The cold winds of the morning blew salty water like tears on his hood. His tires crunched over the concrete as he slowly drove himself up to the shipping depot before the sunrise. He came to rest in the same place he had fallen when he had watched Bulkhead die.

His engines dimmed and idled. He released a heavy breath. The water lapped happily at the edge of the shipping depot, mocking Wheeljack's weakness. The soft glow of the sunrise began to kiss the blackened skies.

"Hey, Bulk?" he said softly. "I'm sorry. I . . ." The words choked in his articulators. "Yeah . . . I know it doesn't mean much now that I've already gotten you killed, but I thought you might like to hear it." He shifted uncomfortably on his pistons. "It's not like you were the one to carry grudges anyways. You always felt too bad. Said it made you feel sick." He sank on his suspension. "That's what I am, isn't it? Sick. I'm just a sick, wretched bastard. It's even worse that I still want revenge even after I know where it led me. What happened to you. What almost happened to Spin and Miko . . ."

A shaky vent cycled out of him as the sun began to peek its head over the horizon, a little sliver of light. "I don't know what to do anymore, Bulkhead. Everything's messed up. I'm just hurting everyone I love. But it's too late to let go of it now. I've sank my life into this. I can't just turn my back—and I certainly can't just . . . I—Bulk, I—"

The words tangled and stopped again. Wheeljack's alt mode lurched forward a little until his nose jutted over the edge, tempting the water to bring him down as he felt the droplets splash up.

"I don't know how long I can deal with this. All this hatred in my spark. I don't know where to put it. I just . . . don't know how long I can stand the pain, the fear . . ."

Another shudder wreaked through him. How long am I going to play this game of Dreadwing's? If . . . Arcee was right . . . I'm doing exactly what he wants. His tires began to slip off the edge of the dock. "I don't know whether to fight or walk away . . ."

With that soft confession, Wheeljack caught himself and pulled backwards some, getting himself on solid land again. After a moment, he couldn't stand being confined in his alt mode, and he transformed up, kneeling, looking down at the waters. His lips quavered.

"Look," he rasped softly, "I'm sorry. I—I know I'm a fragging miss-clock. And everything—everything that's happened is on me. If I hadn't gone out for revenge, you'd still be here. If I hadn't gone out for revenge, I would have never gotten myself or Miko hurt." He winced as he said that. "Yeah, I know . . . It was stupid. I shouldn't have taken her, but I just . . . You didn't see her eyes, Bulkhead . . . You would have caved too."

His emotional whisper tapered off, and his winglets perked. He shivered and shook his head. "She killed Hardshell, Bulk." He shook his head, thickness overtaking his vocalizer. "She—I'm sorry, Bulk, I didn't mean to . . . to corrupt her innocence like that. I was just trying to protect her, I didn't mean for her to have to . . . hurt herself . . . in order to protect us all." He shook his head, kneeling at the waterside as the sun slowly freed itself from the covers of night and began to stretch up into the sky. Color slowly began to spread.

He gave a bitter laugh. "I've really screwed up everything, haven't I? Got you killed because I couldn't let go of what happened to Seaspray. Defiled Miko's innocence because she had to kill to save me. Nearly killed Topspin with my own grenade . . ." He shook his head. "Arcee was right. Revenge does just backfire. But for all I know now, I still want to kill Dreadwing. Heh, isn't that weak of me?"

Wheeljack dropped his helm, looking down at the grenade he carried on his hip. One grenade, one life. How long ago had he promised that? Too long. He almost didn't know what it meant anymore. A shudder passed through his systems, and he shook his head, pressing a hand to his aching chassis.

He strained. "It hurts, Bulkhead. By the Pit, it hurts so much . . ."

He bowed his head, resting leaning forward on one hand and the other clutching his breaking spark. With the full weight of the revelations hitting him, he was almost certain he had torn open that spark break again, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. He just squeezed his optics shut and trembled, waiting for the wave of pain to abate.

The sun still hung low over the horizon, its glow just touching the edge. With a great effort, Wheeljack lifted his guilty helm and looked over the waters again. He swallowed.

