Hello Dear Readers! I'm sorry this came to you a bit late. I wanted to take some extra time to do some edits. You can thank ImpartingAbyss for reminding me to get my lazy writer aft in motion.

Thank you to my reviewers; shelby20125, KEXX 1, SkyenhaMarisa, Cinematronix, SoulusPrimeLightblast, and ImpartingAbyss.

Enjoy!

Chapter 23

Sunstreaker onlined slowly. The painful aching all over his frame was accompanied by a sharp pain in his spark. Even the effort of onlining his optics felt like too much of a burden at the moment.

And it was a complete relief. Pride swelled in his spark chamber. He was hurt, but the warrior twins had survived yet another battle.

Through the bond, he felt his brother's presence directly next to him. No doubt Hatchet had placed them together. The medic had vorns of experience treating the two front liners and he knew split spark twin healed fastest when in close proximity; the spark energy of one, diffusing to the other. Sunstreaker could also feel that Sides was deep in recharge.

He needed it. Memories flooded back to the former gladiator. His twin had been gravely injured. Sunstreaker held out for as long as he could, to protect his twin, and finish the mission, but eventually he fell to the pull of the spark bond.

As energy flowed through him, Sunstreaker started to feel jittery lying on the medi-berth. Finally onlining his optics, the mech blinked around. Hatchet wasn't in the room, a sure sign neither of their injuries were considered life threatening anymore. As he expected, Sides was prone on the berth next to him. His and Sides' berths were moved together so much so that Sides' servo was inched over into Sunstreaker's space.

He looked fondly at his brother. A mischievous glint still remained on his faceplates, but an innocent smile rested on his lip plates. He looked younger, like how they should be, had they not been forced to harden their sparks as younglings. It impressed Sunstreaker to a degree, that his brother could still keep some of that pure youth after all that had happened. The yellow mech drank up his brother's demeanor, just as his other half steadied himself on Sunstreaker's determination and focus.

He remained there for a moment longer before pushing himself off the berth. Just then a notice flashed on his Hud, he was low on energon. Hatchet would not let them go hungry, perhaps he had left to fetch them something to consume.

Sunstreaker decided to go to the wash racks, knowing his frame had to be in horrible shape. That way he would easily piss off the medic who had yet to grant permission for him to leave. He could do with some amusement, and dodging practice. Sunstreaker counted on the ambulance mech using the opportunity to take the extra energon for himself, knowing he always forgot to refuel. He could grab his own energon later.

His joints made an uncomfortable screeching sound as he seated himself up. Those pit-fallen insecticons sure knew how to punch. It was almost a shamed they were offline. There were so few opponents left for the twins, they were getting bored.

He took one last scan of his brother, assuring himself Sides would be alright while he cleaned up. Upon seeing his other half's deteriorated condition, he decided to bring some of his products back to the med bay once he was finished. Sides could use a quick cleaning as well.

He stepped out of the med bay, glad Hatchet didn't have the foresight to lock it, keeping him inside. Out of the corner of his optic, he saw a small form curled against the wall. Sunstreaker paused to stare down the squishy. She was so still, only the gentle rise and fall of her chest informed him of her being in recharge. She looked paler than normal. Her arms were wrapped defensively around her abdomen. Dark blood crusted her skin. Her forehead, covered with a bandage, seemed to be the only thing cleaned since the battle; a patch made during their transport back to base. She must have insisted on waiting there until they woke.

The mech had half a thought just to let the femme sleep. She looked utterly exhausted. But he remembered Hatchet's lengthy tirade about human health, most of which he paid no attention to, but he did remember the medic expressly state that humans could become very sick if their wounds were not cleaned and their frames did not maintain a narrow temperature range. It was hard to forget, considering what he witnessed happen to the squishy in Washington. He'd rather her wait an hour for sleep than collapse from disease.

