Author's Note:

Kinda a short filler chapter, but I think it's needed. This episode is so loosely knit that I can squeeze in a lot of character development, and the next chapter should make up for this one

Nightstalker was closely monitored the next week. She was nearly under constant surveillance if she was out of her cell—always by one Autobot. More than one would be a waste because since Nightstalker wasn't meant for combat and would be easily subdued. To her carangid and fear, it was always either the distrustful Bulkhead or the murderous Arcee that assigned themselves to watching her. Only, with Arcee, Nightstalker could barely suppress her panic. It seemed the femme was physically restricting herself from pulling the trigger and if Nightstalker made one wrong move she was going to blow her central processor out without remorse.

It wasn't as if Nightstalker did much anyways. She was too afraid to do anything, even interact with them. She just fixated herself in the far corner of the room, sat down and curled up protectively, and sat. She watched the Autobots and humans clean up the base—moving the fallen pieces of the ceiling, sweeping up the dead scraplets. Ratchet was hard at work repairing the ground bridge, and he reported his time making Cliffjumper's new hand was put on hold. Luckily, his work-in-progress hand had been stowed away once they learned of the scraplet infestation, and so Ratchet wouldn't have to start from scratch.

They still kept her weapons locked offline, but it didn't matter to Nightstalker. It wasn't as if she could have fought them anyways, and her homing beacon to the Decepticons were offline too.

Either way, Nightstalker's days were excruciatingly slow and filled with scornful disregard. No one paid her much of any attention except for those who held her at gun point. Not even Cliffjumper could manage to get himself to speak to her—he shied away from her mostly, more terrified than he wanted to let on.

"Chores are done!"

Nightstalker jumped and looked up from her designated corner of the main room of the base. She cringed away again when Arcee jerked her gun towards her.

Bulkhead walked into the room, Miko cheerfully riding his shoulder. "NOW can we do some dune-bashing?"

It was curious to watch Bulkhead's hesitation. He seemed a bit undecided, but he also seemed like he really wanted to make her happy no matter what. "I don't know, Miko," he said tentatively. "Last time I spent a week picking sand out of my articulators." When he caught sight of her slumping shoulders, he quickly asserted, "But there's a monster truck rally in town."

Nightstalker watched them interact. Miko had been an easy human to watch with her eccentric interests of monster trucks, speed metal, and zombies. Video games were a universal enjoyment, Raf chief among them. Jack was a bit harder, but from what Nightstalker gathered, he was a very responsible and stiff boy that hid a need for speed.

Nightstalker's orange optics flicked up to Ratchet when he said, "Optimus, I'm receiving a signal on a restricted bend. It appears to be coming from a starship inside this solar system."

Arcee kept her gun trained on Nightstalker even though Optimus had said it wouldn't be necessary. Instead, Nightstalker closed her eyes and dropped her head. She heard Ratchet type various commands into the computer. "It's an Autobot identification beacon," Ratchet breathed in shock.

Nightstalker's gut curdled. ANOTHER Autobot? She could barely endure the six in the room, much less another one!

It wasn't to be helped. Nightstalker heard Optimus state, "Unknown vessel, this is Autobot outpost Omega 1. Identify yourself."

There was a fizz of static and a subtly cocky voice. "I've had warmer welcomes from Decepticon combat brigades," the mech said back with all the careless ease of the world.

"Wheeljack?" Nightstalker jumped when Bulkhead spoke loudly. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. For once she was forgotten back in her corner as everyone's eyes were glued to the screen. "You old 'Con crusher! What are you doing all the way out here?"

The static whistled a moment before his voice came back. "Bulkhead? That you? What's with all the security?"

Bulkhead didn't even glance back at Nightstalker though Cliffjumper did. "The rock we're on is crawling with 'Cons," Bulkhead explained. "How soon can you get here and even the odds?"

"Sometime tomorrow," Wheeljack's voice shrugged. "If I put the metal to the pedal."

"Ha!" Cliffjumper's hard laugh echoed out, but a grin was teasing his mouth. "Wheeljack, if you've gotten that slow, you must be a lot older than I thought!"