"Hey, Bulk? I'm scared." He gave another weak, flat laugh. "Yeah, me scared. It's been a while since I admitted that, eh?" He shook his head. "I'm terrified out of my processor. I . . . can't face them again. Arcee. Miko. Arcee, because she's right. Primus, she's so right . . . And I hurt her. Real bad, too. It's . . . gonna be hard trying to own up to that, all of my mistakes . . ."

He cursed softly to himself, kneading a hand behind his neck. "Bulk? I owe all these folks too much. I—I can't repay all I owe them. I'm in so much debt my ledger's bleeding red. Optimus, for putting up with me, telling me everything I needed to know and hear and disciplining me like a sparkling even though I never listened. Ratchet, for the countless times he's saved my skin. Arcee, for teaching me the true wisdom of why revenge has just ruined me, and never giving up her faith in me. And Miko, for . . . somehow loving me even with all of my imperfections." He sucked in a vent, body trembling. "And what have I done for them?

"Nothing.

"All I've done is make things difficult."

There was another long pause in the one-sided conversation as the sun started to rise higher. He felt another call from Miko, but ignored it again. He clenched his jaw, shivering.

"I'm terrified. I can't face her again. I can't face her and tell her that I was the one that killed you. Because I was selfish and wanted revenge—I can't tell her that it was me that got you killed." His hands tightened into fists, and he shook his head, gritting out, "Pit, Bulk, I can't do it! I can't—But I know I can't keep that a secret. It's too big, she'd find out anyways. But I just . . . can't bear to look her in the eyes and tell her that I was the one that killed her best friend, the father she never had."

His whisper broke. He blinked back the tears and gave a pathetic laugh. "A-And Bulk, I'm a poor replacement for what you were to her. I can't do the things you did. It's still not enough. I didn't just kill you, I killed a part of her. And the thought of that just consumes me. It breaks my spark. I'd die a thousand cruel deaths to bring you back, buddy. And then some more on top of that. I just—

"If I tell her this . . ." A shudder ran through his body. Wheeljack dropped his helm, optics dancing in fear as he looked at the ground.

"Bulkhead, I couldn't bear the look in her eyes. I couldn't bear seeing the one girl I love more than anything in this world hate me."

Wheeljack sat there in quiet for some time, shivering and winglets perked from the stress. He took steady in cycles to steady his agonizing spark, so eaten up with guilt he couldn't even face the ones he cared about most.

"If she hates you after that, she never really loved you."

Wheeljack jerked, starting as he heard a voice, instinctively thinking it was Bulkhead just because he had been talking to him. Instead, he looked over to see a human at the far edge of the dock next to a red pickup truck, tall, lanky, tanned and old.

Wheeljack just blinked at him for a moment, realizing that he had broken protocol again by letting a human see him. They stared at each other, the human with a startling amount of nonchalance as he leaned against his battered truck as old and weathered as himself. He thought that he would have AT LEAST heard a noisy old clunker like that drive up, but he guessed it must have somehow passed him by. Finally, Wheeljack managed,

"How long have you been standing there?"

The man shrugged a bony shoulder. "Long enough."

Wheeljack vented sharply, pinching his brow. He hadn't banked on spilling his guts to another human besides Mrs. Davis—deliberately OR inadvertently.

"Look, soldier," the man said with that country-twanging accent of his. Wheeljack looked up, noting immediately that the man had pegged him as a solider—he must have been one at some point in his life too. "Hold them when they're here, love them when they're gone. Not much more you can do but keep living each day."

Wheeljack shook his head. He lifted his head, looking out over the waters. "Right," he said gruffly. "But how am I supposed to right a wrong?"

"You can't if it's already been done." The man reached in his shirt pocket, pulling out a match and a cigarette. He struck the match on the bottom of his boot and lit the cigar. He waved the flame away and tossed the match on the ground. He took several puffs to light it to his liking. The smoke swirled around him, adding to the mystic that shrouded him. "You make mistakes. You learn from them. You move on."

Wheeljack rumbled slightly. "I don't want to forget."

"I didn't say that." Even though they were a good distance away from each other, the man didn't walk forward and Wheeljack didn't move towards him. It wasn't out of fear—the man was completely at ease. Maybe it was just because it was so quiet on that shipping depot that they didn't feel the need to raise their voices. "I said you move on. You never stop remembering."

