Title: Not Go Softly
Challenge Set: 3
Challenge: 1 - Sleep
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,333
Pairings: None
Summary: To fall asleep is to risk death.
Other Notes: Late 2003, Frostbite is 36 and Autobot City has been complete for a month. Kindly edited by nom-de-plume13.

What is death but eternal sleep? - Anon

The air was cool and moist, the deepening shadows within the trees reducing everything to silhouettes. Somewhere an owl screeched and Frostbite shivered and stamped her feet, trying to get her sluggish circulation moving again and bring some warmth to her extremities.

The early night was breathtaking, with a creamy, full moon throwing too much light upon the coastal forest. The human woman cared nothing for the beauty; she only glared nervously at the satellite and thinned her lips to a grimace. Bomber's moon, was her first thought, perfect… so even if all their sensory systems are shot to hell, they still have a slight chance of seeing us. Her father had told her that full moons were the best nights for fighter planes and bombers during the World Wars, the time when the ability to strike and fight were based on how well the pilots could see in the dark, before advances in modern technology overcame human limitation. During that time, on nights like these – and she could still hear in her mind the voice of her father explaining this as they watched the fighters doing practice in the airspace above Nellis Air Force Base under moonlight – there was enough light to see the outlines of the blackened cities below… enough so they could pinpoint their targets.

The pilots of long ago could manage to see their targets on nights like these. Starscream and his Elites should have no trouble tonight seeing them.

She was quite sure the Decepticon Seekers' night vision – or whatever was the Cybertronian equivalent – had not suffered from the ravages of battle. Her own abilities were questionable; she was already groping around half blind through the sticks and mud, and would have to rely on her ears to warn her of any danger.

Even now her senses were pricked for the not-right thrum of jet engines. And… hopefully, something else.

Silence. Deciding that she had dallied far too long in the little hilltop meadow, she began to pick her way down the slope, batting aside the underbrush and trying not to think about the stretch of burning land she had seen in the not so far off distance. It was best to cling to the illusion of safety and avoid adding to the knots twisting her stomach.

Each snapping twig was uncomfortably loud to her hearing and the distant smell of ash and roasted pine made her want to sneeze. Frostbite felt naked in these woods, she was exposed to the many blinking eyes of the denizens herein and she was weaponless. She cursed herself for her sloppiness; she, though not an expert hunter and woodsman, was experienced enough to be able walk relatively silently through the underbrush. When it was light out. When she could properly see. But still, she was being too noisy.

A moan. Pausing, frozen to the marrow, the woman listened… then relaxed. It was only her would-be rescuer.

There, in a clearing before her, lay the Autobot assigned to protect her and whisk her off the battlefield when the convoy they had been traveling in had been sneak-attacked. Frostbite didn't even know his name, only that he was some fresh faced youngster from Cybertron, straight from Magnus' troops. She'd been shoved in his hands and they'd been told to run. And run they did, even when the mech had been clipped by fire, and the side Frostbite wasn't sitting on, torn open.

They could still hear the fight even at this remote distance.

"Who's there?" A thready whine.

"Just me."

Pure relief. "Are they coming? Did you see any sign of reinforcements?"

"No." A pause, and then Frostbite attempted to soften the blow, "But my night vision's crap, so they could be out there and I didn't notice." It wasn't exactly encouraging the kid, so she dropped it, going on with a more urgent question, "You holding up okay, kid?"

"Fine… just tired." There was an offended pause and the Autobot squirmed in a pool of his own energon, optics dimmed, and managed a petulant grumble towards the shrubs the woman was still hidden in. "Don't call me 'kid'."

A snort. "Until I get something resembling a name outta you, kid, then that's what you're going to have to deal with." Scrabbling out of the underbrush, and earning a few twiggy branches snapped back on her face, she hissed, blinking furiously as hot red welts began to raise on her skin. "And don't you dare go into stasis."

