I glared at the ceiling of my bedroom, refusing to look at the clock. It was o' dark thirty and I just couldn't sleep. I couldn't get comfortable. If I laid on my back, I felt like there was a weight on my chest. If I lay on my left side, my ribs ached, and if I lay on my right side, my hip hurt.

And if my hip hurt, all kinds of bad memories returned.

Why was I feeling this way? What was happening to me? Why now?

Angry enough for my eyes to tear up, I threw off the covers and went downstairs to get a sleep aid. After I swallowed it down, I went to turn off the light, but Dad startled me by appearing at the base of the stairs. "What are you doing up?" he asked, worry written all over his face.

"Trying to sleep," I grumbled, slipping past him and back up to my room.

The next morning, I felt drugged still from the sleep aid, but it was better than the nightmares I could pretty much count on, given my mood. The anger punched through even the drugged feeling, leaving me sullen and sluggish for most of my first-period class.

Not even being checked out by Ironhide improved my mood. Fortunately, though, my head was finally starting to clear.

Dr. Sarkisian greeted me with a somber nod and gestured me into her office.

I sat down in the recliner and stared at the carpet for a long moment.

"I hope this isn't just to get out of school," she eventually said.

"No."

"Well then?"

My hands in my lap were balled into fists, and I forced them to relax, spreading my fingers wide over my knees. "I know your clearance is higher than mine, but I just want to be sure. Do you know what makes Autobot brothers, well, brothers?"

"You mean bonds?"

"Yes. And mates?"

"Spark-bonds."

"Arcee and Bumblebee have one now."

"I didn't know that."

I started pacing, feeling that rage well up in me again.

"You're agitated," Dr. Sarkisian observed.

"I'm furious."

"Because of their bond?"

"How dare they!" I shouted, and it felt good to finally voice the rage. "How dare they get something good out of this! After all they put me through, after what Mom and I both went through, how dare they get a happily ever after while I'm still having nightmares!"

She held very still, not reacting, and somehow, it made me even more explosive.

"How dare they! They're all cuddling and bot-smooching and I fragging still can't sleep at night!"

"That is one way of looking at it."

Seething, I whirled and glared at her directly. "He left me. How dare he!"

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought he stayed and fought beside you, almost to the death."

The rage still carried me in a pacing circuit of her room, but I turned her words over in my mind, trying to force myself to think logically about it. It was hard because that fury tried to sweep me away with every step. She was right, though – 'Bee hadn't left me. "That's what it feels like – like he just waltzed off and left me to die." That's why I'd said those things.

I took a deep breath in through my nose and let it out slowly. "Anger is a secondary emotion," I reminded myself and her, "so what's the primary one here? Why am I ready to kill something?"

"I could only guess. You know your own heart best. Tell me what else you're feeling besides anger."

"I'm scared. I'm frustrated. I feel stuck - like I'm drowning."

"Drowning?"

"Like back on the mountain," I realized. "It feels like I'm back on the mountain, and he's sending Samuel away. Samuel and Mikaela." And then I remembered Mom with the rifle. "Mikaela said I should take her place, and Mom told her 'no' and made her mount the bike at gunpoint." Focusing on Dr. Sarkisian again, I said, "Bumblebee could have taken all us humans with him. He didn't – he sent Arcee and the Prime away instead. He left us to die. He stayed with us, but it was his choice who got to escape and who didn't. Mom was just backing him up."

"That sounds like a difficult situation for all of you."

I resumed pacing, getting choked up on the grief as I wore out her carpet. "He chose death for me. He was ready to let me die. He's my friend, Dr. Sarkisian. He has been for as long as I can remember. I mean, it was a betrayal to learn that their holoforms weren't actually humans, but that was a harmless lie. This...Mom and I both could have died." I slumped down on the couch, my eyes aching with fresh tears. I was so, so tired of crying!

Dr. Sarkisian sat down beside me with a box of tissues. I took one and wiped my eyes, but I could barely breathe, I was crying so hard. I wrapped my arms around my ribs and tried to catch my breath. It wasn't enough as the pain ached in my hip again. I doubled over as the crying became body-wracking sobs.

We could have died.

We could have died.