The former Wrecker just let out a conflicted vent of air, passing a hand over his helm. He made it sound so simple.

"And if she's truly your loving little girl, it won't affect her love for you. If anything, it'll just make her love you more."

Wheeljack looked up. Steel brown eyes blinked at him inside a face wreathed in coarse wrinkles. Wheeljack grunted.

"How old are you, chief?"

"72 and still kicking."

Wheeljack gave him a slight smirk. "I've lived for millennia, chief, and I daresay you're a helluva lot more wise than I've ever gotten."

The human puffed in and blew a lazy smoke ring. "Guess we humans got a little something after all."

He gave a raspy laugh, and a fleeting, rueful smile touched Wheeljack's mouth plates before it fell away. Really, the difference, he thought, was that their race just was much more obstinate than the humans. Cybertronians could easily hold a grudge for ten of a human's lifetimes. Wheeljack glanced over at the mysterious human, blue optics squinting at him. The smoke around him and his standing in the shadows seemed to make his figure fade in and out of existence, as intangible as a wraith.

"Who are you?"

The old man just chewed on the edge of his cigarette. "Just doing my job," he said ambiguously. He turned, opening the door of the truck that squeaked rather painfully on Wheeljack's audio receptors.

Wheeljack frowned. "I'm pretty sure your job's not to be going around fixing broken sparks."

The human didn't respond, but went ahead and started up the rickety pickup that sputtered and coughed, blowing out billows of black smoke through its exhaust pipe as its engine growled to life loudly. Wheeljack transformed back down before any others saw him, and he cut off the truck before the man could leave.

"You can't tell anyone about me, chief."

He flicked some ash out the window before grunting. "Sure thing. Besides, it ain't like you're going to ever see me again."

If he had been in his bipedal mode still, Wheeljack would have smirked. "Hey, you never know."

The old man just grunted again. "Trust me. I know . . ."

With that, the old man swerved his little pickup truck around him and went down the docks. Wheeljack watched him go a moment, popping and rumbling engine trailing smoke all the way, and he scoffed at himself—HOW had the human managed to sneak up on him in a noisy thing like that?

Wheeljack headed off in the other direction, but he barely got anywhere before he realized he hadn't even told the man thanks for bolstering his courage. Wheeljack turned around, and he gunned it to the only left-hand turn the man would have had to make, calling out, "Hey! Chief!"

He whirled around the corner, shouting, "Hey chief, tha—"

The word died in his articulators. There wasn't a soul in sight. He didn't hear the noisy engine popping, he didn't see the smoke pouring from the truck's exhaust pipe, he didn't even SEE the truck even though this was the only way he could have possibly gone. Wheeljack frowned to himself at the almost supernatural disappearance of the old man, slowly turning himself around to go back to Jasper to pick Miko up and take her to the base.

What a strange little bit of events.

"Why were you ignoring my phone calls?"

She didn't really say it accusingly—more . . . concerned. Wheeljack tightened his seatbelt around her, waving her off.

"Just had a lot on my processor, that's all. Needed some time to think."

She was plucking a melancholy sounding song on her guitar as they drove out on the barren highway towards the base. After a moment, he said, "New song?"

She nodded, little pink pigtails bobbing. "Yeah . . . I don't know it all yet though."

Wheeljack gave a noncommittal noise. After a pause, he asked, "Can I talk to you about something serious?"

Miko blinked and looked up, but then, nodded a little hesitatingly. "Okay." When he veered off the road, Miko stopped playing and looked up, sitting up. "Where we going?"

"I just thought it would be better to talk face to face," Wheeljack explained. Miko just grunted in response, and Wheeljack drove out over the sands, the days of March already heating to hot temperatures.

When they were a safe distance away, Wheeljack let Miko out and transformed up, kneeling in front of her. She looked up, squinting past the sun at him. "So?"

Wheeljack rested his arm on his bent knee, venting softly. "Miko, you killed Hardshell."

She shifted. "Yeah?"

He bent over a little to get a better look at her, resting his weight on his knuckles. "How you feeling, Babe?"

