I still needed a prescription from Ratchet to sleep that night. And the night after that. And the night after that. But on Day 12 of my therapy journal I was able to proudly record, "I fell asleep without any drugs last night! No nightmares either!" Earlier that week, Dr. Sarkisian had introduced me to meditation. She'd let me choose my own intention, and I'd decided on "I'm okay." She'd recorded a half-hour bedtime meditation for me during my second visit that week, and I listened to it every night. It was kind of a silly thing - I still needed help falling asleep, after all - but it made me feel so much better that I wasn't relying on medications to do something so basic. It made me feel a lot less broken, somehow.
Ratchet was seeing me three times a week. He didn't start with the motion exercises until Day 5 of my journal, and they hurt like the Pit. But he said he'd waited too long and I needed to start breaking down scar tissue or something, so even if it hurt, doing the exercises was non-negotiable.
Thankfully, Mia or Hyde were usually there to keep me company, otherwise I would have gone crazy stuck in bed all the time like that. When they couldn't be there, someone else usually stopped by - Ratchet, Wheeljack, even Optimus on occasion. Still no Arcee, though. We watched movies, read books, and every now and then they'd carry me outside, bed and all. (Holoforms' specs like muscle strength were apparently pretty flexible.)
It was during one of those visits that I finally rehashed with Optimus what all had happened exactly during my encounter with the Decepticons. He was the one with the energon swords, so I felt safe talking about it with him. He was the only one who made me feel safe enough, though.
Apparently, when Arcee had brought my dad down to Edwards Air Force Base, Bludgeon saw them and tracked her back to the ranch. That's how the Decepticons knew where to look for Samuel. Why exactly they'd wanted him was anybody's guess, but based on what he'd said, Shockwave had allowed Bumblebee to live in hopes of forcing Samuel to do what he wanted. The Decepticons apparently knew about the Autobot-enhanced C-17's and about Wheeljack's Moonshine, since they'd correctly guessed when Ironhide would arrive, more or less.
On the Autobot side, Optimus had flown ahead of the Diego Garcia Autobots so he could reinforce Samuel's contingent. They'd rendezvoused not far from Mom's ranch and worked their way down toward the site of the battle. They sent in a cloaked Mirage first, to see what they were up against, and that's how he was there before my hip got crushed. Mirage felt really badly because he'd transmitted his report from near Bumblebee's broken frame to hide the fact that he was there, but then Bumblebee got beat up more because of it. To get me and Mom out of there alive, Mirage had first injected us with nanites that paralyzed and numbed us, and then he'd hidden us under his cloak while Hound projected holograms of our bodies. But they had to distract the Decepticons while Mirage and Hound did all that. RaFly remembered that, when Wheeljack had broken open one of the original radioactive pellets, the broken one had sent a signal to all the others and that's what made them attack. So while the Air Force and Optimus attacked the Decepticons, she sent that signal and made Bludgeon's pellets activate and attack him. He'd been out for revenge against Ironhide, but RaFly had killed him without even drawing her own weapon.
The rest I understood pretty well. Optimus kicked aft, Samuel and Mikaela arrived, Samuel used the Matrix to heal Bumblebee, and then Arcee and Evac fixed me and Mom up enough to survive the flight to the hospital.
"How the Decepticons slipped past BINDS is still under investigation, though," Optimus said at the end.
"What's BINDS?"
"It's a network of armed satellites that protects Earth. The Decepticons have only successfully breached it three times - once when it was newly installed and more human-built than Cybertronian, once when your sun was weaponized against it, and this time. Apparently, a virus was uploaded to a single, specific satellite that then spread throughout the network, and that virus flagged all incoming space material as a non-threat. How that virus was uploaded in the first place remains a mystery, however."
Even though there were a few times during the conversation where we had to stop for a minute or two so I could catch my breath, it felt good to finally have the whole sequence of events straight in my mind. It was worth it, but I wouldn't want to have to do that twice.
I did have a few nightmares again after that - Mirage getting caught, Optimus losing a battle with Shockwave, Mom being killed in the kitchen by Stockade - but eventually those tapered off, too. And even before Dr. Sarkisian and I had a chance to talk about them, I realized the nightmares were my subconscious doing the "stitching up" of trying to make sense of what I'd been through. It sucked, but she helped me keep it all in perspective.