He called to her but there was no flicker of awareness. The warrior sighed and crouched down. Upon closer inspection, she was already beginning to look ill. He reached out a digit to gently shake her awake, but before he could make contact, her eyes shot open and she rolled to the side to avoid his reach. A hand instinctively reached to her holster, but she paused. It may have been because of the missing weapon, or recognition of Sunstreaker, but either way her eyes filled with awareness.

Sunstreaker leaned back so as not to crowd the defensive soldier. "Do you do that every time someone wakes you?" he released the vent he was holding. "You have issues, femme."

Her sudden burst of energy seemed to sap immediately. She collapsed back onto her aft, back hitting the wall hard.

"Sunstreaker," she rasped, "You're awake. Does that mean Sideswipe's-" her voice caught. Sunstreaker saw pain wash over her eyes.

He felt a stab of guilt. She must have been worried, seeing Sideswipe in such a state, then Sunstreaker collapsing when all seemed well.

"Sides is gonna be fine." he deflected, dealing with an emotional femme was not his strong suit, "You should get yourself checked out. And get some recharge."

She shook her head. "I'm just gonna wait for Sideswipe to wake up. I want to talk to him about something.

Sunstreaker wanted to ask her what she wanted to say, but decided against it. If the squishy wanted to divulge that information, she would have. Sides would tell him about it later, anyway.

"Wouldn't you rather wait inside, rather than sit in the hallway?" he quirked an optic ridge. She certainly looked uncomfortable where she was lying. After all, Hatchet had a human sized berth she could rest in.

A weak smile ghosted over her lips. "I was in there, but Ratchet kicked me out and locked the human sized door. He wanted me to go see a medic. But I just waited until he left."

"Come on." he motioned his helm towards the door as he stood to full height. Quickly keying in the code, he opened the mech sized door for the femme to go through. She gave him a grateful smile and passed the threshold. "Take it easy, squishy." He grunted before closing the door behind her.

Frame itching for a wash, he headed through the other door towards the berth chambers. His frame felt hot due to his repair systems working overtime. A cold wash would do well to sooth him.

First, he went to his and Sides' berth room to pick up the necessary supplies. A quick idea led him to also root through Sides' things. Thinking he would have something appropriate. He had a cleaning rag, but Sunstreaker would prefer not to use that. Hatchet already had similar things, and much thinner cloths as well.

He bent down and checked under the berth. His digits felt along the bottom, finding the seam where the actual berth ended and the hidden storage extension began. In all the time they had been there, Sideswipe's secret prank stash had not been found. Inside the container, Sunstreaker found something matching his needs. Quickly, he subspaced the cloth, primus knows why Sides had it, and headed toward the wash racks.

Luckily, it was empty. He wasn't in a socializing mood. He went for the first stall, and saw a tiny piece of paper posted at mech height. Curious, he leaned in to read it. The writing was messy, almost as illegible as Ironaft's, but not quite.

'Sunstreaker, I'm off looking for Specialist Brook. She seems to have inherited your distaste for following medical advice. I know you'll be easier to deal with once you've gotten your personal obsessions out of the way, so hurry up. Once you're done washing up, I expect you to return to the med bay, at least to give your brother the cube of energon I left under your berth. Comm me if you see Specialist Brook. -Ratchet'

"Fraggin' medic keepin' a step ahead." Sunstreaker grumbled with slight amusement. So that's why he didn't lock the door.

He turned on the water, adjusting the dial so it was right at room temperature. Stepping in, he felt hot tension lift from his frame. This was exactly what he needed.

After taking his time in the wash racks, he returned to the med bay. Ratchet must have still been searching for the squishy, cause she was still there, no medic in sight.

Before he uttered a single word, the squishy, still staring blindly ahead, muttered, "I'm sorry, Sunstreaker."

Said yellow mech paused. The squishy sounded defeated. It didn't seem right, such a pitiful tone coming from one so proud.