Her brows puckered, and she dropped her head. "Well, I dunno. Fine, I guess."

Wheeljack grumbled slightly, and frustration rose in him at her lack of emotional response. But, wouldn't it be better if she wasn't feeling anything over it? The regret? The fear? He was worried that she felt no shame over the kill but . . . he was also glad it wasn't hurting her so much.

"Miko," he finally said, "when I made my first kill, it haunted me." He vented, rocking back on his suspension. "He was a 'Con. Didn't know the mech, didn't know anything about him. But . . . I can still see his face. He had a split over his left optic, and the energon leaked down his cheek and in his optic, pinching his face when he squinted. He was terrified. I was that close, that personal with him, like I could read his entire life in his eyes." Wheeljack shook his head, looking away. "It was a clumsy attack by me. I came in on the wrong angle, and I couldn't get my blade in deep enough to offline him. I had to pin him down, shove as hard as I could to get it in deep enough, feel his energon on me, feel his struggle."

Wheeljack paused. He shook his head and looked back up to Miko. "Granted, you're first kill wasn't that traumatic. Just a blast and he was gone. You didn't even see his body. But still, killing . . . it isn't something to be taken lightly. When you kill someone else, it's like . . . killing a part of yourself. You're humanity, y'know? So I just . . . wanted to make sure you were all right."

Miko gave another little shrug, shuffling her feet a little. "Well, I mean . . . I feel fine, Jackie. I'm all right." She gave a weak laugh. "He was just a bug anyways. A really big, metal, overgrown one."

Wheeljack frowned. "Miko? Y'know what that's called?"

"What?"

"Objectifying the enemy." At her puzzled face, Wheeljack gave a slight shrug. "That's what the psychologists and scrap call it. You take away the sentience of the bot and just think of him as a thing, so it's easier to kill him. Like Hardshell—he's an Insecticon, so he has the shape of a bug, and you're used to killing bugs cause they don't think. So you thought of Hardshell in the same way so it wouldn't bother you. The only difference is it took a lot bigger shoe to squish him."

Their lips twitched a moment at the small joke, but Miko's smile faded as she looked back at the ground. Finally, after a moment, she stubbed a toe through the sand, muttering, "Well . . . I guess . . . But, he really was just a bug. I didn't hear him talk or anything . . . I mean, I know I'm supposed to not kill! And I'm supposed to feel bad, I just . . . don't. I mean . . . He was going to hurt you. So I had to stop him. And he really was just a bug . . ."

Wheeljack grunted, reaching over and chucking her chin gently. "All right then. I just wanted to be sure, y'know? Didn't want you as messed up as I got over it."

Miko nodded. She looked up, brows pinched as she asked, "Wheeljack? How did you deal with it?"

He cycled a slow vent out, sighing as he rubbed a hand over his face. "Well . . . You just kinda learned to deal with it. It was either you shot, or get shot. Eventually, it almost became instinct to pull the trigger, and you just didn't think about it." He paused, shaking his head. "Either way, these were guys that were going to slaughter you out of hatred and without any mercy because the majority of the Decepticons were the mechs that had come from the gladiator pits. They didn't have a sense of morals at that point." He snorted a bitter laugh, muttering, "Sometimes I think the Autobots were the cause of the war . . ."

Miko looked up at him in surprise. "What do you mean? I thought Megatron started the war!"

Wheeljack vented a sigh, leaning up and stretching his neck. "He did. But when you think about it, it wasn't for horrible reasons. He was a gladiator—he didn't want to be one. He wanted to be an equal. Heard he had a tongue like silver." Wheeljack shook his head. "I'm not saying that the Autobots were the cause of the war, sides weren't named until after it started, but . . . The high class. For leaving the lower classes to rot and die in the gladiator pits. Or, more directly, the council. Never was a fan of politics. Always thought they were corrupt. And they always refused to change things. Even with the minor skirmishes of uprising, they turned a blind optic to the problems beneath the surface."