"Cliffjumper!" Wheeljack's friendly voice returned. "I'd know that turbo-revving young punk any day! Watch your mouth, Cliff, I'm in the prime of my existence!"

Miko was positively glowing. "Another bot's coming here!" Her wide eyes turned to Bulkhead. "How cool is that?"

"Wheeljack," Nightstalker heard Optimus intone. She fluttered her wings a little and kept her eyes shut, trying to sink through a nonexistent black hole in the floor. "I know of him by reputation only. Can you verify his voiceprint?"

Bulkhead nodded, saying positively, "He is one THOUSAND percent the real deal, Optimus!"

"I can back that," Cliffjumper said, a light in his eyes about seeing an old friend.

Optimus nodded, taking his soldier's word for it. Nightstalker almost opened her eyes. He wasn't even going to run a background check? He was just going to trust him?

"We will send landing coordinates, Wheeljack," Optimus said to the Autobot over the line. "Safe journeys."

"See you soon buddy," Bulkhead said quickly. "I'll make sure you get a proper welcome!"

"And me as well!" Cliffjumper said. "If I'm not mistaken, I owe you an apology-back ride!"

Wheeljack gave one last laugh. "As if you could possibly pick me up! I'll see you two 'Con slaggers soon!"

The connection cut there, and Nightstalker considered this new curve with heavy spark. Another Autobot. Yet another one to judge her by the label on her chest. She squeezed her optics shut tighter. The Decepticon label on her chest nearly burned straight through her metal.

Instead, Nightstalker stiffened hearing that same mocking voice. "How do you do, Nightstalker?" Starscream eagerly mocked her. Nightstalker cringed into herself, wings fluttering restlessly as the mere mention of his voice and the lascivious detail of his next flight. "Missing the sunny days? I must say, today is particularly beautiful, and I'd invite you to join me, but—Oh. Wait. That's right. You can't because you're an Autobot prisoner!" He laughed cruelly into her open communications, and Nightstalker gritted her teeth.

Forcing herself to summon every last bit of courage she held, Nightstalker stood up. Arcee's gun was on her so fast Nightstalker jerked, but uncertainly picked her way across the room, coasting widely around everyone to get to Optimus on the far side. She stopped with plenty of room between them, and stood uncertainly, vocals wound in knots.

Optimus looked down and towered over her with gentle intent. "What is it, Nightstalker?" he asked her. It was the first time she had been directly spoken to in the week she had defected from Decepticon to Autobot.

Nightstalker's lips trembled, but anxiety choked off all words from her mouth. Optimus raised a hand, waving off Arcee's gun. With stiff hesitation, she lowered the weapon, but didn't disengage. However, it was enough to loosen Nightstalker's vocal processor.

"I . . . May I please have . . ." She took a steadying breath hearing Starscream's taunting narrative of the clear blue skies, no clouds in sight—her metal hinged up with desperate longing, and she tried to shake it off. "May I please have a different communication line?" she whispered fast.

Optimus seemed surprised at the request, and even though Nightstalker trembled like mad, she stuttered her explanation in a miniscule voice. "Please . . . I—Starscream—he has tormented me . . . speaking to me . . . and I can't force the line closed . . . It can be a separate line, I do not care, but please . . ."

Optimus's eyes widened in shock. "You mean he has plagued you with threats the whole time we have kept your prisoner?"

Nightstalker nodded uncertainly. What Optimus didn't know was that it was worse.

"Nightstalker, there was no need for you to have endured that," Optimus stated firmly with compassion. "You should have told us sooner. Allow me."

Nightstalker shook uncertainly but allowed his kind hands to touch her audio receptors and rewire her to not her own line, but the line that the Autobots shared. It was startling for him to place such trust in her, but the instant he cut her off from the Decepticon line a nearly weeping gasp emitted from her vocals. Her stiffly perked wings sagged in relief at the merciful silence.

She jumped violently again when Optimus rested his soothing hand on her tiny shoulder, but his grip tightened just enough so she couldn't get away. Nightstalker quaked beneath his touch, a servos that absolutely swallowed her left shoulder.

