now what? She had toyed with Knockout and actually had some chum time with Breakdown instead of making fun of the poor mech. Fly? She sighed. Not really. Maybe later.

Wandering around, she eventually made it back to Megatron's room. Heading inside, she looked at the big, empty berth, Nightstalker sighed, crossing her arms. Jumping up on the berth, she cuddled in the center of it, slowly fanning her wings.

Against her will, she missed him. And not just to fill the free time. He had been gone for two years, four months, and twenty-seven days, running on roughly ten hours. Eh, but who was counting? Certainly not Nightstalker, no, of course not . . . And, in all actuality, it wasn't that long considering how long Cybertronians lived, but still . . . that was beside the point. He was her only close friend. Sure, she could goof off with Knockout and Breakdown, but it wasn't like when she was with Megatron.

Flying was still fun, but it wasn't as fun as when Megatron was around. It was fun to race him, to play dangerous games of tag in the air. Sighing and curling up on the berth, she found it was rather cold without him there—

*

A thunderous crash interrupted her musings, and Nightstalker jerked out of the memories, looking around—and then, she groaned.

Whoever that was, Primus damn them to pit. She was going to be the one fixing that wall!

Description
Bumblebee paced the main hangar of the silo restlessly. Bulkhead had been generous to take Raf to school with Miko for him, and now, while the kids were at school, Bulkhead was scouting for energon, as was Cliffjumper and Optimus. Arcee was too, but Bumblebee suspected it was more blowing off steam.

Instead, as he paced restlessly, the day slowly stretching from morning to noon, he sent a worried look up to Ratchet. *What if she's in stasis lock?* he whispered nervously. *What if she—*

"You heard Optimus's order."

Bumblebee made an impatient click, and a vibrating whir of frustration left his vocals. *I know, Ratchet, you don't have to tell me. But she was injured—by Airachnid's venom! She was leaking . . .*

Ratchet didn't even look away from the computer. "Hardly enough to send her into a stasis," he grumbled.

Bumblebee stiffened at his disappointed voice. *I bet you probably wish she WAS in stasis lock!* he shouted at the medic, clenching his hands. *I bet you're just HOPEING that she'll just waste away and die back there—!*

Bumblebee caught his words tight when he heard a slight sound come from Ratchet's computer. He looked, seeing the dispatch from Nightstalker on the open line—prohibited from speaking in the private lines, it was the only way she could talk to them from a different location—and he waited with baited breath for her words. However, they heard only an unsteady breath before the communication shut off.

Bumblebee blinked. *She contacted us!* he burst, poised to take flight. *That counts!*

"No, no, no, it doesn't," Ratchet growled, grabbing his arm before he could rush off. "She either has to show up in this room or explicitly state that she wants you to come back. You heard Optimus!"

*But she CONTACTED me!* Bumblebee fought. He threw an arm towards the way to the back. *That has to count, it has to!*

"It doesn't!" Ratchet said severely, blue optics glinting. "If you go, I'll be obligated to report your insubordination to Optimus. Are you really going to cross him?"

*Maybe I should!* Bumblebee shouted, annoying lubricants pricking his optics again. *Maybe I should! Since, clearly, she has NO ONE! No one! And you guys are all willing to sit here and let her rot in the back like obstinate—!*

"And YOU'RE the only one willing to take her side," Ratchet snarled back just as mad. "She deserved this and MORE for what she did to Optimus!"

*No she doesn't!* Bumblebee cried out. *She stopped! She knew it was wrong, and she stopped, Ratchet!*

The medic scoffed. "That HARDLY makes up for what she did to Optimus in the long run."

*But she didn't do it!* Bumblebee persisted, growing more infuriated by the minute that they were all so sparkless. *She was crying! Ratchet, she's sorry, can't you see that?*

"I've yet to hear it," he said coldly.

Bumblebee flinched back, eyes dilating open in shock. Ratchet had the good grace to look at least a little bit carangid at his tone to the scout, but Bumblebee's optics dilated tight with anger. *Well, then why don't you give her the chance to say it?* he growled, artificial vocals rumbling in a lower pitch. He glared at Ratchet a moment more, and then, a dispatch showed up on the computer screen.

Bumblebee stopped his angry tirade, blinking wide at the feedback from Nightstalker. Finally, a hoarse and tentative, " . . . B-Bee?"

Bumblebee jumped up to the computer screen so quick he nearly knocked a fuming Ratchet over. *Nights!* he burst, standing on his toes. *Can I come back?*

He heard her take an audible breath before whispering, "Bee . . . B-Bee, I . . ."

*Nights, can I come back and see you? Please!*

She paused. After a moment, she finally asked, "What . . . Why couldn't you?"

Bumblebee felt his articulators hitch in his neck. It was Optimus's order. *I can't come back until you let me* he explained. *Can I come back now?*

Nightstalker was silent for a moment or two more, and then, she finally whispered, "Yes, come here . . . please . . ."

*I'm coming!* he exploded, wheeling around and darting away so fast he nearly collided with Ratchet again. *Hang on, Nights, I'm coming!* he shouted. When he turned the corner to run down the hall, he skidded and banged into the wall before he was able to shift his weight and go hurtling forward again. *I'm coming, Nights!*

Bumblebee hurtled down the halls at breakneck speeds, managing to slide into one more wall before he made it to Nightstalker's door. Granted, he was moving so fast he nearly zipped past her door too, but he backtracked with a quick leap and came inside. He froze.