Wheeljack shifted, giving a small laugh of disbelief. "It was no wonder the 'Cons started the war. I can't think about living my life as a slave or a gladiator, just kill after kill to keep myself alive, and for what? To kill again. For entertainment." His optics darkened a shade. "And the council refused them rights. So it was plain that they should just rise up. Sure, we had the Elite Guard, but no one else of the high class really knew how to fight. Civilians. The gladiators far outnumbered security and the Elite Guard, so they easily overpowered us. We had to teach bots from scratch—the 'Cons were already masterminds of the art of killing without having to deal with the morals we Autobots had. So many people were slaughtered so easily, just like the 'Cons had anticipated with that shrewd Soundwave on their side."

A pregnant silence settled between them.

"Jackie?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever thought about being on the 'Con side?"

"Once or twice."

She paused uncomfortably at his truthful answer. "Well, I'm glad you didn't."

Wheeljack grinned affectionately at her, chucking her chin again to hide the unrest he felt at the question. "Thought about it until I realized that they're all sniveling cowards and murderers."

They laughed softly together for a moment before Miko shifted. "Hey, Jackie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we go see Bulkhead's grave?"

His spark deflated. "Sure thing, Babe."

He transformed down, limbs falling and compacting into place, and locking down as he opened his door for Miko. She climbed in, and he drove off, saying, "Y'know, Babe? I just came from there."

Her brows arched when she reached into the backseat for her guitar. "Really?"

"Yeah. Lemme tell you a weird story about what happened . . ."

He detailed his experience with the strange old man, leading to a deep discussion on how he could have disappeared so quickly. The man turned from a ghost, to an angel, to a demon, to a superhero and a super villain, to an experiment, and finally to a spy of the Decepticons ground bridged away and taking his Cybertronian partner with him.

In short, they ended up roaring with laughter and the ride was short until they arrived at the shipping depot. Wheeljack drove in, utilizing a hologram for cover from the workers, but it wasn't long before they were stopped by a man. He came up, and Wheeljack rolled down the window.

"This is a working zone. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave the premises."

Wheeljack jerked a thumb to Miko. "My daughter and I lost a good friend out this way. We just wanted to visit where he died and pay our respects."

That gave the man pause. He frowned, reaching up to mop a sweating brow before saying, "Let me ask the foreman." A short exchange later, and he nodded. "Go ahead. He just says not to stay too long."

Wheeljack nodded. "Appreciated."

He drove carefully through the shipping depot, avoiding the workers and machines as they worked, and he brought his wheels to a stop at the edge of the quay where Bulkhead had died.

They sat for a moment, not saying anything. Miko's hand tightened until her knuckles bleached white against the neck of her guitar. She opened his door, stepping out, and she climbed up on Wheeljack's hood, holding her guitar tightly in her knuckles. Wheeljack rolled down the windows, a little uncomfortably hot with the sun beating down on them. After a minute or two, she whispered, "Hi, Bulk."

There was a pause, before she gave a little laugh. "You're missing out on a lot. Jackie's taking real good care of me, I promise. Sometimes, I wonder if I'd even be here without him, so . . . It's all good. My music library's expanded. I'm getting into heavy metal as well as speed. I like the ballads too." The sounds of the workers around them and their machinery overtook her voice for a second as she stopped. She wiggled her toes. "Um, I adopted a cat. He was getting mauled by a coyote, so I kicked the mutt right in the teeth! And um, I named him after you, if that's all right. I don't think you'd mind. You'd like him. He's warm and fluffy and likes to cuddle. He's really sweet. Sometimes I think he could even get under Ratchet's armor.

"Topspin and Twin Twist are here. Yeah, they really came. But . . . Um, we got into some trouble. We were looking for these Iacon artifacts, and Twist was shot in the back by Hardshell. He's alive, though. I bet he's going to wake up any day now. Even though Spin and Ratch fight worse than me and Jack."

Wheeljack's hologram leaned back in his seat. He rested an arm on the door, leaning, letting his hand tangle in his hair. Miko gave a little shrug, saying, "I killed him—Hardshell, I mean. It's okay. Wheeljack's already talked to me about it. I'm good." She paused. She pulled nervously on her ponytail. "Well, Jack and I are dating. Can you believe that?" She shook her head snorting softly to herself.