Fate's compensation for all that, though, was that I got to hear all kinds of stories from the Autobots' past while they kept me company. Usually they'd show me a hologram of whatever story they were telling me, and that was just mind-blowing. Honestly, my favorites were always about Optimus, because there was something kind of funny about Ironhide describing him as a Cybertronian egghead. Like with Samuel Prime's storytelling for his kids, the 'bots only told me happier stories from their past, but I loved it despite the sugarcoating.
I had to wait until Day 15 of my therapy journal to catch Hyde alone, since bringing up this particular femme might hurt Mia too much. "Do you know anything about Arcee's other sister?" I asked him.
He became very still and looked at me curiously. "Who do you mean?"
"Optimus' mate. Arcee mentioned her, back before I got hurt. I can't remember her name, though."
"Elita One," he said with a wistful smile. His eyes were distant, not like he was using his comm but like he was lost in memory.
"Did you know her?"
He focused on me again. "Know her? She was kin - I could feel an echo of her sister-bond with Chromia. She was...something else, as you humans would say."
"Tell me about her?"
He huffed a little and then disappeared, only to be replaced by a room-changing hologram. I was still on my bed, of course, but I was in a metallic hallway that I assumed was on Cybertron. A rose-red femme even taller than Ratchet was striding toward us, talking to Optimus. I recognized her color scheme - it was the same as one of Arcee's bikes.
"I'm not convinced this mission is necessary, Elita." He sounded surprisingly grumpy.
"It is more reconnaissance than raid," she admitted.
"Then let Jazz's scouts handle it."
She stepped in front of Optimus, forcing him to come to a halt. I'd never seen anybody brave (or stupid) enough to try that with him before, not even in his human holoform. That femme had guts. "It's necessary for the health and strength of the team."
Optimus hung his helm. "They're still grieving. You're still grieving."
She reached up to touch his face. "Moonracer's death shook us all. That is why we must rebuild our confidence and cohesion as a team."
He lifted his helm again. "It's too soon."
Her hand fell to her side. "Dear spark, I'm not asking your permission."
He narrowed his optics at her, but she didn't flinch or even squirm, just stared him down. I don't think even Prowl had that kind of nerve.
Eventually he vented a sigh. "The Elite Guard will do as their leader deems best."
Elita stepped back and to the side, getting out of Optimus' path again. "Thank you, Prime."
He grimaced slightly at the name but kept walking.
The hologram disappeared, and Hyde reappeared in the recliner.
"Were you spying on them back then?" I asked.
"Kind of," he freely admitted. "They'd been unusually tense in a meeting just a few minutes after, so I accessed the security feeds to figure out what was going on. But it gives you an idea of the kind of femme she was. Off the battlefield, that is. On it, she was only rivaled by Chromia."
He flickered for a second, surprising me. "Are you okay?"
Looking a little sheepish, he said, "I was going to show you a holo of her in battle, but...I think I'd better just tell you about that."
Someday I'd be able to have him show me those kinds of holos again - I hoped - but I was nowhere ready for it now. It stung a little to be reminded of that, but I tried to put a brave face on it. "Tell me about her in battle, then."
...
Day 15 was also important because it was the first day I actually sat up again. It made me feel like every muscle in my butt and thigh were all pins and needles, but I could do it!
Ratchet was pretty confident that, with continuing therapy, the pins-and-needles feeling would go away. After that, I got to sit up in the wheelchair for a little while each day. Stretching helped a ton, but I had to be really careful not to tear these newly-attached muscles. Baby steps was the name of the game.
Three weeks after my return to Diego Garcia, the 'bots presented me with a new wheelchair. "Thanks," I said. It looked a lot like the one I'd been using, but the wheels were a bit bigger and sturdier.
"It was designed by Wheeljack," Mom said, a sly smile on her face.
Uh-oh.
"He got approval through all appropriate channels," Hyde assured me.
"Try it out," Jack eagerly said.
Steeling my courage, I nodded to Dad. Smiling, he scooped me up and helped me into my new, Autobot-enhanced wheelchair. It rolled even easier than my old one, and it pivoted on a dime when I got to the other side of the room. I smiled up at Jack with appreciation.
"It's also a transformer," Optimus said.
