Author's Note (Eowyn77): Sorry if the last two chapters left a bitter taste in anyone's mouth. The first line of this chapter kind of sums up where we'll go from here, though. ;) It'll take 2-3 chapter for Annabelle to repair the damage she's caused, but we will get past this, and then the REAL fun can begin. :)

TIE IN: This chapter ties in with Introductions: Bradley Johnston. He's a minor OC in this chapter. I put him in here with a bit part, and then the slagger insisted on telling me his story. I have to admit, it was pretty good, so his story is now posted as part of the Introductions series. Currently it's a one-shot, but it's not likely to stay that way. You might want to take a minute and make his acquaintance before reading this chapter, though you don't really need to. :)

Many thanks to laureas, Thealie, Marinelife37, dzeniibby, and RK-Striker-JK-5 for the reviews on the last chapter!

Today I remembered why I love my dad. Darn him.

It was after school and Mom was working on her accounting stuff when the phone rang. (She still owned her ranch back in California and she did all the paperwork for it remotely.) I was still pouting in my room, so I didn't bother answering it. It's not like anyone human ever called the colonel's daughter, and I wasn't about to speak to my alien robot "friends." It had been two and a half weeks, and Ironhide, Arcee, and Chromia left daily text messages for me. I deleted them without reading them.

A couple of minutes later, Mom hollered up the stairs for me, and I grudgingly opened the bedroom door. "What."

"We're headed up to the base. Pack whatever you'll need for the rest of the evening."

I recognized her tense, choked-up tone, and my blood ran cold. Walking to the top of the stairs, I looked down at her. "Is Dad okay?"

"Yeah, he sent a car. Hyde's been hurt, along with Sides and Arcee."

"Sent a car?"

"An Autobot," Mom confirmed.

I crossed my arms defiantly. "I'm a little old for the daycare, don't you think?"

Without batting an eyelash, Mom said, "Yes, I do. If you come with me, you'll actually come with me. To the Autobot hangar." And there was just the faintest hint of a challenge in her eyes, not calling me chicken but asking if I really wanted to miss out on this.

Frowning, I went back into my room and threw Return of the King into my backpack, along with a sketch-pad and my pencils. I checked my MP3 player, grateful it had a decent charge, and added it to my bag. Rummaging in my purse, I found a few dollars and pocketed them, in case I wanted something from the commissary while we were there.

My new cell phone was sitting on my dresser, charging. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands a couple of times. I was still angry about being lied to, but only a little bit. Mostly I was just wallowing now. It was stupid and bratty of me, but I hadn't really seen an alternative. I didn't know how to move beyond the fact that I couldn't trust people I once would have trusted with my life.

With a sudden feeling of dread, I realized this was the turning point. I had to either go with Mom and start acting like a mature adult or stay home and continue to act like a spoiled child. I had enough sense to know it would be just plain wrong (and maybe hazardous to my health) to go into that hangar with my bad attitude. Did I really want to miss out on this? What else did I have to do today? Who else did I prefer to be with? Checking my new cell phone once for messages – there were none – I put it into the backpack, too.

And then I sat on my bed beside the bag and stared at nothing while I waited. The man I'd known as Aaron Hyde had been hurt several times, of course. The first time I remember going through all this, I was nine. It was the same day Graham died. Dad had driven over in a little green mini and brought us back to the base. I remember Mom crying so hard, and Dad just looking…cold, but not in a mean way. Like he was in shock and he was trying to stay that way so he wouldn't cry, too. They'd dropped me at the daycare and I spent the day there playing computer games and watching Disney cartoons. I guess I just didn't understand how Hyde could ever be really hurt. He was tough as nails and as kind as Santa Claus. Larger than life. Legends don't die. And before the day was up, he and my parents came to pick me up from the daycare and bring me to the commissary for a treat.

A day or two later, we attended Graham's send-off. He was flying home to be buried beside his grandpa. I remember that part because I realized then that I didn't know who my grandpa was and I decided I wanted him to be Hyde. I never told anyone, but I wrote it in my little locked diary.