She was sitting on the floor, curled up in a ball in the corner. Her berth was in tatters, clawed and almost incapable of being slept upon. A painful hitch splayed in Bumblebee's systems at the sight of her festering metal.

*Nights . . .*

Bumblebee swooped down next to her and cuddled her close, carefully shifting her when he felt her stiffen in pain. *Are you all right?* he whispered, kneading that spot between her wings.

The stress was helpfully soothed from her taunt gears at the motion, and he felt her tremble before sighing. "Bee . . . I'm . . . okay . . ." She said it slowly, as if she wasn't sure she was, and he heard her take another steadying breath as she cuddled into him. "I've had a lot of time to think . . . And he's right."

Bumblebee stopped, looking down at her in shock. "W-What? You mean, Optimus?"

She nodded, and then she blinked up at him with orange optics. "Yes, I . . . I do deserve it. I—"

*Nights—*

"Let me finish," she said gently, a lip tipping up a little before falling straight. "I . . . Optimus is our leader, and for trying to kill him, that was of highest treason. I was lucky to get away with what I did and not termination. That's how things in war go, Bumblebee, and I'm not an exception. I'm not special like that, no one is. If Bulkhead did what I did, he would have to bear some kind of punishment too."

Bumblebee gave a sighing whir, squeezing her tight again. *I don't like it*

"Neither do I, but I've had a long time to come to grips with it." Bumblebee gently rubbed that special spot between her wings in the small room, and she lifted dim, but resolved orange optics to him. "I know I deserve it, and I'm willing to try and make it up to everyone. But . . ." She took a breath. "I'm scared, Bumblebee. I'm scared of how they're going to treat me, and I'm scared of not flying for the next six weeks. You've got to promise me that you'll help me through it all. Don't let me out of the base, no matter what, no matter what I say to you—and don't ever let me give up, no matter what I think or feel. Okay, Bee? Promise me."

Despite how much he didn't like it and how uncomfortable it made him, Bumblebee nodded—anything for her at this point. *Sure thing. I promise*

She relaxed a little then. "Thanks, Bee." Nightstalker started to get up then, but since she was still a little weak from her festered wounds and loss of energon, Bumblebee quickly helped her up, cooing supportive things.

Nightstalker sighed heavily as he helped her down the hallway to see Ratchet. "The kids are going to be so disappointed in me . . . and angry."

*It'll be okay* Bumblebee said immediately, squeezing her hand.

She fluttered her wings a little. "Bee? Ratchet's going to be rough when he fixes me up. Don't say anything. It's part of the punishment."

*No it's not* he said back, tensing immediately at what she was suggesting. *That's just him being spiteful*

"And that was Optimus's word," Nightstalker replied, shaking her head. "I have to earn by everyone's trust and respect, so they're free to treat me like a dirty Decepticon until I prove myself to them. Okay? So promise me you won't do or say anything."

Bumblebee stopped before they turned into the main hangar of the silo. *You ask me the hardest things . . .* he said softly.

She squeezed his hand in return. "Only because they're necessary," she whispered back. "Now. Promise?"

He gave a heavy sigh. *I promise . . .*

Nightstalker kissed his cheek. "Thanks." He watched her take a steadying breath and swallow before they went into the hangar.

Ratchet scowled at the sight of her, and pointed to the medical berth. "Sit."

Bumblebee let go of her finally, watching as she sat down meekly on the medical berth as he treated her injuries. It was just like she had said. It burned Bumblebee to watch her in pain and do nothing, but he honored his promise to her even when he knew Ratchet was purposefully doing things to hurt her just a little more out of spite.

When he was finished, Ratchet didn't spare her a second glance. "Get an energon cube and get back here. I've got work for you."

Bumblebee expected her to bolt because she looked so tiny and afraid, but she swallowed and fluttered her wings quickly. "I—" She caught her breath before continuing. "I'm still willing to use my own lava as a source of energon for myself," she whispered to the medical officer that had his hard back turned to her. "To help stretch the low energon reserves . . ."

She kept her head bowed as she waited for Ratchet's verdict, and she nearly jumped out of her protoform when Ratchet slammed an empty tub next to her. "Fill it up," he ordered brusquely, and he onlined her lava.

Nightstalker did so, both hands in the tub as the lava began to flow out, and she looked uncertainly to Bumblebee. He gave her a small smile and thumbs up to bolster her courage, and she let her eyes soften to him. She stiffened like she had been shot when Optimus's voice filled the silo.

"Ratchet. No sign of an energon deposit. Bridge me back."

Nightstalker immediately began to flutter her wings with anxiety. Since Ratchet moved away from the medical area, Bumblebee moved closer and kneaded the base of her wings again to soothe her. The ground bridge blasted open, and Optimus drove through, transforming up.

He looked their way with shielded optics, a shadow over them, but Nightstalker looked up with guileless ones. "I—" Her voice hitched a moment, and she was forced to clear it and try again. "I'm—I'm sorry. For all it's worth . . ."

Finally, Optimus faced her fully, and he nodded once. "It is worth much more than you may think it is," he told her. After a moment of hesitation, a silent war waging in his optics, he knelt in front of her. A solemn gaze focused in on her face. "I would like to offer my most sincere condolences over your brother," he said quietly.