"Do not fear us, Nightstalker," his tender voice told her. "You will come to no harm here under my watch. If anyone gives you trouble, do not hesitate to speak with me."

He released her then, and Nightstalker all but bolted for her designated corner, shrinking into a ball again. She replayed his words in her mind, catching the challenge he had set out to any of his Autobot troop that dared to question his judgment of letting her stay. Her spark lurched uncertainly. That meant if anyone so much as harassed her, Optimus would make sure it never happened again.

His protectiveness of her surprised her. Nightstalker didn't know what to make of his generosity. Instead she stayed crouched in her corner, watching as they rushed out to help Wheeljack fight some bogeys—which instead they didn't because the ground bridge was still having troubles. By the time Ratchet managed to get Arcee, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee out there, Wheeljack had already finished the five Decepticon seekers.

Instead as they all came back running through the ground bridge, Nightstalker pressed herself more firmly into the wall as she cowered behind and to the left. So far, this white, red, and green newcomer hadn't noticed her yet . . .

Bulkhead wasted no time, gesturing eagerly. "Jackie, come here! Meet my other best buddy, Miko! She can wreck with the best of us!"

Nightstalker's orange optics watched apprehensively as Wheeljack approached the tiny human in front of him. She waved. "Hiya."

He bent over a little, grinning down at her. "You keeping Bulkhead out of trouble?"

"I try," she said as confidently as she could, still a bit self-conscious if he wouldn't like her. "But trouble finds us anyway."

Wheeljack's optics warmed as he looked down on her. "We're gonna get along just fine." He turned around hearing Optimus's heavy steps, and he nodded. "Optimus Prime," he stated. "It's a privilege."

A smile tugged slightly at Optimus's lips. "Likewise, soldier. What have you to report from your long journey?"

Nightstalker was holding her breath, terrified of the bot turning around and seeing her with her Decepticon logo. She hitched her knees up to cover her chest, feeling like it was a beacon to condemn her.

"Been bouncing from rock to rock," he said nonchalantly. "Searching for signs of friend or foe. Now, I find both."

Optimus gave a grave nod. "We are few, but strong. We have suffered losses, but we have grown." He hesitated, eyes touching Nightstalker. "However, I must notify you, we have recently gained a companion defected from Decepticon ranks. Given the circumstances, she is extremely timid, and I hope not to cause her any more discomfort than needed as she begins to mesh into our troop."

Wheeljack looked over his shoulder, and serious blue optics collided with Nightstalker. Her spark jumped hard—those eyes knew her, somehow. At least, they had heard of her well enough, and they were distrustful.

However, he just turned back to Optimus with a nod. "Duly noted."

Still, Optimus's face relaxed into a smile. "And we would relish welcoming a new member into our fold."

"I would be honored," Wheeljack said humbly.

However, Bulkhead broke the pleasantries with, "Then let's get this party started!" He slapped Wheeljack so roughly on the shoulder that it cowed the bot at the waist. Wheeljack grinned mischievously and they both jumped into each other's chests with a chest bump.

Still, Nightstalker didn't move as the festivities started. After fetching some of the broken ceiling from the back, Bulkhead and Wheeljack immediately started in on a game of lob, and Miko eagerly hooked up her guitar to serenade them with speed metal. Nightstalker watched from the side, curled up in a ball as far away from them all as possible. Arcee didn't take part either, but watched idly while sending cutting glances to Nightstalker. Optimus retreated for a drive when she wasn't looking—Primes obviously didn't party.

"C'mon, Jackie. Show me what you've got!"

With a deep grunt, Wheeljack threw the metal ball as hard as he could. It slammed into Bulkhead who caught it, laughing, "Nice lob!"

He threw it back, managing to make Wheeljack skid back on the flooring as well. Cliffjumper stood with his hand on his hip, eyes narrowed as he watched them having fun. "Man, just you wait until Ratchet gets my hand fixed," he threatened lightly, restlessly shifting from foot to foot. "You guys wouldn't stand a chance against me in a game of lob!"