The next time I remember him getting hurt, I was twelve. It was eerily the same – the phone call, Mom's worried voice, Dad driving home in an unfamiliar vehicle to pick us up. Funny how I never made the connection before. That time, it was a yellow Camaro. I remember because it was raining and the yellow color seemed way too happy for such a dismal day. Sitting in the daycare had been depressing that time, mostly because it was insulting, but I helped out the workers by holding babies.

"Annabelle?" Mom called up the stairs to me.

"Coming."

It was a golden Corvette flying down the driveway this time. I glanced at my mom. "Sunny?"

"Sunstreaker. And yes, Sideswipe is actually his twin. Their spark split when it was formed, just like with human identical twins."

Then the car slid sideways to idle not two feet in front of us. "Come on! Come on!" Sunny's voice snarled through the radio's speakers. He sounded exactly like he did when the football players started arguing and he wanted to just get back to the game so he could plow into his brother again. (It was a basic rule of Lennox Football that nobody got an intact set of twins. Sunny and Sides were hard hitters, and Skids and Mudflap were almost impossible to catch.) For some reason, his anger sounded so…so honest. Genuine. Where I didn't know if I could trust Ironhide's open arms, I could trust Sunstreaker's irritation. I slid into the passenger seat, buckling up while Mom climbed in.

Sunstreaker peeled out on the gravel, fishtailing, and raced back up to the highway. "Would it kill you to get a paved driveway?" he growled. "My finish is slagged now."

"You were slagged by the Decepticons first," Mom answered. "Besides, if we paved it, what would you have left to glitch about?"

Did my mom just cuss at Sunstreaker in Autobot?

"Saltwater, sand, UV rays, the acid rain your stupid species seems intent on making, Ratchet, Sideswipe, Prowl, Optimus, Iron Will, Megatron, Starscream, Shockwave…"

"Shut up," Mom snapped.

"Hey," Sunstreaker snapped right back. "She's got clearance now. Doesn't she? Don't you, Spitlet?"

"Don't call me that," I grumbled.

"I'll call you whatever the slag I like, femme."

"Until Ironhide comes around," Mom muttered.

Sunstreaker ignored her. "You know the names of the good guys. Wanna know who the villains are?"

To be honest, I was kind of curious, now that he mentioned it. "Sure," I mumbled.

"Megatron's the big one. He's the one who started the whole fragging war. Starscream is his right-hand mech and a huge pain in the aft for everyone – Autobots and Decepticons. And Shockwave…" The engine roared, and somehow, it was more frightening than if he'd cussed or yelled or growled with his human voice. There was a lot of power behind that engine, and it shook his whole body, including his passengers. "As you humans say, Shockwave's got brains. He came up with a new type of ammo that might just cost Ironhide his life."

"Sunstreaker," Mom said, more gently this time.

"Don't 'Sunstreaker' me, femme. Spitlet's gonna find out sooner or later. Besides, she's tougher than you think, screaming like a girl notwithstanding."

"Wow," I snarked. "You got all the way up to four syllables with that one, Sunny." I didn't like being reminded about that scream. It was embarrassing, even if Dad didn't have any right to say so.

We pulled into the infamous hangar, and opening his doors for us, Sunstreaker unceremoniously dumped us out of his cab. He launched himself forward, transforming on the fly. It was easy to see why. An identically-shaped silver Autobot stepped into view, apparently walking out through a large door. He was rubbing his chest kind of like Dad did when he had heartburn.

Sunstreaker grabbed his brother by his shoulders, shaking him. "You fragging, punk-ass slagger!"

Sideswipe angrily shook him off. "Love you, too, bro."

Impulsively, Sunstreaker pulled Sideswipe into a quick hug and then rapped on Sides' helmet. "You are so scrapping stupid. Come on, let's get you some energon."

From the open door, we all heard a baritone voice command "Lay off the high-grade for at least twenty-four hours."

Ratchet. A host of memories rushed over me at the sound. Ron Hatchett, nicknamed Ratchet, had been our family's physician for as long as I could remember. Anytime Mom or I were sick or hurt, he made a house call, even if it was just to splint Mom's ankle when she twisted it. When I caught the chicken pox, he stayed overnight for several nights in a row until my fever came down. Ratchet's voice was the sound of comfort and the easing of pain.