Nightstalker could just nod. "T-Thanks," she whispered, opening and closing her wings. "I—don't hold it against you. I—" Her words tangled suddenly, and looking at him—with Ratchet's repairs, looking as if nothing had happened—and the full weight of her actions suddenly crashed down in her mind.

The optic lubricant welled up so quickly Nightstalker couldn't stop it. She had shed all of these last night—no more crying! No more—!

She felt herself begin to sob. Overcome with guilt, Nightstalker pushed from Bumblebee's arms and threw herself at Optimus's feet again, crying out, "I'm sorry! All of it—I shouldn't be allowed here! I'm so sorry—!"

Taken aback, the Prime quickly grabbed her shoulders, unwilling to see her prostrating herself before him. "Nightstalker, please," he said, lifting her to her knees, "contain yourself." Even though his spark trembled in fear of the alternate side of her he couldn't understand, Optimus found himself saying, "What is in the past is in the past, Nightstalker. I for—"

"Don't you say it!" she exploded suddenly, jerking from his grip. Her orange optics glared at him, dancing with passion and tears. "I don't deserve it, and you don't mean it!"

Crossing her arms to try to contain her shaking, Nightstalker swallowed hard, struggling to stop crying. The silence stretched as she quivered, and preoccupied with herself, she missed the conflicted look that raged inside Optimus's optics. His servos twitched uncertainly. Nightstalker winced away from Optimus when she felt his hand take her shoulder, but he didn't let go.

"But I will mean it," Optimus told her gravely. Nightstalker kept her optics fixated on the floor, unbelieving. But . . . hadn't she believed that Cliffjumper would never forgive her, and he had? "I may not today . . . but I know for a fact that in the future, this will not ever stand between us." When Nightstalker failed to respond, wrestling on the inside with her guilt, Optimus's hand squeezed her shoulder lightly. "Nightstalker, promise me one thing."

Despite how her lips trembled, she whispered, "What?"

"Don't ever degrade yourself so far that you don't believe you deserve forgiveness."

Startled at his words, Nightstalker looked up, finally able to blink away the leaks in her optics. "W-What?"

The Prime's optics seemed to sigh as he murmured, "No one is undeserving of forgiveness, you least of all." He took a rather hard breath, and Nightstalker witnessed him looking away from her as he spoke, literally . . . unable to look her in the eyes. His hand clenched tighter on her shoulder. "You wept at my feet . . ." Clearly her actions had rattled him more than he would let on, and he lifted ancient blue optics to her face. "I am so, so sorry about your brother, Nightstalker. I—wish there was something more I could have done . . ."

Finally, Nightstalker unstuck her glossia from the top of her mouth. "Then don't you say that," she said. Clearly, her words surprised him. She wet her lips. "If I'm going to believe I'm worthy of forgiveness, then you're not going to feel guilty about Fli-Ni. Got it?"

The great Prime's sorrowing eyes finally lifted of some of the shadows that plagued his spark. "Then it's a deal, Nightstalker," he said easily, and she felt the pressure on her own chest ease. "Let this be the start of a new chapter between us," he said, optics gentling on her.

Nightstalker bobbed her head. "Of honesty," she agreed.

Bumblebee thought his pride over her would make his chest explode. As Optimus headed down the halls, he picked Nightstalker up and hugged her from behind, giving a wordless coo.

"I can do this," he heard her whisper to herself. "I can do this . . ."

He felt her shift to fill the tub of her lava again, and when the tub was filled, Ratchet took it from her. "You can start by cleaning up the mess Arcee and Bulkhead left in the training rooms," he stated, "including repairing the wall." Bumblebee wasn't even about to ask how they had managed to break a wall. "Then you can follow all the energon lines and repair any of the tiniest leaks. Come back when you finish that and I'll have more."

Nightstalker nodded, jumping to her feet. "Yes, sir," she replied, and Bumblebee watched her head off to do his bidding.

For some reason, he had a feeling that it was going to be a very long six weeks.

***********
***********
***********
***********

Easy?

The Prime pressed his hands against the closed door of his berth room.

NOT easy. Almost impossibly hard.

And, as much as he hated to admit it, Nightstalker was right. His forgiveness was premature. While the white lie had eased Nightstalker, it had nearly ripped Optimus to shreds as he used every ounce of self-sacrifice he had to assure her that he wouldn't hold it against her.

His fists clenched tightly. He felt a tiny tremble run its way down his frame. Dear Primus, was it going to be that hard every time he saw her? Would it always be a constant fight, deep inside, like he was trying to tear his own spark out? He almost hadn't had the strength to do it . . .

Desperately, before he fell back into his slump that had kept him up half the night, Optimus brought back the look of pure misery on Nightstalker's face.

Don't you say it! I don't deserve it, and you don't mean it!

Her words cut like daggers. That she could possibly believe she was scum enough that she should be condemned forever—it was almost unfathomable to try and think! NO one was without the chance for redemption—a fact that Optimus had shown the many times he should have taken down Megatron. But the worst . . .

He didn't mean it. And THAT was the thought that haunted Optimus the most.

He shuddered to himself, taking a deep breath to control his churning emotions. But the way Nightstalker had finally smiled softly with hope—Optimus seized that moment with all his spark. He tried to ignore his body that twitched in remembrance of her torture, tried to ignore the echo of her cruel voice mocking him.