Bulkhead laughed heartily, interrupted by a grunt when he caught another pitch. "I know you're eager and all, Cliff," he said to the smaller mech, "but I doubt a mech your size could handle a lob from one of us!" He wound up and chucked the metal ball back at Wheeljack.

Cliffjumper let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. "Just you wait, Bulkhead—you're gonna regret those words when I put your aft on the ground!"

Wheeljack chuckled at his enthusiasm, flinging the ball back at Bulkhead. "I bet he could do it too, Bulkhead. By the way, Cliff, what did happen to your hand?"

Nightstalker looked up at Cliffjumper then, orange optics full of guilt and fear touching him. The ball passed between them twice before he finally took his eyes off her with a shrug, saying, "Just a friendly visit from the torturer."

Wheeljack threw the ball back to Bulkhead as his eyes took in the discolored mech with a bit more respect than before. "Really? That must have been a nasty encounter. How you holding up?"

His blue optics flicked uncertainly to Nightstalker and back. "Better than expected," he finally said, watching them try to best each other in the lobbing contest.

Nightstalker shrank guiltily into herself, especially when Cliffjumper didn't let on to the newcomer that it had been her who had tortured him. Nightstalker watched as the next lob Bulkhead threw at Wheeljack literally left the mech stumbling backwards.

"C'mon, Raf!" Miko urged the hesitant boy. "Show us some moves!"

"Oh . . . all right," he gave in easily. He stood up, and Nightstalker watched as he began to do a certain dance, and it took her mind a moment to register that it was the robot. She rolled her eyes—how novel.

Bumblebee jumped up seeing his young human dancing, and he began to mimic the movements. Cliffjumper's bored eyes alighted at the sight of them, and he declared, "Hey, now THIS is something I can do!" Cliffjumper quickly moved next to Bumblebee, following Raf's motions as well with a barking laugh. Nightstalker watched the three of them dancing together, feeling a little bit of lighter spark for once. They were cute as they danced together, and the more time Nightstalker spent out in the open watching the humans, the more she knew she had made the right decision in defecting to Autobot. She liked them all, and the family-oriented environment was refreshing—even if she wasn't included in it.

"Coming at ya!" Bulkhead shouted back at Wheeljack. He wound up and chucked the ball hard, the lob flying through the air at blinding speed. Nightstalker jumped slightly when the ball slipped between Wheeljack's fingers, crashed into the wall, and then proceeded to fall on the ground bridge control, completely knocking out Ratchet's hard work on it.

"You know?" he snarled, a bit more than put off. "I AM attempting to perform sensitive calibrations here!"

Nightstalker watched Wheeljack retrieve the ball, striking up a brief conversation with Ratchet. She returned her eyes to Cliffjumper and Bumblebee who were laughing with Raf as they danced the robot, Miko striking up another song—even if it wasn't Nightstalker's choice of music, the girl was exceptionally talented in playing her guitar.

Wheeljack and Bulkhead returned to playing their game of lob, Arcee keeping a steadfast watch on Nightstalker and Jack opting to simply watch the festivities as well. Nightstalker cut her eyes towards Ratchet who was working hard to repair the ground bridge, and she hesitated to interrupt him. Should she? The ball falling had really seemed to set an edge to his mood . . . But she assumed now was as good a time as any.

Nightstalker rose uncertainly to her feet, wings fluttering anxiously for what she was about to do and fluttering with yearning for the skies just outside of the base. She approached Ratchet hesitantly.

"Um . . . Ratchet?"

His eyes flicked from his work barely an instant at her. "What is it?"

His brusque tone intimidated her. Nightstalker shrank, hands crossing across her front protectively and wings twitching. "I . . . Um . . . I—I—I just . . . um . . ."

An irritated sigh vented from Ratchet's body. "Speak up, I haven't got all day."

Nightstalker ducked her head again. Finally, she whispered, "Thanks . . . for saving Cliffjumper . . ."

Ratchet paused then, looking up at her with a flabbergasted expression, but Nightstalker didn't stick around him any longer than she had to. Instead, she darted back to her solitary spot, hunkered down in a ball, and watched everyone having fun.