The femme may have entered the med bay, but she never sat on the open human berth. Instead, she sat straight backed against a caster on Sideswipe's berth. She looked to be lost in silent contemplation, even though company seemed to be patiently waiting for her to speak. Ironhide sat on what was Sunstreaker's berth, only it had been pulled away to a more respectable distance from Sides, who lay in deep recharge.

When Sunstreaker entered, it was apparent to him that neither had spoken a word to the other. The squishy seemed lost, and Ironhide watched at her with concerned optics. His own injuries appeared to be manageable. The yellow mech could guess that the old weapons specialist had avoided the med bay, and its occupants, until Hatchet finally found him.

"What for?" he nearly growled, unable to control his discomfort.

She sounded hollow as she spoke, "If I hadn't froze back there, Sideswipe wouldn't have been injured. I risked both your lives."

"What's with that load of scrap?" Sunstreaker stepped forward to her. He wasn't even sure why he was so angry, but he knew it had to do with her.

The squishy stood on shaky legs, using the berth post to stabilize herself. Her voice was barely above a whisper, "I'll give you some time with your brother." Silently, walked out of the med bay, her head hanging low. Sunstreaker glared at her as she slipped out of visual range.

"What's her fragging problem?" he muttered darkly.

Ironhide sighed. "I've seen that look before. When a warrior gets overconfident, only to be knocked down." He looked on at where the squishy had last sat. "I blame myself; I think I put too much pressure on her. She always thinks she has to preform perfectly. But we improve by learning through our mistakes. Otherwise, we're stagnant."

"Well she needs to get over herself." Sunstreaker scowled. "Self-pity won't get her anywhere."

The older mech snapped back, "That's not pity you saw! Brook is the kind of femme harsh words will have no effect on, 'cause they will never be as severe as what she says to herself." He faced Sunstreaker squarely, glaring at him. "I'd leave her alone if I were you. There's nothing you could say that would pull her out of this rut. Just give her time."

Sunstreaker shot back, "Who said I cared about how she felt?" he stormed off towards the exit, intent on getting some fresh air. He could sense it would be a while before his twin woke, and he'd rather not wait around with Ironhide in there. He'd return after the rust-aft left.

The day was still young and the sun was high in the sky, but a chilled wind brushed over the island. He hated the cold, but this planet couldn't seem to get enough of it. Back on Cybertron, it never got below what the humans would call 4 degrees Celsius. In fact, it was never over 35 either. There were great benefits of having a planet with self-regulating heat. Nearly the entire planet averaged at 22 degrees, only heating slightly when in range of the distant sun.

Out of the corner of Sunstreaker's optic, he saw the squishy, sitting with her back against the back wall of the armory. Her legs were pulled in, making her look even smaller. Before he realized what he was doing, he found himself standing in front of her.

Honestly, she looked like scrap, even more so than an hour ago. Her fur had half fallen out of the arrangement she kept it in, and lay forgotten on her shoulders. Her arms were limp at her sides and her sullen eyes stared blindly into her lap. She made no sign to acknowledge his presence.

Sunstreaker remembered what Ironhide had said. Harsh words would do nothing. If that's so, then there's nothing he could say. But he didn't move. Something in his spark churned uncomfortably at the sight of her. Sighing to himself, he sat down against the wall next to her. His optics darted around for any sign of humans or autobots. No one. He looked back to the squishy and cursed his fate. Kind words were not really his forte.

"So, you froze." He stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah." She responded in a sigh.

Sunstreaker continued to stare ahead. "That's not like you."

"It was different this time."

"How so?" he failed to keep his voice calm. His patience bubbled away, do doubt aided by his twin's condition.

"I saw them, and lost all train of thought."

"You were scared." It was not a question. He clearly remembered seeing the fear in her eyes. In fact, the look was familiar. It was as if he'd already seen her with this brand of fear, only this time it had overtaken her.

"Yeah." She hugged her legs, an odd display coming from a normally stoic femme.

"How was it any different from when you've faced us? I can't say I've gone really easy on you. Especially that first training day," he smirked at the memory, "you could've been vaporized. But you weren't afraid."