'Why sacrifice so much for her? You owe her nothing. You would have been better off terminating her—you wouldn't have to endure this, you wouldn't be worrying about your own personal sin of lust, and her evils would have been snuffed forever.'

Optimus winced back when Orion's snake-like voice returned. His spark rate started to gallop before he took a deep breath, assuring himself that he would go away when he fully calmed down.

'Go away?' A dark laugh echoed. 'I can't just "go away" dear Prime. I AM you. I'll always be with you.'

Optimus flinched then, gritting his dentures.

"I want nothing to do with you," he growled to himself. "I did the right thing. Nightstalker needed reassurance, and I gave it to her. I—"

'"I, I, I, I" can't you care about anything else? Are you really helping her for HER sake or merely to justify yourself as a worthy Prime?'

Optimus jerked back like he had been attacked, and hand leapt to his writhing spark. Orion tutted his tongue.

'Look at this. So much self-doubt crashing down. And it all started with Nightstalker. If you had just put her out of her misery like a strong and capable commander when you saw what she did to Cliffjumper, none of this would have happened.'

Taking a deep breath to control his embroiled emotions, the Prime shook his head. "No," he whispered softly again. What, indeed, would have happened if he put her out of her misery? Would the United States have been destroyed in an atomic meltdown because of the DYNGAS? He didn't know if he could have stopped the train without Nightstalker's help. Would all three of their precious humans have died to Skyquake as a zombie Decepticon if she hadn't been there to protect them?

Orion's voice turned venomous. 'You still believe that wretched femme has a shred of goodness in her? Ha! How ironic! Isn't that what you had believed of Megatron? That there was still some piece of Megatronus in him? Oh, if only you could bring it to the surface! If only you could bring your gladiator friend back and end this war! Well, that's where you're wrong, Prime! Megatronus is DEAD and in his place, a new, stronger, more worthy Decepticon leader was born in his place!'

Optimus cringed back into himself, sinking heavily to his knees. The lethal accusation hurt so much because it was so TRUE. Just like Orion had been turned into a Prime, Megatronus had turned into Megatron. Before their transformation, they had been the closest of friends, and after . . . mortal enemies. How was he supposed to combat the cold truth?

Orion scoffed another laugh. 'Did you honestly think you could hide that from me, dear Prime? You still want your long lost friend to come back and would be willing to do anything to make it so. But, you know what I realize, that even YOU haven't figured out?'

Optimus's hands clenched on the ground as the dark voice mocked him with slow laughter.

'You see Megatronus in Nightstalker.'

The Prime's intake seized in his body, stilling everything at once.

Megatronus . . . in Nightstalker?

'Oh please, don't act so surprised. Her bipolar switch from a friendly façade to a cruel torturer is just like Megatronus—so amicable off the field, charismatic and handsome, and then, in the gladiator pits, a ruthless monster.'

Against his will, Optimus felt his spark reaching out for his closest friend that had died so long ago to become Megatron. It was no secret he missed him after all these millennia, even Ratchet could see it. Was that why he was so lenient with Nightstalker?

'Do you not see it yet?' Orion continued to taunt him. 'THAT is why you lust so much after Nightstalker. She carries the same demeanor as your best friend Megatronus, and you find that . . .

IRRESITABLE.'

A harsh cry caught in Optimus's vocals. No! Primus no, that couldn't be—!

And why not? It's clear you care for this femme more than just lust. You care for her as deeply as you did Megatronus—

Before Orion could twist the truth that like, the Prime growled, "No! You're wrong." His jaw gritted tightly, and he shook his head, bowed over on hands and knees. "It is pure lust, and you know it! It is evil, and I will not allow you to lie to me that it is something better than that. I know what the truth is there, and you will NOT convince me otherwise."

Orion paused before digging deeper.

'But you wish it could be more, don't you?'

Optimus hissed, balling his hands into fist. He quaked on the floor of his berth room, wrestling with his inner demons.

'Imagine: what if you weren't a Prime? You and Megatronus could still be the best of friends.'

"No," he cut in quickly, shoulders tensing. "Not while he carried such dark wishes in his spark. I could have never supported it."

'But someone else would have been Prime. You wouldn't have had to bear the burden of leadership, you would not have to have been alone all your life. You could have had friends, cared for Nightstalker as more than just her superior. The lives lost in this heathenish war would still be alive—'

"No," he hissed again, shaking his head. "You're wrong. War was imminent. It would have happened anyway, and I would have been forced to choose sides. And I know in my spark that I would not have sided with the Decepticons."

'That's the Prime in you speaking. Tell the truth, Optimus. Would you really not want to keep Megatronus as your friend? Would you really not want to let go of leadership and finally enjoy your life, free to make friends and love? Do you really dislike the thought of having Nightstalker by your side? Her friendship yours, free to support her with every breath, free to make her yours and YOURS ALONE . . .'

Optimus shook his head vigorously again, trying to dispel Orion from his central processor. "Do not speak to me," he snarled to himself, quaking in anger. "Get out! Leave me alone!"

Surprisingly, Orion's deceitful voice faded away at the irate command, leaving Optimus alone to his own devices. Trembling minutely, Optimus took a deep breath, struggling to control his rampaging emotions.