Simultaneously, the twins casually flipped the bird in the general direction of Ratchet's, er, repair shop. Then they turned and stalked toward us, making for the other side of the hanger. Seeing us standing there, Sideswipe gave me a tough-guy grin and a twitch of his optical hardware that, coming from him, had to be a wink.

Watching them, it slowly dawned on me that, even in this bizarre form, the twins were familiar. I knew them. From flipping off Ratchet to the jaunty way they walked to the cheeky wink, I could see Sunny and Sides in Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

Dad entered the hanger from a human-sized side door and came over to us. "Hey, ladies," he greeted us, but the words were subdued.

Then Mom touched my elbow and all three of us walked toward the door Sideswipe had just emerged from. As we got closer, I noticed another Autobot, this one much shorter than the twins but still twice my height, standing guard at the entrance.

"Chromia," Dad said in acknowledgement.

"Iron Will, Spitfire," the Autobot coolly answered with Mia's voice. Nodding toward me, she said to Dad, "You sure you want to take a youngling into the med bay? It's still pretty bad, and Ratchet's mood is even worse."

And just like with the twins, I suddenly saw Mia in Chromia, in the way she stood with her hip to the side and the angle of her rifle. "I can handle a thirty-ought-six," I answered quietly, "thanks to you. I should be able to handle this."

I could almost feel her surprise when I spoke to her directly, and I felt a surge of guilt. I shouldn't have deleted those texts. Now I didn't even know what they'd been trying to say to me.

Looking back at Dad, Chromia said, "It's your call."

"No," Dad answered. "It's Annabelle's. She's got clearance now and permission from Optimus."

"I'd like to go in," I said in a small voice.

With a grimace, Chromia pushed aside the door for us.

The first thing I noticed was another Chromia-sized Autobot, maybe because she was almost at eye level, maybe because she was bright pink. Arcee, I realized. She didn't look up as we entered. She just stared at a pile of crushed and half-melted parts sitting on a human-sized table. Looking more closely, I noticed the occasional fleck of purple. Without a word, Mom went over and gently touched the metal claw that passed for Arcee's hand. After a moment, Arcee looked down at Mom and sighed, collapsing into a familiar, pink motorcycle. Mom mounted the bike and the two of them sped out of the door Chromia had opened for them.

Dad started climbing the steps of a free-standing platform at the head of an Autobot-sized table, and I followed him.

"Thank you for getting those two out of the med bay, Will." Ratchet's voice came from an Autobot as tall as Sunny and Sides but broader in the shoulders. He didn't look up, but I could hear his irritation. "Arcee was so silent it was distracting and Sunstreaker's a glitch in the best of times. Now you two get the Pit out of here, too."

As I climbed behind my dad, I saw that Ratchet was…operating on a big, black Autobot, and with a sinking heart, I realized this must be Ironhide. His chest was exposed and spread wide open, a bright blue light humming away in some kind of casing where a heart would be. To my shock, a human in a hazmat suit was crawling around in the cavity. "Found it," the man said with a lilting British accent, holding up in a gloved hand what looked like a heavy-duty thermos. "Twelve more, right?"

Ratchet took the thermos and dumped a glowing, orange marble from the mug into something that looked vaguely like a cooler. I could see several of the marble things in it before Ratchet covered them with a lid. "Right. But you should let Davis do the next one."

The man was sweating from exertion. "It's just a few centimeters away from – "

"Yes, but it's been eight minutes."

"It's not going to kill me to – "

Ratchet plucked the man up by a harness around his chest. "Poor choice of words, Johnston. Yes, actually, it could. Now go to Quinn and send in Davis."

Clearly annoyed, the man crossed his arms while Ratchet set him on his feet and gave him a gentle nudge with one finger. It was that gesture, when his hand was extended, that let me see the scorch marks all up the inside of Ratchet's arm.

"What happened to you?" I asked.

The robot turned to me, and something about the set of his shoulders was downright menacing. "I said get out!" he roared in a tone normally reserved for Mudflap. "No suit, no protective gear at all! What are you thinking, Will? And she's a youngling!"

I jumped, but Dad put a reassuring hand on my shoulder before leading us silently out of the med bay, Ratchet ranting behind us.