"Actually, he's taking me to prom." Her fingers patted the top of Wheeljack's hood, letting him know as well that this message was for him. Swallowing his embroiled emotions, Wheeljack looked up to where she had her back to him, looking out over the waters. "Yeah. It's weird, I guess . . . but I kinda like it. Even weirder. I asked him why he asked me so early—it's only March, you know, he had over a month—and he just said that he wanted to make sure none of the other guys got to me first."

A sad smile tipped Wheeljack's lips. Sly dog. That was a good move with a good line. The only thing that gave the situation a melancholy feel was who she was talking to. Miko gave another little shrug. "So yeah. There's that too. That's the most of it. Oh, and um . . . I'm not worried about my dad anymore. Jackie helped me realize that . . . that he was all the father I needed." Her head dipped. "You too," she rasped. "I'll never forget you."

An uneven shudder filtered through the Lancia. He turned his face away from her, looking out over the quay, watching the machinery at work.

Miko shifted on him, saying suddenly, "Dreadwing's still alive. I— . . . I don't know. I thought I wanted to get revenge. But now I'm not so sure. Now . . . I really don't think I do. Wheeljack's come too close to dying for it every time, and I don't want that anymore. I just . . . want us to be safe."

She passed her hands nervously over her guitar. "Um . . . I guess I wouldn't be sad if Dreadwing DID die somehow. I don't care who kills him at this point. I just want him dead. That way he can't hurt us anymore." A suspicious sniff, and, "I have a song for you. It's—it's our song; yours, mine, and Jackie's. Cause Dreadwing broke us up, broke us apart, broke our sparks. So, um . . . I wanted to play it for you. Okay?"

Agony pulsed through his spark. The melody was extremely faint since she wasn't hooked to an amp, but he could hear it from being so close to her, and he felt his hatred melt away to despair. Would he ever NOT cry when he heard this song? He didn't think so. His hologram buried both hands into his hair, clenching and tangling, resting his elbows on the steering wheel as he bowed his head, his turmoil destroying him from the inside out.

Primus . . . take it all away . . . please . . .

His spark was shattering. He could feel it breaking again, splitting down the center, knifing with razor-blade sharpness a path into the darkest and most mutilated crevices of his soul.

Murderer.

Hearing Miko singing her heart out to Bulkhead, voice ravaged with tears, Wheeljack felt that shameful guilt burn like dry ice. The hologram's palms pressed against his eyes, wetness seeping out. A faint tremble shook through the Lancia as he struggled to hold back his tears.

I can't . . . I can't tell her, Primus, I can't . . . She'll hate me! And I'm not about to lose the one thing I care about most! I can't do it! I can't! I won't!

As Miko sang on, Wheeljack fell further into his disgust, his regret, the loathing, the rage that tormented his spark and drew weeping trenches into him. He knew Ratchet—and Topspin—would both be beyond themselves if they knew he had torn his spark fracture open again. But he couldn't stop it. He couldn't stem the torrent of shame and guilt and misery that crashed over him until he felt so sick he couldn't breathe.

Please, Primus please, take it away . . . please, take it all away . . . I can't bear it . . .

The burning coals heaped upon his head when Miko sang the final choruses of the song. The tears that dripped on his hood burned through him like acid. The dejected emotions didn't abate, but rather, they rose in force, beating him down, condemning him. They trapped him inside his own torturous prison, leaving him weak and wretched.

Take it all away . . . Take it away . . . please . . .

Miko sniffled after she finished the song, scrubbing her eyes. Wheeljack tried to cycle in deep breaths to calm himself, but he honestly found himself calmer by the touch of Miko's fingers on his hood. They sat together quietly for a moment before Miko whispered, "Jackie?"

Something about her tone of voice slashed through the darkness pressing down on him. He looked up, hearing something pleading in her voice, and his hologram stepped out of the car, coming around to sit on the hood with her.

"Yeah? What is it?"

She sat her guitar down, twiddling her thumbs for a moment. "Jackie . . . Starting from now, can we make a promise?"

His brows puckered. "Sure, Babe. What is it?"

She bunched her legs up and looked up at his hologram. "Let's . . . let's just be honest. Can you just promise me that . . . no matter what happens . . . We'll always be there for each other? Like . . . Promise me, that no matter how long you live, you'll always remember me."