Nightstalker . . . he was attracted to her because she was like his best friend—only, a tiny, sultry femme that had no idea how black complimented her curves. A pained whine caught in the back of his vocals as he sought to kill the memories of Megatronus and control the present so it couldn't get out of hand. Worst of all . . .

She was irresistible . . .

***********
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So, where were all the bots? Besides Ratchet, out trying to claim a Cybertronian data cylinder. And where was Nightstalker? In the back, using a human-sized mop to clean the floors.

She sighed to herself. It was hard to keep herself as resigned to her punishment as it had been since when she first started that first week back. The manual labor was starting to get to her—how in the WORLD did Ratchet manage to think of so many things for her to do? She had a feeling the silo was nearly spotless and she was often used for her small fingers to do small jobs.

Nightstalker still didn't know exactly how well she was received by the rest of the bots. She had apologized to them all individually as well, but Arcee had spat it back in her face as she expected. Ratchet ignored her. Bulkhead and Cliffjumper had seemed uncomfortable, and for some reason, she expected them to forgive her first.

Apologizing to the humans had been an adventure. Raf hadn't held any qualms, too much like Bumblebee to stay mad, but Miko had made it perfectly clear that Nightstalker had better be sorry and get back to work. Jack had been . . . frank. It had actually surprised Nightstalker. He told her in no uncertain terms that while in time he may forgive her for attacking Optimus, it wasn't going to be immediately. Once he was sure of her loyalties again, they would be fine, but for now, he was going to be wary.

And so, she cleaned floors with a human-sized mop. She sighed to herself tiredly, shuffling across the floor as she worked in straight and parallel lines of five feet from one wall to the other. This way, she would get it done as quickly as possible, if quick could be put in the same sentence as cleaning the silo floors . . .

With a human sized mop.

Miko was absolutely giddy. She got to get out of cleaning floors. Well, Nightstalker was forgotten in the back until her mop was confiscated for a paint brush for Bulkhead.

WHAT had she missed out on while cleaning floors? Obviously, the Cybertronian data cylinder contained a formula for synthetic energon, and the information had been jettisoned out when Miko touched it—the cylinders considered her an alien life form, and "threatening." However, Bulkhead got in the way and was now spouting out that formula like the world ended in mere minutes.

The synthetic energon was exciting—toting the heavy metal sheets were not since they probably weighed more than Nightstalker did. As Bulkhead muttered something to himself about atomic coordinates and tertiary structures, he used her mop to paint down the formula on it. When he filled yet another sheet of metal, Nightstalker did as told by Ratchet—grabbing the heavy sheet, she grunted and pulled it aside.

Groaning, Nightstalker struggled to drag it across the floor. She wasn't as strong as the others, so it was horrible to try and move these things across the floor. After all, they WERE nearly up to her shoulders. Panting and pulling, she heard a depressed coo from Bumblebee—clearly, he wanted to help, but wasn't allowed too.

"I've got it, Bee," she gasped to him. They were big enough that probably even Arcee would get help, but this was her punishment, and she could take it—maybe. Placing it against the other pile, Nightstalker had just enough time to suck in a breath, see Arcee and Optimus and Ratchet congregating at the computer to talk about something, and dart out again because Bulkhead had finished the next sheet of metal.

That was her designation for the rest of the day. She pulled and restacked sheets of metal for Bulkhead to write on. She didn't even get a chance to rest, and it wasn't really her fault—the sheets were just so heavy for her that there was no way for her to get to the other side quick enough to rest in between sheets of metal.

It went on for HOURS. Nightstalker thought it would never end, this list of complicated formulas for the synthetic energon. Bulkhead constantly mumbled to himself and used up the paint—which she also had to refill—and the redundant process tired her. Eventually Bumblebee took Raf home and Arcee went home with Jack. Miko stuck around, too stubborn to leave Bulkhead.

Then, everything fell to heck in the late hours. The bots went out barter with Megatron because the formula was eating up Bulkhead's brain cells, and when Nightstalker had went to the back to refuel on energon, Miko and Bulkhead left the base. Nightstalker ran to Ratchet since she couldn't leave base, and Ratchet contacted the Prime all the while sending her scathing glances as if she were the reason Bulkhead and Miko were in trouble.

It turned out that the formula for synthetic energon was shot into space, Bulkhead's mind was cured, and Nightstalker didn't have to tote the heavy sheets of metal back and forth.

Instead, once he got them transcribed down, Ratchet forced her to clean them.

The obvious penchant he had for giving her busy work was really grinding on the second week of punishment. Nightstalker praised herself for managing not to go stir crazy—she had a feeling all the busy work helped in that retrospect—but there was a niggling urge in the back of her mind that was slowly closing in and refusing to be ignored. She chanted to herself only four more weeks, she was almost halfway through, but she found herself instinctively fluttering her wings, moving them, and trying to brush off the need to fly.

**********
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Nightstalker scrubbed.

And scrubbed.

And scrubbed . . .

And scrubbed . . .

Scoffing in irritation, she threw the rag down in disgust and crossed her arms. Ratchet had promised it would come off!

Bumblebee sat crisscross across from her. His big blue eyes blinked at her struggle, and finally, he said tentatively, *Ratchet says you have to scrub hard*

"I'm scrubbing as hard as I can!" Nightstalker burst in irritation, rinsing down the fifth metal sheet of the big stacks. Still, tiny specks of white paint refused to come off, and if she let Ratchet inspect her work like she had the first several, he would say it wasn't good enough, ALL the specks had to be off. Curse Bulkhead for using paint for his synthetic energon formula instead of washable markers!

