Anyone know how I can fix my chapter headings? I am really off a bit; "Interlude" scrambled it a bit, but I've skipped 18 completely or was it 17...ahhhhhh...I am really confusing myself. Maybe I'll name the chapters from here on in. Rats...more to think up.

Been spending more time reading others stroies. Some great work out there!

I hope you enjoy this little jaunt.

Chapter 19

Wishing she had applied slightly more power behind the "playful" jab in the arm that she had given the obdurate advisor, Spindle motored down the ramp of Primes C-17 and around to the cargo opening of the other. She stopped at its base and stared at the cargo tethered to the floor. Her spark sunk.

There they were, the Autobots; tied down like common freight. She cut her engine and walked up the ramp in silence, the face of her hologram twisting in anger, fear and pain. She walked past the first pallet holding Jolt, Sideswipe and the femmes and stopped in front of the second occupied by Ratchet and Ironhide. She seemed to crumble in on herself and she pushed the bike towards the center of the plane, behind the pallets.

"Excuse me ma'am. This is a military flight…Oh...it's you." A slim, British sounding soldier informed her. She looked up into a familiar face.

"Oh, Sgt Billings…sorry. It's nice to see you. I seem to spring up on you, don't I?" She smiled sadly, her voice trembling slightly.

"This is such a bloody shame. Treating them like this; a damn bloody shame."

She could only nod her head. After an uncomfortable moment, she looked around tentatively, and then softly spoke, "This area clear of outsiders?"

Thom Billings lowered his head, glances sideways and spoke, "Yes ma'am, they just left."

"Good." She replied immediately and the hologram disappeared, leaving in its wake a shiny red Aprilla 500ie. It began to unfold into a bi-pedal form which was quickly covered with nanites presenting a reasonable facsimile of a clothed human body. The very same image that had confronted him on the beach at Diego Garcia.

"If they come back or ask, you've just stowed my bike and I'm here to…ah…examine these creatures here." She hastily informed him, her face downcast, almost teary-eyed

Thom cocked his head in curiosity, his brows knit in apprehension. He remembered his first meeting with her on the beach so many months ago. She seemed very self-confident, almost arrogant. But the figure standing in front of him now seemed smaller, quieter, unsure, frightened.

"No problem ma'am." He ventured to put a soothing hand on her shoulder; she did not try to remove it. "We take care of our own in NEST." Spindle looked up and smiled weakly.

The sound of the cargo door closing surprised them both. Take-off was imminent.

"Ma'am, we need to take our seats. I can get you a seat up front if you'd like."

"No, thank-you, I'm fine…I…I'm fine, thank-you. I…ah… need to…ah…do you have any coffee?"

Thom smiled, "Yes ma'am! I just purchased a new percolator, I'm eager to try her out before I get back to base." He leaned in conspiratorially, "It's for Marie. Her birthday's soon. Said she preferred coffee from a perc. Hope she likes it."

It was Spindles turn to look askance, but a quick review of her memory files brought up a name, Marie Peters. She frowned. "Has she forgiven me for the dump truck reference?"

Thomas Billings laughed, a hardy, joyous sound, his entire body shaking with mirth.

"Oh quite! She seems to think it is actually a help when she's tempted with an extra desert or two." And he disappeared around the partition and into a makeshift galley.

Spindle chuckled softly to herself as she watched he leave.

*"Ratchet…Ironhide, Mia?* she commed. There was silence.

Spindle leaned back on the curved inside walls of the giant air transport and slowly slide to the floor. Taking the glasses from her face and absorbing into the nanite structure she buried her head in her hands and gave leave to the sobs that she had held in check since arriving.

Memories…memories…memories came flooding out of file after file, from the dark places of her processor. Memories from files buried so deep they'd have inch-thick layers of dust on them if they were human paper files. Images flowed one into another over her visual scanner, images taking shape, and disappearing as another took its place. Flashes of the past; the face plates of friends, some long gone; her archeological discoveries, the night sky above Cybertron, buildings, classrooms, people…always people…inhabiting every corner of her processors optic.