I blinked stupidly, and Dad laughed. Stepping behind me, he pushed my chair over to the bottom of the stairs. Turning it around so the back wheels were against the bottom step, Dad pointed out a cover on the right wheelchair handle that slid open. Underneath it were several buttons, including one with a picture of a bed printed on it and a three-way switch.
"This is the transformation one," Dad said, enjoying this way too much. "Relax," he added and pushed the button for me. The chair back reclined while the foot rests rose, and I suddenly understood. This was so much more comfortable for my hip!
"Push it again to sit back up," Mom said, and I tried it out.
"Sweet!" I exclaimed as it gently propped me up again.
"Try it on the stairs!" Wheeljack enthusiastically said, and I gulped.
Dad's eyes danced with amusement. "Slide the three-way switch toward you and hang on."
That wasn't exactly encouraging. But since my folks, Optimus, and 'Hide had all approved it, it probably wouldn't kill me. Hopefully. Taking a deep breath, I moved the switch. The whole chair slowly tilted back this time until I had popped a wheelie on the back two wheels. Then, perfectly balanced and steady, the large wheels rolled right up the stairs. At the top, the chair rolled backward to a safe distance from the edge of the stairs before coming to a stop.
"Ready to sleep in your room again?" Mom asked, her eyes sparkling.
Grinning at the Autobot inventor, I all but shouted, "Thank you so much, Wheeljack!"
...
"Let's talk about anger today," Dr. Sarkisian announced on Day 23 of my therapy journal.
"I don't have anger issues," I said, giving her a sidelong look. Usually she was dead on the mark for reading my mood, but today I was feeling pretty upbeat, especially since I was in my Autobot-enhanced wheelchair and it gave me so much more freedom. I didn't need somebody else to help me shift to a comfortable position anymore.
"I didn't say 'anger issues,'" she answered, "just anger. Sooner or later, we all have to deal with it." Before I could protest, she said, "If not with your injury, then with something else. I want to make sure your toolkit is stocked and ready for whenever you need it. You're in a good place today, so let's talk about anger."
"Okay…"
"So what are your thoughts about anger?"
I grimaced as I remembered my three-week tantrum after learning my favorite people were giant alien robots. "That it doesn't do anybody any good."
"So you have negative associations with it?"
I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."
"I understand that Optimus personally came to your rescue - that he killed to protect you."
I saw again his optics blazing, his energon sword cutting through Stockade's chassis. The memory always brought an odd mix of awe and relief. "Yes."
"How do you think he felt in that moment?"
I paused and considered that. "I've never really thought about it. Fierce, I guess. Determined."
"Angry?"
It was kind of hard to wrap my brain around the idea of kind, gentle Optimus being angry, but now that she'd said it, I could totally see it. "Yes." He had been angry. It had practically crackled off of him. He'd been furious.
"Angry enough to kill," Dr. Sarkisian added. "We think of anger as a destructive emotion, and it is. But sometimes - if we're protecting someone from harm, for example - anger and the destruction that comes with it can be useful and even healthy. It can motivate us to create necessary boundaries in relationships. It can drive us to make changes in society. It can even save lives. We all have anger as part of our psyche because it gave us an evolutionary advantage. But there are also times when anger is not healthy, when it motivates us to harmful action, or it becomes a sideways expression of something else. It's like fire in that sense - useful when controlled but dangerous if it gets out of control. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah."
"Where do you think anger comes from?"
"Stupidity?" I reflexively said, thinking of my tantrum again.
"Do you think the Prime was motivated by stupidity when he fought for you?"
My brow furrowed as I thought that over. "I'm not sure. You're the one with the degree and the experience. You tell me."
Dr. Sarkisian half-smiled. "Fair enough. Anger is a secondary emotion. In normal psychology, we feel anger because we feel something else. So my guess is that the Prime's anger was rooted in fear for your safety, at least in part. Anger is often a result of hurt or frustration, too. Even physical stimuli like hunger or sensory overstimulation can trigger anger."
She leaned forward on her elbows, looking at me earnestly. "So that's why I wanted to make sure you have this very powerful tool for your toolkit, Annabelle, and it's most helpful to hear all this before a person's already feeling angry. Knowing that anger is a secondary emotion can help people control it. Address the underlying emotion, and you remove the fuel from the fire. So if you find yourself feeling angry and want to control it, ask yourself what's causing it. Maybe you just need a sandwich. Maybe you're hurt or scared. Maybe you wanted things to go one way and they didn't, and you're frustrated. If you ever need to control anger that's harmful, look at what's fueling it."