"It works! Bee!"

Nightstalker and Bumblebee both looked up to Raf and Ratchet who had been experimenting with the new synthetic energon Ratchet had whipped up. It worked? Nightstalker felt excitement start to beat in her chest until Ratchet doused it, saying that no one gets to try it until he performed more tests on it.

So, Nightstalker went back to scrubbing. After detecting more energon on the move, Optimus took everyone but her and Ratchet to confront the Decepticons. Jack was at work, Miko was in detention—so that left Nightstalker trying to clean and Ratchet with his synthetic energon, and Raf . . . with whatever he did. He was probably studying right now since he was so quiet.

Glass shattered, Nightstalker looked up to see Ratchet stagger back woozily, and her optics widened. She leapt to her feet just as he passed out, crashing to the ground in a heap.

"Ratchet!"

Nightstalker leapt up, leaving her work to move quickly towards the fallen medic. Unsure what happened, she immediately tried to perform a scan on him only to remember that she couldn't—weapons, comlink, EVERYTHING was offlined for her punishment. Raf came running up with scared eyes, asking, "What happened?"

She shook her head, kneeling at Ratchet's side. "I—I don't know. He just . . . passed out, I don't know." She jumped back up, picking up all the broken glass so Raf wouldn't cut himself. "Ratchet! Ratchet! Ratchet!"

Nightstalker glanced back when she heard him groan heavily. "Wake up!"

Ratchet groaned again. "How is it that such small beings can be so loud?"

Nightstalker let out a breath when she heard his snarky remark, and suddenly she knew it wasn't as horrible as she was thinking it was. She began to help him to his feet, but once he realized it was her, he brushed her off.

"I'm fine," Ratchet told a worrying Raf. "I'm—" He paused suddenly, seeming surprised. He rotated one of his arms, making a strange face. "More than fine." Checking his own levels, he gaped in shock. "Energy efficiency is up thirty percent? Motor functions optimal?" He laughed for once, a warm laugh, but it stopped short as he shook his head. He looked down at Raf, pointedly ignoring Nightstalker. Sighing, she knew a dismissal when she saw one. Retreating back to her corner to wash again, she heard him ask, "Any word from the others?"

Dunking her rag back in the bubbly water, Nightstalker bent over the latest metal sheet and resigned herself again to her designation around the silo. Soft footsteps approached, and Nightstalker looked up to see Raf coming closer.

"Are you sure I can't help?" he asked, and Nightstalker held out a hand.

"Stop right there, Raf, and don't come closer." At his puzzled look, Nightstalker let her lips quirk up. "The chemicals are too strong for you humans," she told him. Then, narrowing her eyes at Ratchet's back, muttered, "But obviously not too strong for paint . . ."

"Ratchet! Lock on to Arcee's coordinates and prepare an emergency ground bridge!"

Nightstalker jolted at Optimus's terse voice, and Ratchet's hands were already flying over the console. "I'm locked on," he replied. "Arcee, decelerate and prepare to return to base!"

"Save it, Ratchet." Nightstalker felt her eyes pop at Arcee's disobedience. Did she ever listen to orders? "I'm too close!"

"Don't be a fool!" Ratchet snapped, but this time, there was no response.

Nightstalker felt her wings flutter. Whatever had obstructed the way between her and the rest of the Autobots, she could simply fly over it and provide her with back up since she refused to return. And it would give her a reason to get flying again . . .

Nightstalker jumped to her feet, staggering with the sheer amount of desperation that suddenly swelled up inside for flight. No—She had to stay in base. Just four more weeks, almost halfway there . . . She took a deep breath, struggling to contain the urge when she heard the ground bridge blast open.

She jerked away like it was hell's gates, optics popping wide when she saw Ratchet run through. Getting a grip back on her sanity, she looked to Raf with wide eyes. "What happened?"

"Didn't you hear?" Raf squeaked, a sheen of sweat on his upper lip. "Arcee's been hurt! Ratchet just left to help her and left me with ground bridge controls!"

It hit her like a punch in the gut. "Arcee?" Nightstalker looked to where the ground bridge closed, and she swallowed. Cliffjumper would be worried mad.

She chafed her arms, frowning at the sight of the dark tunnel for the ground bridge. "I hate waiting . . ." she muttered.

Raf nodded from across the base. "Me too. I always feel like something bad's going to happen."

Casting a glance to her charge, Nightstalker sighed and began to scrub the metal sheets again. "Well, at least work can keep my mind off things . . ." Particularly the want to fly again.

The minutes ticked by slowly, but there wasn't anything urgent said through the consol. Instead, later, Optimus asked for a ground bridge that Raf opened immediately. Nightstalker let out a breath when she saw everyone walk through unscathed, albeit, Arcee a little more banged up than the others—Ratchet must have done a few repairs out in the field this time.

Stunned, Raf asked, "What happened?"

"I only saw the gory aftermath," Bulkhead laughed, "but I heard the Doc was a one bot wrecking machine!"

Nightstalker felt her optics pop—and she meant POP—when Ratchet gave an exhuberant laugh, picking Raf up in greeting with a grin. "Hey there, little fella!"