His throat worked. His hologram moved closer until he was a hairsbreadth away, so close he shimmered. "I promise, Miko. I'll always remember you, no matter what."

She bit her lip. Hot tears beaded in her eyes as she shook her head. "I mean . . . I know you guys can die any day, but . . . I'm just a human. You guys live for millennia. I'm gonna die before you blink and then . . . after so many years . . . You won't just forget about me, will you?"

Wheeljack's throat seized. Human mortality. He hadn't even let it cross his processor how quickly she would be gone. How many years did she have left? 70? 80, if she took extremely good care of herself? She wouldn't even live a vorn longer. Fear gripped him. That was too short. Oh Primus, that was too short, and he couldn't bear watching her waste away and wither in her older years, lose that veracity he held so dear about her—

But she didn't want to hear that. She knew that. Instead, stifling all the fear and sadness that clenched him, Wheeljack just nodded again. "Yeah," he rasped, "I promise, Babe. I won't ever forget you. I don't care what happens—I don't care if it's a hundred thousand millennia, or if my processor is tampered with, or—I'm not going to forget you. I promise. You'll always be my little girl."

She sniffed, scrubbing her eyes free of the tears before looking up at him. "Thanks." She reached up, but she caught herself at the last minute. There was a heavy pause, and her forefinger just barely brushed where his chest would have been. It passed through, and the hologram flickered.

She sighed and turned, bunching up into a ball as she stared out over the lapping waters again. "Sometimes I wish that hologram was real," she said quietly. She gave a little laugh. "It'd make it a lot easier to hug you."

He nodded. "Yeah . . ."

Miko pulled her ponytail nervously. "Think we could make a grave for him? You know, like we did for Cliffjumper?"

Wheeljack cycled in a steady breath. "Yeah, I'm sure we could . . ." And then, his mouth kept moving even though he wasn't sure his processor was keeping up. "Besides, he's got the best grave marker right here."

"What?"

His hologram nodded. "Yeah. Right here." He pointed out to the horizon. "See that horizon line? I was here this morning, watching the sun rise. Most Primus-blessed beautiful thing I've seen, Babe. The sun rising each day for him."

She paused. She looked up at him with her big brown eyes. "Really?"
"Really."

Miko's brows kinked a little, and she looked out over the waters critically. "I think I'd like to see that."

"Sure. Whenever you want." He instinctively reached to touch her shoulder, and then, he stopped, realizing he wasn't a material form. Then, he blinked, a slow idea coming to fruition in his cracked-up processor.

"Hey, Babe . . . What if I created a tangible hologram?"

Miko blinked and looked up at him in shock. "Like . . . a touchable one?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding briskly, processor already beginning to percolate rapidly. "You said it yourself—you wanted to touch me. So, what if I actually made one? I bet I could do it. Might be a bit difficult to find the right materials, but I'm sure I could pull it off. I've made bigger feats of engineering than that."

Miko bit her lip, trying to hide a smile of excitement as she said, "That sounds awesome! You should do it!"

Wheeljack finally gave a grin. "I think I will. It'll give my processor something to distract itself with and my hands something to do. Ready to head to base? We need to go see if Twist's woke up yet."

Miko nodded and jumped up and climbed into the passenger seat again. Wheeljack hid his unrest about keeping the truth concerning Bulkhead's death from her, but he knew it was for the better. There was no need to exploit his betrayal to her. It was just . . . better to keep it to himself . . .

Twin Twist hadn't woken up yet. He enjoyed their company though, though he noticed Wheeljack was distant. Wheeljack distracted his thoughts by mapping out how he would create a tangible hologram. Arcee didn't talk to him—he didn't talk to her. He couldn't even bring himself to look at her after the fool he had made of himself the night before. Even so, thinking of her words was like pouring hot lead into an open wound.

That night, Wheeljack lied on his berth, staring at the ceiling. He had finished repairs of the Jackhammer and moved it to the top of the silo again. Yet . . . he couldn't recharge. His troubled thoughts kept him awake again, and he vented stiffly, struggling a losing war within himself.