…
Day 25 was my first day back at school. It was miserable. During summer break, time didn't really seem to pass, but now that I was rolling up the stairs to the building, I suddenly realized the Decepticons had cost me the whole summer and who knew how much of the school year to come.
Even more awful was everyone else's reactions. They'd get quiet when I entered the room and either stared or, when I met their gaze, looked away.
I made it all the way to lunch before one of my classmates - Kathryn - got up the nerve to ask what happened.
"Car accident back in California," I lied, picking at my food as images of red optics and energon swords swarmed my brain. "I don't remember much about it. But at least the hip damage isn't permanent."
"I'm sorry," she said.
"Me, too."
...
I still hadn't seen Arcee. I felt badly about it, but she couldn't come down here in her base form - not even on Diego Garcia.
On Day 28 of my therapy journal, Ratchet came over in his holoform for more physical therapy and cookies. As we were finishing up, though, I asked him, "Are you ever going to get around to fixing Arcee?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I haven't seen her since...since California. 'Bee told me she was injured and stuck in her base form. I've talked with her a few times on the phone, but it's not the same. I miss her."
Ratchet nodded in understanding. "The part she needs isn't available on Earth, and two of the metals necessary to manufacture it don't naturally occur in this solar system. She'll be unable to transform or use a holoform for quite a while."
Tears welled up in my eyes, surprising me. She was even more broken than I was!
"I think you're well enough to go see her, though."
I sat up straighter, brushing away the tears. "Really?"
"I can make room for you in my alt-form," he said. "Come on."
When he pulled me out of the back of his ambulance in the Autobot hangar half an hour later, Arcee was standing there in her pink component, arms crossed and looking me over. "Nice upgrade, Firebrand," she said with approval. "You're a full-on Autobot Transformer now." Grinning and waggling her optic ridges, she added, "Let's roll out!"
I burst out laughing and she knelt to hug me close. "I can't tell you how good it is to see you with my own optics."
I hugged her back, pokey bits and all. She was still my Autobot "aunt" Arcee. She was going to be okay. The purple and pink components were both totaled, but Arcee was still here with me. I hadn't lost her that day.
All of a sudden I was sobbing.
Arcee stroked my hair and tried to talk to me, but the relief was almost an agony of its own and I couldn't speak.
Dad appeared at my elbow a few minutes later. "Sweetheart? Are you okay?"
I sniffled, wiping my nose on my sleeve, and nodded. I was too choked up to try to explain, but I hugged him and then reached for another hug from Arcee.
"Grateful she's alive?" Dad guessed.
I nodded and I could hear the smile in Arcee's voice when she said, "Right back at you, little one."
...
By this time, Mom was doing well enough that she wasn't getting physical therapy from Ratchet anymore. Since he only had one patient out at the house, he started having Ironhide bring me up to the base for therapy and then made Arcee his apprentice torturer. While it was all the same to my muscles, I was really glad to have Arcee working with me instead. She was a lot less crabby!
She was the one who convinced me on Day 34 of my therapy journal to try standing up for the first time since my injury more than three months ago. It terrified me, but she knelt in front of me, clawed hands splayed over my sides to support my weight, and helped me to my feet. Little by little, she let me bear my own weight until I was standing straight and tall on my own, with only my hands on her shoulders to make sure I didn't lose my balance. She only let me stand for about 5 seconds before she eased me back into my chair again, but I'd done it!
Once I was sitting down, my cell phone blew up with text alerts. "What did you do?" I asked her.
Smirking, she said, "See for yourself."
I pulled up the app, and she'd group-texted all the Autobots with a photo of me standing up. I had about thirty texts celebrating in emoji, English, and some Autobot slang, along with a text from Ratchet that was in actual Cybertronian glyphs.
Looking up at her, I asked, "Do I want to know?"
"He says 'congratulations.'"
"Sarcastically?"
"Well, this is Ratchet we're talking about. So yes. He's slagged off that he did all the work and then missed it the first time you stood on that fancy new hip."
Ratchet later added in person that he was worried I was rushing my recovery, but even the people from Brown Biotech sent me an email the next day congratulating me on my progress. I couldn't do a cartwheel yet, but I felt happy enough that I wanted to and confident enough to believe I would again someday!