"It just is." Her head rested in her crossed arms.

Sunstreaker growled, "That's not good enough. Tell me why."

"You're not decepticons!" she shouted. "Yes, you're all cybertronian. You, for the most part, look the same, talk the same, and even act the same at times. But you're my allies. Even you, with your reputation, has never harmed a human." She laughed humorlessly, "I checked." For the first time she looked up at Sunstreaker, her eyes unreadable. "But that 'con's goal, his purpose was to kill me. So yeah, it's different."

Sunstreaker found himself prickling at her tone. Primus, he was no good at this. He took a moment to steady himself. The anger she was showing was all directed at herself, not him. This reaction was just it's manifestation. "Look, squishy, I don't blame you for what happened to Sideswipe. It was his choice and no one makes us do anything. You were the one who came up with the plan to trap those 'cons. I wouldn't call that a failure." He added more harshly, "When are you going to get it through that mushy little mind of yours that we all make mistakes! We all freeze at some point." He vented silently, trying to center himself. "Squishy, I get it, okay? You were scared, but you pulled through. That's what matters. I know how the 'cons can seem."

The femme looked at him questioningly and Sunstreaker mentally cursed himself. "Never mind." He turned away from her to face the blank wall a few yards away. But he could feel the weight of her stare, but she never pushed for an explanation. Somehow, that seemed even worse. There was no question for him to shoot down. He released a vent he didn't know he was holding in.

"When I was young," he began, "really, really young, I lived in a city run by 'cons. It was called Kaon. Whenever they came to my Sire's bar, I would hide behind the counter." His optics clouded at the memory. "I would hide from everyone back then. Sideswipe was always so outgoing, but I was scared. I though the 'cons would scrap me, and the neutrals living there would judge me." He blinked back to the present. "So yeah, I was scared, and we are the same species." He paused to regard the small, relatively unintimidating femme, "I can only imagine how it must be for you."

The squishy blinked at him. She didn't laugh or joke about the fearful sparkling he once was. She didn't even smile. After a long pause, she asked, "What's a sire?"

Sunstreaker, in turn, stared back at her. That was not the response he had been expecting. "It means 'father'."

"So he had a bar?"

The question was so oddly innocent. "Yeah, Sideswipe still uses his recipe for high grade."

"He made his own?"

Sunstreaker, not knowing what else to say, indulged her curiosity, "Actually, he was only allowed to sell his own. Back in Kaon, you couldn't sell anyone else's high grade. It kept mechs from building much of a profitable business so they couldn't move away."

"Huh." She looked down to process the information. She looked better than when he first sat down. Her eyes had more life, and her posture was more of its usual straightness.

"Sunstreaker?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to spar?"

His faceplates quirked into a minute smile. "Sure, squishy."

She stood, weary exhaustion still apparent in her shaking legs. Instinctively, Sunstreaker wanted to tell her to sit back down and rest. Or better yet, go to Hatchet. However, he knew she was a warrior at spark. And some light training would do good to raise her spirits. She lost both her weapons, but he'd figure something out. At the very least, she could dodge.

However, when she tried to take a step forward, her leg gave way and she crumbled to the ground.

Sunstreaker shot forward, servos cradling around her, as if protecting her from enemy fire. He watched closely as she panted heavily into the earth below.

"How about we spar after the Doc has seen you." He suggested.

The squishy looked up to him, her eyes dull and her skin even paler. Sunstreaker noticed the bandage on her head was soaked through with oozing blood. His optic ridges furrowed with concern.

"That scratch looks bad, let's get you back to the med bay, I've already signaled Hatchet." He stated.

Without thinking, he scooped her up and took a couple steps to the hanger entrance. His scanners could feel the femme's increased heart rate from being up so high, but she did not complain otherwise. When he looked down at her, he could see her eyes were closed and she gripped tightly on his arm.

When he entered the med bay, Hatchet was not there yet, but Ironhide was still sitting on one of the berths, cleaning one of his massive cannons. The weapon specialist's optics looked up from his task and widened upon seeing the squishy.