Was she . . . right? Was he really taking it all too personal? Just because of Crystal City? His body hinged up like he had been attacked. In a flash, he felt the shaking of the ground beneath his peds, the terror that had filled his spark sink its claws into him. No, she didn't know what she was talking about. She didn't know what it was like to run blindly through the smoke and gunfire, feel the glass shatter and fall over her, see the bots mutilated and dead in the streets, rivers of bright blue energon, so many running and getting shot dead, slaughter at its worst.

He clenched his servos. There were some things a bot would never forget. How beautiful and how depraved it was. Mechs stumbling around blindly, one who had his arm blown off and had looked around for it, and finding it, continued on walking even though he was bleeding out so fast he was dead within a few yards. The feel of soft innards squishing beneath your peds when you ran. The smell of burning mechs. Sparklings screaming. Mothers prostrating themselves over their children. Grown mechs crying for their mothers.

No. Arcee didn't know what she was talking about. She hadn't experienced it, she didn't know how traumatizing it had been . . . Wheeljack set his jaw, fighting himself again as his jaw ticked with the effort of fighting back his embroiled emotions. She didn't understand anything . . . she . . .

His body went slack as he stared almost unseeing at the ceiling. Finally, though he trembled, he reached up to his comm. link, rasping, "Arcee?"

There was a pause over the line. Whether she was waking up or formulating an answer, Wheeljack wasn't sure. "Wheeljack," was all she said.

He sucked in a breath, rubbing a palm to his forehead. "Arcee, I . . . Can I come see you?"

He listened to her silence as she tried to gauge his intent. After a moment, she finally gave a hesitant, "All right. You know where I'm at."

Wheeljack nodded even though she couldn't see him. "Thanks. Be down in a minute."

He left the Jackhammer in a rare hurry, taking the elevator down to the main room of the silo. Topspin, recharging next to the unconscious Twin Twist, woke up and his visor flickered on as Wheeljack passed. He absently patted his shoulder as he passed, and Topspin settled back down.

Wheeljack walked down the halls, and he stopped in front of the door to Arcee's recharge room. After a moment of hesitation, he reached up his servo and knocked. The door whizzed open, and she blinked warily at him.

"Wheeljack."

A tight vent escaped him. He nodded again, avoiding her gaze. "Arcee." They stood awkwardly for a minute until he finally managed, "Can I come in?"

Wordlessly, she stepped aside. Wheeljack walked in and sank down heavily on the edge of her berth, resting his elbows on his knees and his helm in his hands. His spark sputtered a bit irregularly, in so much pain he felt like it would never beat correctly again. Arcee came and sat next to him, waiting.

As though drawn up from the deepest of seas, Wheeljack finally whispered, "I'm sorry." He shook his head, pinching his brow. "I . . . That was uncalled for. I just—You really don't understand Crystal City. Which is good. You shouldn't have to."

He felt her hand steal up to rest on his. He allowed her to lace her fingers through, but he kept his face turned away, unable to face her like this. "You just . . . hit really close to home. Scared me. Made me . . . realize . . ." The words choked. He shook his head rapidly. "Made me realize my worst failing . . ."

A faint shudder rocked down his back struts. Arcee reached to him, trying to turn his face to her. "Wheeljack—"

He shook his head again. "Arcee, I . . . I'm a murderer." He could barely whisper the word past his tight vocals. Arcee scooted closer, taking both his hands that shook. "I—Primus, Arcee, I . . . I . . . I don't think I can ever atone for my sins. I don't deserve you, and I don't deserve Miko. None of you. And I'm afraid that the harder I hold on to you the more you slip out of my fingers . . ."

His hands gripped hers so hard he was afraid he would crush them. Arcee finally turned him to look at her, brows cinched in worry, and she started to say, "Wheeljack, you—"

"Don't say anything!" he interrupted roughly. He trembled with tears, pressing his face into her neck as he drew from her strength. "Don't say anything. Just . . . just . . ."

The words "hold me" died on his glossia. A part of his pride couldn't bring himself to say it, but that was all right. Arcee seemed to understand, because her hold on him tightened, and she pressed a firm, tender kiss to his audio receptor that made him shiver from the tips of his wings to the tips of his toes.

She didn't say anything as he wept quietly into her audio receptors.