And then came the Cube, it shown like a beacon, piercing the empty darkness of space. In that light was a face she thought never to see again…her sparkling…her one love, her joy, her reason for living…Sunstar. At the thought of his name she doubled over in pain as her spark increased its pulsing and her fluid pressure rose. She wrapped her empty arms around her knees and rested her head, the sobbing long since ended and only quiet misery remained; a constant and unrelenting companion.

.

"Spindle, I am here." Ratchets voice was calm and soothing.

She stood slowly, coming forward to his vehicle form and placed both hands on the hood.

"Ratchet…I'm…I'm so sorry. I…I can't process anything. I've lost so…I…I'm so angry. It hurts Ratchet, it hurts so much." She stood, her form sagging under the weight of years of sorrow, animosity and impossible spark-break.

"How long has it been since you refueled?" he asked.

"I charged a little on the plane coming over, but nothing since then." she replied.

"I thought so. There are times I don't know why I bother trying to keep all of you alive, especially when you refuse to take care of yourselves." Ratchet grumbled and the hood vibrated a bit with the sound of his displeasure.

"Here," his voice an exasperated sigh and Spindle heard the sound of the passenger window begin to lower, "Drink both of these." Inside the cab the door to the glove compartment slide open and two cylinders of energon slid out from the recess.

Without thinking, Spindle grabbed on to the netting that covered him and pulled herself up and onto the hood. She then scooted herself over to the other side, leaned around the window pillar and grasped the first cylinder.

Oh, the feeling of fresh energon sliding down a parched throat; it was exquisite, it was satisfying…it was…empty. She leaned in again, placing the empty on the compartment door and picked up the second. This one she drank slowly, relishing it almost as much as a fine bottle of Macadam's finest. When that was finished, she returned it to the compartment, and the door flipped shut.

"Thank-you," she sighed as she settled back on the medic's windshield.

"Please don't scratch the paint, I don't think I'll be able to resurface myself any time soon." He groused.

"Now you sound like Sunstreaker." She mused and patted the hood softly, a slow, ragged sigh escaping into the cargo hold.

She turned to face the windshield of the transformed Autobot medic. Her hand made tentative contact with the pseudo-glass; it trembled as it came in contact with the warm surface.

"I...Ratchet I'm…sor...I'm sorry. I am so very sorry Please forgive me. I…I…don't know what to do. I'm…please forgive me, I'm a fool. You never turned away from me. You never gave up on me. Stupid, stupid femme.

"Not stupid…angry, frightened, grieving…but not stupid, and you're exhausted…you nearly experienced another spark-flare. And…I forgive you. I have never stopped blaming myself for the misery you went through…or your loss." He answered, his voice filled with the weight of sorrow.

"I have so many amends to make. So many apologies…I'm" her processor blanked for a nano-second and she felt her appendages grow heavy.

"Ohhhh, what did you put in those?' her voice already slurring.

"A short line of code that will allow you to relax and recharge. Find a place to lie down and get some rest." The physician voice now filling her dimming audio pick-up.

"Already did" she smiled and she leaned back onto the windshield and stretched her legs across the hood. Then turning on her side, she hooked her left hand under the netting that covered the Autobot medic and curled up on his hood and windshield like a sparkling on its creator's chest plates.

"Spindle…not there…find anoth…"

"You're…rrrerrr…real-lily…berry…ah…comferbul…" and Spindle slipped into recharge without a care in the world.

"Aw slag."

Sgt Billings came around the corner from the galley, a steaming cup of hot coffee in his hand. He looked up and saw Spindle curled up on Ratchet's bonnet; or hood as they say in the States. Smiling to himself, he turned around, deposited the cup on a counter and rummaged around an upper shelf. Finding what he wanted he returned to the cargo bay and walked over to the sleeping form.

"I guess it was a long day." He whispered quietly and covered Spindle with the blanket he was carrying. Whether or not it made a difference to the human-formed robot didn't matter to him. It simply felt right. These people had risked their lives so many times for the human race; tucking a blanket around one of their own was such a small offering.

Spindle stirred slightly, "Thank-you, ess niccccce." She whispered and returned to her rest.

"No problem." He whispered back. As he returned to the front of the plane, he stopped by the light control box and dimmed the lights in the bay.

"Pleasant dreams." He thought, "You will need them."