"My name is Whiplash, human." The Autobot sniffed, giving a disdainful toss of his head, and hugging his gun to his chestplate, before groaning again as something sparked, blew out, and an all too-familiar liquid gushed anew to the dirt. "And… an… I'm not goin' offline. Takes more than some plate damage and leaky fuel lines to down my kind!"

He was baiting her, and she knew it. She also didn't really care, as she rubbed her neck and decided Whiplash was an entirely appropriate name. She would ache for weeks from that wild ride the Shelby Cobra had treated her to.

"Primus, I should be back there with the others, not playing nanny-bot to some sparkling human femme."

Frostbite gave another dismissive grunt. Sparkling? Every human was a sparkling of sorts to the Autobots, or at least, this Autobot. Always needing their hand held at every opportunity and instruction at every turn. Nauseating. Especially to an older woman like herself. As for the rest… "Hn. Wasn't that my role, kid?"

"You, protecting me? Primus have mercy on my spark."

"Suck it up, princess. I'm the only thing you have until they come looking for us," came the prickly reply as the human crossed the clearing, shoulders tense as she rubbed at her stinging face. "Now stop squirming and let me take a look at your side. I might be able to do something for – hey, DAMNIT Whiplash!

If he goes under, he might enter stasis lock. If he does that – we're both screwed if the fight comes over here!

Long legs swiftly ate up the distance remaining between them and then…

Clang!

"Slag you, human! Why'd you kick my face?"

"You were falling into stasis," the woman grunted, face screwed up in pain as she hobbled back, "And I don't think a mere tap on the shoulder from me was going to do much." Then more somberly she added; "Besides the fight could shift in our direction at any moment. You don't want to be caught napping in the middle of a Decepticon blitz."

"Hrm…" The guns were louder now and Whiplash tightened his grip around his own weapon, trying – and not quite succeeding – to keep his composure in the face of possible assault. "That still hurt."

"Aw, pipe down. I didn't get you that hard. I'm just a human after all."

Whiplash grumbled. His earlier comments about humans and their usefulness and durability (or lack thereof) back in the convoy were coming back to bite him in the form of this gray haired human femme, whom he wasn't all that sure was a femme in the first place. Humans looked pretty much the same to his optics: pink-brownish, roughly robot shaped, and very small and unimpressive. But for such a tiny creature, she had her sting. Her words contained enough venom to put a cyber-scorpion to shame.

"Let me see your side," Frostbite intoned again, "I'm not a medic or any kind of tech, but I might be able to prevent stasis lock."

"Why should I let a – "

"It's either me," Frostbite interrupted, "or stasis lock. Choose now, kid, because if you want to go this alone, I want to start heading for the hills. I might make it too. BUT, we have a better chance, slim as it is, if you can actually shoot when the battle spills over here."

This silenced Whiplash and though a part of Frostbite relished it, she knew things couldn't go much longer without an answer.

"Well…"

"Fine. Do your worst, human."

You bastard son of a slag scow, thought Frostbite as she clambered up the mech's trembling side. "Do my worst. Feh. For your sake, that's exactly what you should be hoping I don't do."

Whiplash wouldn't stop rocking, and the woman swayed and pitched on top of him like a ship in a rough sea. She glared and snapped out, "Stop squirming!", and was minutely satisfied to see him wince at the acid in her tone. Good. If she could scare him stiff, then she could attempt these repairs and maybe… maybe fix things well enough for him to be able to defend them and as a definite bonus, not lose too many fingers in the process.

"STILL!"

Much better.

Cursing as she went to work with cold-stiffened fingers splicing together wires that had been shorn apart by the blast, though they may or may not have been connected together in the first place. Eyeing the slashed coolant tubes and fuel lines, she pursed her lips, removed her blazer and then began tugging at the buttons of her blouse.

"What are you doing?"

"A striptease," came the sardonic reply, "Now stop flapping your yap and lemme work."

Wisely, Whiplash shut up.