We almost did. It was his choice. It all came down to him. All this pain, all this hurt, it was all his fault. He knew everything that happened to me probably would – and worse – and still sent Mikaela away instead of me.

"He tried to kill me," I choked out.

"Is that what you think or what you feel?" Dr. Sarkisian asked.

"Feel."

She nodded and didn't say anything more, just supportively rubbed the top of my arm.

Thankfully the sobbing slowed down, and the anger ebbed with it. It took several minutes, but eventually I was able to sit up again and breathe well enough to blow my nose.

After I'd filled several tissues, Dr. Sarkisian gently said, "There are two ways to look at this, Annabelle. Probably more than two, but there are at least two I can think of that are relevant here. One is the tactical logic – this was a battle, and so there were rules at play that aren't applicable elsewhere. The other is your own, personal experiences and their consequences. You aren't a battle-hardened soldier; you are a sixteen-year-old girl whose brain is still very plastic and whose psyche was as hurt as your body. Both of these are legitimate ways to analyze what happened. And you'll probably be more resilient if you look at what happened through both lenses, one at a time."

Analyze. Become resilient. More work for me to do while Arcee and Bumblebee just… I remembered again their lovey-dovey whatever in the med bay and their cuddling on the ship. In a flash of anger, I threw my balled-up tissue at the floor.

"When you're ready," Dr. Sarkisian added.

But none of this was ever my choice. It was Bumblebee's. And Mom's. And Shockwave's. Not mine. "Do I have a choice?" I bitterly said.

"There is always a choice," she answered.

She was intense enough that I actually looked up at her again, and the sympathy there surprised me. "Always. You might not like your options, and honestly, I don't think anyone would blame you for that. But your power lies in your ability to choose, Annabelle. Exercising that ability is how you overcome this."

I wrapped my arms around my ribs again. "But I'm so fragging tired."

"Adrenaline – fight or flight – is exhausting. If you think you could rest now, we can call it a day and you can go home. You're the one who reached out to me this time."

I considered my own feelings. While I'd burned through a lot of the anger, the hurt was still there, and if I tried to rest right now, I was worried it would just flare back up again later.

Defeated, I asked her, "What are my choices?"

"Let's talk about the feeling that Bumblebee tried to kill you..."

"I know he didn't."

"But it feels that way," she finished for me. "Why?"

"I don't know," I whined.

"Your conscious mind doesn't have to know right this second," she gently said, "but there's a deeper part of you inside who does know. That part will tell you sooner or later, but it will take some listening and analyzing to understand why. And it likely won't happen until you're willing to work with the answer."

I nodded and hunched forward again. Any thoughts about Bumblebee led to a great big ball of hurt and lingering anger that I couldn't get past. He wasn't just willing to throw away my life – he did. He actually did put me in harm's way. My feelings were convinced of that, and I couldn't figure out why. "I don't know," I repeated. "I just don't know."

"That's okay," Dr. Sarkisian said. "Give it time. Let's try a different exercise. What do you think your options are right now?"

I drew a shaky breath and my eyes teared up again. "I don't have any options."

"None whatsoever?"

I narrowed my eyes at her as I wiped away the tears. "None."

"So you couldn't go home and eat an entire can of whipping cream to drown your sorrows?"

I snorted in grim amusement. "Only if I wanted to throw up."

"Do you want to throw up?"

"No. Who would want…" My voice trailed off as I saw where she was going with that one. "No, I'm not bulimic. And that's not an option. Why would you even suggest that?"

"I'm not," she said with a half-smile. "I was trying to make sure you weren't. And I'm glad you're in a healthier place than that. But since bulimia isn't an option either of us want you to explore, toss out another one. What else can you do?"

"I don't know. Go for a swim?"

"Exercise is a healthy way to deal with stress," she said in agreement. "What else?"

"What do you want me to say?" I snapped.

"Whatever is going through your head," she evenly answered. "I can't run a scan like Ratchet. You have to tell me where your mental injuries are before I can help you."

I grimaced slightly and looked away from her. "I'd love to just hide under a blanket for the rest of the day. So that's an option."

"A better one than my whipped cream idea, for sure."