When I met with Dr. Sarkisian next (we were only meeting once a week now), she helped me see how much of a victory this really was. It was more than just the physical recovery. Bludgeon had hurt me with the intent of hurting everyone who loved me, too. Just surviving that attack had been a blow to his plans. Taking back my life and living it to the fullest was the best, fiercest way I had to fight back. I didn't tell Dr. Sarkisian, but I decided during that session that, when I could walk again, it would be the ultimate defeat for him and all the Decepticons I'd faced that day. It was one thing for Bludgeon to be killed by the sabotaged radioactive pellets; it was another for me to be healed enough to be able to dance on his grave. Dr. Sarkisian even got my folks and Optimus on board for a full-on Autobot party at the house to celebrate when I took my first steps.
It hurt, though. Physical therapy had kept the muscles and stuff from locking up, but that wasn't the same as actually using my legs the way I was supposed to. I was weak and shaky, and it brought on a few nightmares at first of being helpless again - captured by Shockwave, chased by a shark in the ocean, trapped in my bed in a house fire. Arcee had to catch me more than once as I used a walker to try to cross the med bay. But I stood every day, and I took those faltering steps every day until I could make it five steps without Arcee's help and then ten and then I could make it from one end of the med bay to the other with nothing but the walker to lean on.
After his hissy fit last time, I made sure Ratchet was there in the med bay to record it when, toward the end of September, I was able to walk five steps completely unassisted. When Dad got the text along with the rest of the Autobots, his whoop of joy made it all the way from the main hangar to the med bay.
…
I still used my wheelchair at school, since I wasn't up to eight hours of regular walking and sitting. But several of my schoolmates had started to warm up to me. They held doors for me or sat with me at lunch.
When I mentioned it to Dr. Sarkisian, she pointed out that, as Colonel Lennox's daughter, I was pretty intimidating. But when I needed my classmates' help, that made me less threatening. "This could be a real opportunity for you, socially," she said.
I hadn't thought about my injury and all the struggle to return to normal as an opportunity before, but it made sense the way she said it. "I think you just blew my mind."
She grinned and leaned back against the couch cushion. "That's why they pay me the big bucks."
...
I'd been walking for a couple of weeks, practicing for a half-hour at a time in the medbay, before I got up the nerve to ask Ratchet, "So...how do I get my Autobot brand back?"
He dropped the part he'd been cleaning and stared at me.
Too soon. My heart rate jumped and my thoughts raced. It was too soon. He didn't think I was good enough yet to be an Autobot again. I was still too weak. Too broken.
"Calm down, Firebrand." He knelt to be eye-level with me. "You're heading into another panic attack."
I closed my eyes and, as instructed, mindfully paid attention to my breathing and heart-rate until I wasn't freaking out anymore.
"Why would you even want that?" he eventually, gently asked. "It was the brand we placed on you - our thoughtless act - that resulted in your injury."
Opening my eyes, I looked up into his optics. "No, it wasn't. It saved our lives."
He tilted his head curiously.
"The only reason the Decepticons didn't squish us on sight was because of our brands. Shockwave pulled Mom's boot off to get a better look at hers. They asked for our designations. They talked to us because of those brands."
He looked away, seeming to process all that.
"You really thought they would have just let us go or whatever if Mom and I weren't marked as Autobots?"
Ratchet focused on me again. "Your injuries were both focused on your brands."
He'd felt guilty this whole time! I placed my hand on his huge metal one. "The brands saved our lives. Don't feel guilty anymore. And besides, you saved me. You gave me back my ability to walk. You did. You gave me back my life. You made it a life worth living."
"A frame doesn't determine whether life is worthwhile," he pointed out, "even if it's a frame that's maimed. Look at Arcee. Choices are what determines our fate, not our frames."
I half-smiled. "Maybe, but the frames sure can make it easier - or harder! And even reduced to one component, Arcee still is whole enough to wear the Autobot brand. What else do I have to do to get mine back?"
"Get parental permission," he said, straightening again.
I pulled my phone from my pocket - that's what texting was for! - and had it in writing 30 seconds later that my parents were both on board.
I walked my wheelchair out of that medbay that day with the Autobot brand on my hip. I still had some healing to do, but finally, I was me again!