As Ratchet sat Raf down and waltzed away, Arcee hiked up a mildly amused brow. "All right. What's your secret?"

"No secret," Ratchet said with much more swag than Nightstalker knew he possessed. "Just a little something I like to call Synthen."

Nightstalker stared dumbly as he tossed a cylinder of the synthetic energon to Arcee, a comfortable smirk on his face. Since when did Ratchet SMIRK!?

"From the data Bulkhead transcribed?" she asked. "I thought the formula was—"

"Incomplete?" Ratchet interrupted. He gave a laugh—ANOTHER LAUGH—and scoffed, "Not anymore."

Nightstalker felt her lips twitch when all Bumblebee could think to say was, *It looks weird*

Cliffjumper barked with laughter, pounding Bumblebee's shoulder. "Of course it looks weird! It's synthetic!"

Bulkhead was still guffawing in delight. "So Ratchet makes a better tough guy than I do a smart guy?" Clearly, he was getting a lot of kicks and giggles out of that thought.

As they passed the cylinder of green liquid around, Optimus's hands came to rest on it, frowning slightly as he did. "Ratchet," he began to say, "I question the wisdom of using yourself as a test subject."

"Optimus," Arcee said, still star struck at what she had seen. "You didn't SEE Ratchet out there. He was in overdrive! We should all try this stuff!"

"Or give Ratchet MORE so we can take a vacation!" Bulkhead echoed with a laugh, the high of excitement only slowly wearing off of the worked up bots.

Nightstalker began to scrub again, eyeing Optimus out of the corner of her optics. "I agree that the initial results seem promising," he said slowly, "but I recommend that further testing be confined to machines."

And he clearly didn't mean the living kind.

"NOT Autobots."

Nightstalker felt her brows pinch in confusion at the extremely serious tone Optimus used. What was he so worried about? Was it Ratchet's sudden change in disposition? Nightstalker had to give the Doc bot a little slack—it had been his first time out in the field in . . . forever, and he had to have been running on an adrenaline high. But, Optimus was staring down in Ratchet's optics thick with worry, so Nightstalker could only assume that perhaps he was getting something more she had missed?

At the slightly crestfallen face of Ratchet who had been so sure of the Synthen, Optimus rested a hand on his shoulder and said gravely, "Outnumbered though we may be, old friend, we need a warrior in the laboratory right now more than we need another in the field."

That effortlessly killed the excitement for the synthetic energon. Sighing in resignation, Nightstalker began to scrub again—and then her heart did a little leap as she washed off the metal sheet for the last time.

It was clean! No specks, no nothing! Making a slightly relieved noise, Nightstalker hefted the clean sheet over to stack it with the rest. Then, she pulled down another dirty sheet and began the redundant scrubbing again.

Letting her mind drift, Nightstalker found her mind returning to the Decepticons of all bots. Really, the only ones she had talked to—besides Megatron—was Knockout and Breakdown. Airachnid she never saw because she deserted the 'Cons to fly solo, but Nightstalker's lips twisted up in remembrance of the two bots. Believe it or not, she had a couple good memories of the NEMESIS and some of the 'Cons there.

*

"Well, look who's dropped by for a visit! It's about time I seen those fine legs around here!"

Nightstalker snorted at Knockout, waltzing into the med bay. "Hello, Knockout," she said to the vain Decepticon.

"What can I do for you today?" he asked with a smirk. He crossed his arms. "Are you willing to take my offer yet?"

Rolling her orange optics, Nightstalker ignored his offer for sex again. "Knockout, ask all you like, but I am MEGATRON'S. You want my valve you go through him, and I sincerely doubt that you'd want to get that pretty little paint job of yours scratched up."

Knockout just shrugged as if it were a pity. "Whenever you change your mind . . ."

"Not going to happen." Jumping up and sitting crisscross on a medical berth, Nightstalker shrugged her shoulders at him. "I'm bored. Entertain me."

Knockout laughed them. "Please, Nightstalker. If you want me to entertain you, you should let me show you some berth skills. That way you'd be entertained for hours."

Nightstalker rolled her optics again in exasperation. "Get over it, Knockout."

"I'm just saying femmes look sexy in black."

Flopping on her back with overzealous exaggeration, Nightstalker whined, "C'mon, Knockout! I'm so bored! Don't you have something to do?" Before he could speak, she added, "That's not fragging each other's brains out?"

"Well now you just took all the fun out of that," Knockout chuckled. "I hate to disappoint someone like yourself, but there's not much going on. Why don't you go out flying again?"

She groaned again. "I've BEEN flying. I've been flying all the time for the last several months until Starscream got pissed that I was wasting energon. So I kept flying just to piss him off more, but then he eventually gave up fighting and it got boring again." Nightstalker rolled onto her stomach, looking up at Knockout. "I've practiced the pole dancing Megatron likes until I'm sure I've got pole burn somehow, and I'm BORED."

Knockout shook his head sadly at Nightstalker. "Hey, the big man hasn't been back for over two years now. If we knock boots he isn't going to know a thing."

"KNOCKOUT."

He raised his hands in surrender. "It makes sense to me, and don't you tell me you're not going stir crazy without him. You two were all over each other."