"I could do homework, but I think I'd just end up snapping all my pencils into kindling. What did you call that kind of thing? A maladaptation?"

"That's the right word, but I wouldn't call breaking pencils one. Keying Bumblebee, yes. Breaking pencils, no. I'd even donate the pencils!"

I half-smiled at her, feeling slightly better. Considering the night I'd had, I hadn't thought that possible.

"Any other options come to mind?" she asked.

I thought for a long moment. "I guess I could confront him about it. Though if I do that before I work through the rest, I probably will end up keying him."

"Maybe you should hold off a bit on that one, then."

"I could talk to Mom. She was there and backed him up."

"Yes, that might be a good starting place. Or your dad. He'd understand those rules of combat even better than your mom."

And it might be easier to talk with him first. My mom chose Samuel over her own flesh and blood, and I couldn't see how that conversation could ever turn out well. "I think that's the first really do-able option we've come up with."

"It's a good starting point," she agreed. "Any other options?"

"Maybe eventually I could talk to Samuel about it." But just like with Mom, I didn't know how I could possibly be civil enough with him about it to have it not blow up.

"Or Arcee?"

I shook my head, feeling the stirrings of that gut-deep anger again. "They're spark-bound. He'll know everything she does. If I talk to her, he'll know I'm angry, too, and I don't want that yet. Maybe not ever. Oh, one other thing!" The mention of Arcee reminded me about my panic attack back on Egmont. "I had a… I don't know, flashback or something during yesterday's race. Arcee did something to me."

Dr. Sarkisian tilted her head curiously. "What do you mean, 'did something to you?'"

I grimaced as I remembered. "It must be some built-in medical equipment or something. She said she was regulating my heart rate and blood pressure."

"Did it work?"

"Yes, but that's not the point. She took over my heart. She forced me to calm down."

"Ah," she said, understanding dawning. "I take it you didn't appreciate it."

"I didn't. Or I guess I did and didn't. I mean, I was glad Mom and Dad didn't notice I was freaking out, but it was just a temporary fix. Like you always say, trauma buried alive never dies."

She nodded in agreement. "And it was on this same trip that you realized they have a bond?"

"Yes."

"Sounds like a perfect storm."

"You could call it that."

"Well what about talking to Arcee about that? It's a smaller fire to put out, but tackling that first might make the rest less overwhelming."

I frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know how to tell her to back off without sounding rude and ungrateful."

Dr. Sarkisian smiled. "This is what we call self-advocacy, and it's a critical life skill. And I know Arcee – she'll be a good partner to practice with."

I sighed, not so sure about that. "Okay, so how do I self-advocate without finding myself on the wrong end of an Aubobot cannon?"

"Annabelle…"

"What?" I said defensively.

"You've known Arcee your whole life. You tell me – how does she feel about you?"

I knew the answer to that without even thinking: she loved me. She was like a favorite aunt. Scratch that, she was my favorite aunt. She'd kill for me. She'd die for me. Even though she was the one who actually made a break for it with Samuel and Mikeala, I didn't think for a second that she would have chosen death for me. She was just following Bumblebee's orders.

Dr. Sarkisian was still looking at me expectantly, so I said, "She loves me."

She nodded with a little smile. "So do you think you could talk with her about not taking over your heart like that again? Before we meet next, that is."

The deadline made me tense up, but I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. This was Arcee. I could do this. Or at least, "I'll try."

"That's good enough for me." She was about to say something more, but I yawned hugely. Instead, she said, "You've got to be exhausted. Is there anything else you want to talk about, or are you ready to call it good for now?"

She was right, I was having a hard time keeping my eyes open.

"I'll text your mom and see if she wants to excuse you from school for the rest of the day."

I nodded in agreement and apparently dozed off, because the next thing I knew, she was gently shaking my shoulder.

"Ironhide's out front. He'll take you home. And you're already on my calendar for Friday. Let's meet weekly or so for a while."

"Oh. Okay." I blinked rapidly, trying to wake up enough to be steady on my feet. The last thing I wanted was to fall on my hip and have to face an irate Ratchet.

As I staggered up and toward the door, Dr. Sarkisian said, "Annabelle…"

I paused and looked at her.