Ugh. Mechs. Frostbite grimaced as she began tearing up her blouse as soon as she had wormed her way back into her jacket. The silk would have to make do as binding for some of the damaged lines… maybe slow down the energy loss. Hopefully.

This was her favourite Armani blouse. Its destruction should have some value then. Even if it was to save the skid of an Autobot, who, yes, had saved her, but had been an utter prick to her afterwards. A mech, which underneath the superiority complex, was terrified of slowly bleeding to death while a human, one totally unqualified human in these sorts of manners, poked and played with his internals.

The destruction of an expensive blouse paled in comparison to this.

In the end, half the shirt ended up binding the broken lines. The other half ended up binding the cuts and slashes on her hands, all caused by the jagged bits of metal in the wound. Satisfied at her handiwork, and making a face at what she now had to do to avoid contracting hypothermia through the night, Frostbite slid down and curled against Whiplash's chestplate, soaking in as much warmth as she could.

"Wh-what? Stop that! I'm so not a… a… teddy bear! Ugh! Leggo!"

"I'm not thrilled about this either, princess…"

"PRINCESS! Why you rotten – !"

"But," Frostbite said as she shivered despite the contact with the feverish metal, "I have better things to do than freeze to death tonight." Making a revolted face as her flesh crawled and she fought against giving the mech another good kick and fleeing into the woods as fast as her legs could take her, she continued, "And since you have orders to protect me till the others arrive, the least you could do is keep me from getting hypothermia."

Whiplash grunted and grumbled at that, and for Frostbite's part, she didn't feel the need to snipe back. She was far too concerned with leeching as much of the heat coming off his overtaxed systems as she could.

After a while, the Autobot's optics turned to the woman huddled against his chest, "You know, I've never been cuddled by a femme before."

"I'm not cuddling you," came the cranky reply.

Whiplash continued as if he didn't hear her, "And the first one is human. I have no luck. But still… I never asked your name, did I?"

"'bout time," she said, "It's Frostbite."

"That's not a human name."

"It isn't. It's my nickname. My proper name is Talia. Talia McBride. Everyone prefers Frostbite for some reason."

"Can see why. It suits you. Human names never tell us anything about the person. With Frostbite, everyone can tell you're a –!"

"You're aiming for another kick, aren't you?"

The night went on, and Whiplash and Frostbite continued their squabble through the night; the former never getting the upper hand on the latter.

Dawn broke.

Despite her best efforts, Whiplash had succumbed to stasis as the sun's first rays warmed the clearing. Frostbite herself was still alert, too exhausted and wound up to fall asleep. She didn't attempt to move, just kept her weary head propped against Whiplash's chestplate. If anyone were to ask, she would just say she had found a comfortable – though reluctant – pillow and was simply too lazy to move. In reality she could barely manage to stand; the cold night had sapped whatever strength still lay in her muscles.

The guns had stopped firing hours ago.

She barely noticed when the Protectobots burst on the scene, or cared when Streetwise lifted her from the Cobra so a horrified First Aid could stabilize the mech. Things passed so blurrily that it only seemed a moment since their abrupt – and noisy – arrival, to where Hot Spot and Groove loaded Whiplash in the back of First Aid's bay (she had no clue when the ambulance had transformed back) while Blades circled overhead.

She was too busy wondering at the fact that Hot Spot had actual blankets on him, and where he had learned how to swaddle six-foot-six humans like infants. Cocooned as she was in Streetwise's arms, she could only watch as First Aid went tearing away, sirens howling.

"Easy, Frosty," Streetwise warned her as she began to struggle, "You're in shock. We gotta get you someplace warm where Ratchet can look you over."

"Is he dead?"

"No," Streetwise said as Blades descended to airlift her away and First Aid became a speck on the horizon and was gone, "It's touch and go. We don't know yet."

To the remaining Protectobots' amazement, Frostbite let out a croaking laugh.

"He's a bastard," she said by means of explanation, "He won't go softly. He'll live."