The black mech jumped from his seat. "What happened?" he demanded, looking accusingly at Sunstreaker as the yellow front liner placed her on the human berth.

Before the yellow mech could retort, the squishy answered, "He just took me here to see Ratchet. I haven't gotten checked out since we deboarded the plane."

On que, the medic stormed through the door, already cursing in Cybertronian. "Do you think medical care only comes when it's convenient for you?" he scowled at the squishy, already running a scan over her while mumbling to himself, "Taking after the terror twins alright, you're lucky I don't tie you to a med berth."

Suddenly, his voice dropped and his optics widened. "Primus." The medic picked up the entire berth with both servos and placed it on Ironhide's medi-berth, shooing the black mech away.

Sunstreaker shot Hatchet a concerned look but the ambulance didn't notice. Instead he moved with speed and purpose, flashing over to his desk, pulling out human-sized equipment. In a second, he was back at the squishy' s side, expertly hooking her up to monitoring devices and sticking a needle in her arm. He moved with such speed and precision that the yellow warrior could barely keep track of him. The last time Hatchet looked this determined, he lost the patient. He muttered symptoms to himself, "Bluish fingernails, low blood pressure, drainage of the wound."

Ironhide's booming voice seemed to momentarily break Hatchet's concentration, "What's going on, doc?" only his concerned optics betrayed what he was feeling.

Two pairs of optics and two eyes looked at the medic questioningly. He took a quick vent, to steady himself. "I detect energon in Specialist Brook's bloodstream. I must nullify it before her organs shut down."

The room fell quiet at his admission and Hatchet did not wait a moment longer to continue his work over the femme. Small clear bags, along with one yellow and one red, hung from a pole, a small line connecting them to two needles in her arm and on her hand.

The squishy had closed her eyes and appeared to make an effort to calm her breathing. Her voice was steady, betraying no hint of worry, "I've had this in my system for fourteen hours, wouldn't it have done more damage by now?"

Hatchet continued his adjustments as he answered her, "There have only been two cases of energon infecting live humans, so there is little to go one. The rest of my knowledge on the matter comes from computer simulations and experiments with donor blood. So honestly, I don't know for sure."

Sunstreaker felt a stab of impatience. His optics bore into the femme. "Why didn't you say something?" he hissed.

"I didn't realize I'd been exposed." She shook her head slowly. "It was in the heat of battle."

Sunstreaker looked away, angry at some unknown enemy.

"Do you remember how you got that burn?" Hatchet asked.

The squishy spoke with dawning realization, "When Sideswipe was hurt. He was standing right over me." Her voice trailed off.

"That's good, Ms. Brook, if I know what the source is, I can create a solution that will specifically target it." Hatchet added encouragingly, "And it is impressive you've survived thus far without medical attention. I don't detect more than a couple drops of energon in your system. Energon reacts similarly to sulfuric acid in organics, you may have a bit of an immunity, due to your mithridatic training."

Ironhide interjected, "When did you do that?"

Sunstreaker turned back around, having no idea what the mechs were talking about. He did a quick internet search, optics widening at the results. Wherever she trained before going to N.E.S.T was one messed up place.

The squishy seemed to ignore Ironhide, focusing instead on Hatchet. "How did you know?" she asked with eerie calmness.

"I detected traces of various poisons in your system. I suspected you were provided with small doses to build an immunity." He raised an optic ridge, challenging her to deny his observation. "Besides," he added, "We all know you went through unusual training, this technique is not unheard of for specialist groups in your military." Then triumphantly, "do you really think you could keep that a secret from me?"

The femme's eyes narrowed, her face was eerily calm. "There's nothing I can keep secret from you, Ratchet."

All the 'bots knew she was sworn to secrecy from her past. That still didn't help the itch of curiosity Sunstreaker felt. She was obviously skilled, but what kind of training did she really go through? And what led her to leave that behind?