Nightstalker turned over, wrinkling her nose at the ceiling. Okay, now Knockout was hitting the truth of the matter very closely. It was true she and Megatron had lots of fun and without that nighttime banging the world did get a lot more boring on the Decepticon ship. Still, Megatron took his leadership to the Decepticons very serious and had gone searching for more troops. It didn't help that on the especially lonely nights and the especially boring days that she almost DID decide to take up Knockout's offer.

"You know, I bet that pole dancing Megatron likes could use a good critique."

Nightstalker huffed. "I'd tell you to suck it and that my pole dancing skills are perfectly fine, but you'd probably try to take the sucking thing literally."

"How come every time I walk in here you two sound horny?"

Nightstalker groaned in irritation, but Knockout laughed at Breakdown as the big mech walked into the room. "She's bored," Knockout told him.

Breakdown grunted. "They why doesn't she just let you frag her?"

That made Knockout laugh harder and wink her way, but Nightstalker gave up, throwing her hands up with exasperation. "Look, I said I'm BORED! I didn't come in here for your perverted talk!"

Breakdown chuckled, sitting down on the opposite medical berth. "Well, I don't know about that one. I walk in and you're talking about pole dancing and sucking? Sounds to me like you're just TRYING to get Knockout here to jump you."

Snarling in frustration again, Nightstalker flopped face flat on the berth she sat on. "Knockout," she muttered, "please put your dog on a leash."

"Hey!"

"Get me the dog collar and I might," he retorted back, ignoring Breakdown's indignation.

Tapping her fingers on the berth, Nightstalker popped back to a sitting position. "C'mon, Knockout, let's go for a race."

He crossed his arms, arching a brow at her. "Not until you get some proper wheels, chick. I keep telling you that you should get some tread—"

"I'm not a triple changer—"

"You could drop the wings. I'm thinking a Ferrari is perfect for you, just small enough, but definitely sexy enough for those curves—"

"Knockout, I'm not getting rid of my wings."

He clucked his tongue sadly. "That's a pity. You would have made a gorgeous Ferrari."

When his red optics trailed over her again, Nightstalker narrowed her eyes. "Knockout, I so swear, if you don't stop looking at me like that I'm leaving right now."

Knockout laughed then, sitting on the berth next to her. "It's your fault," he told her. "You're the one coming in here and talking about sex and pole dancing and sucking."

She crossed her arms. "YOU'RE the one that brings up sex. All the time. I can't get a normal conversation out of you."

He shrugged, most infuriating as he sent her a sly smile. "Well, you're lonely and missing Megatron, and I promise to never bug you about it again if you let me get in one good interface."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"How could you resist this face?"

"Just like this," Nightstalker said, immune to his pouty eyes. "No."

"How about a face like this?"

She rolled her own optics when he put up a sultry look, trying not to giggle. "Nope, not that either. Face it, Knockout, I'm untouchable by you."

Breakdown laughed at Knockout's disgruntled face. "What's wrong, Knockout? Is this a sign that I should up the ante even more tonight? You scream enough as it is."

Knockout scowled, especially when Nightstalker had to try to stop laughing at him. "Shut up, Breakdown."

"Not my fault you're a horny little fragger."

Nightstalker laughed again, winking at Breakdown. "I do wonder, if I put on a show for you two, how quickly could I have you on each other?"

Knockout seemed to take great delight in this idea as his optics brightened. "That doesn't sound too bad! Getting an eyeful of you on a pole would be good enough for me, and there's plenty of Breakdown and me to go around." He winked at her. "It might turn into a threesome."

Nightstalker groaned, jumping to her feet. "All right, I'm outta here."

"What? C'mon, Nightstalker, I was just kidding—"

"No you weren't," she interrupted, glaring at his innocent face momentarily before turning her back on them. "Bang him up, Breakdown," she cajoled to him as she began to waltz to the door. "Make sure I can hear him screaming even if I'm in my recharge room."

"What? You little glitch!"

Laughing at how infuriated she had made Knockout, she heard Breakdown echo her laughter, clearly getting a kick out of her playing with him. "Suck it, Knockout," she snickered. She slapped her aft, saying, "This fine aft here is Megatron's only."

Leaving the room and chuckling to herself, Nightstalker meandered aimlessly through the halls. Now what? She had toyed with Knockout and actually had some chum time with Breakdown instead of making fun of the poor mech. Fly? She sighed. Not really. Maybe later.

Wandering around, she eventually made it back to Megatron's room. Heading inside, she looked at the big, empty berth, Nightstalker sighed, crossing her arms. Jumping up on the berth, she cuddled in the center of it, slowly fanning her wings.

Against her will, she missed him. And not just to fill the free time. He had been gone for two years, four months, and twenty-seven days, running on roughly ten hours. Eh, but who was counting? Certainly not Nightstalker, no, of course not . . . And, in all actuality, it wasn't that long considering how long Cybertronians lived, but still . . . that was beside the point. He was her only close friend. Sure, she could goof off with Knockout and Breakdown, but it wasn't like when she was with Megatron.

Flying was still fun, but it wasn't as fun as when Megatron was around. It was fun to race him, to play dangerous games of tag in the air. Sighing and curling up on the berth, she found it was rather cold without him there—

*

A thunderous crash interrupted her musings, and Nightstalker jerked out of the memories, looking around—and then, she groaned.

Whoever that was, Primus damn them to pit. She was going to be the one fixing that wall!