She gave me a reassuring little smile. "I've been expecting something like this from you for the last month, just so you know. As hard as all this is, it's a necessary step in healing, and you might have other realizations hit you just as hard or harder. But if that happens, you will have the tools and know-how to deal with it. I want you to understand you can come out stronger, more resilient on the other side of this."

"Because I'm a Lennox?"

"Because you're you."

I returned her smile and headed for home.

…

I slept the whole morning away, and Dad was in the kitchen eating lunch with Mom when I came down the stairs.

"Hey sweetheart," Mom said, catching me in a hug. "Feeling any better."

I wasn't in a rage anymore, and that was good. "A little bit." Nothing had really changed, though, either.

"Want to talk about it?" Dad offered.

The thought – and the fear that came with it – was exhausting. "Not right now."

He nodded and patted the empty seat at the table beside him. "You hungry?"

"Maybe?"

"Some fruit?" Mom offered. "Pineapple?"

It didn't sound bad, at least. "Let's start with that."

…

I pulled myself together enough to see the Witwicky's off that afternoon as they headed back home. Beatrice leaned out RaFly's open window and shouted, "Bye, Annabelle, and have fun at your princess ball!" I even managed a smile at the innocence and imagination of preschoolers.

But when it came to talking with Arcee about the whole forcing me to calm down thing, I chickened out. When I went into the medbay later that week for physical therapy, I just couldn't think of a way to bring it up. Ratchet was there the whole time, too, which meant we had an audience, and if Arcee shouldn't have done that, she might get in trouble with him, too. So I kept my mouth shut.

Two days later, I had my appointment with Dr. Sarkisian, though, and I kind of slunk into her office.

She took one look at me and sobered. "So. How did it go with Arcee?"

"The physical therapy went well."

"Anything else?"

I hunched lower and cringed, unable to answer.

"You were afraid?"

I nodded, still tongue-tied.

She sighed and gave me a half-smile. "I'm not judging you, Annabelle. This is your recovery – I'm just here to give you a hand from time to time. You're in control of when you advance and how far."

My breath came out in a whoosh. "How in the Pit am I in control of any of this?"

"Well, you made a choice to not self-advocate with Arcee. So you chose to put it off for another week. You're in control."

I looked at my hands, just really not wrapping my head around what she was saying. "But you're supposed to lecture me. I didn't do the homework you gave me. I gave in to my fear."

"That, too, is a choice."

I swallowed hard. Last time when we'd talked about choices, we joked about me eating a whole can of whip cream or snapping all my homework pencils. I hadn't thought that letting my fear control me was a choice. Looking up at her, I said, "I can't just walk up to Arcee and tell her off."

Dr. Sarkisian nodded, accepting that. "Okay, that's fair. So what can you do?"

I looked down, considering the question. I could write it down. Let the words stand by themselves, so I wasn't the one saying them. "I could send her a text or an email."

Her smile became genuine. "That sounds like a good choice."

...

It took me three days to write the email, sleep on it, rewrite it, sleep on the rewrite, edit the rewrite and then finally send it just after I brushed my teeth for the night.

Ten minutes later, I heard Arcee's voice downstairs talking to my mom, and I locked my bedroom door before cowering under my blankets. A minute later, there was a knock on my door. I didn't answer.

"Annabelle, Arcee is here to see you."

In my best sleepy-voice, I said, "I'm tired, Mom. Can't she come back tomorrow?"

"She's stuck in her base form, remember? She got special permission to come down here, since it's after dark."

I sighed and threw off my covers. "Fine."

I followed my mom down the stairs to the back door, and the glowing-eyed figure in the shadowed end of the deck loomed tall.

"Calm down, Annabelle," Arcee gently said. "I won't force you to this time, though. I promise."

I stood with my back against the wall and tried to slow my breathing. It was hard to relax in the dark when my whole body was on red alert for invading Cybertronians.

"Light?" I managed to pant.

She stepped forward into the glow coming from the kitchen window and then slowly sank to sitting cross-legged. She glinted in the patch of light, but the unmistakable pink was more reassuring than I expected. It allowed me to see the kind concern in her optics.

I looked away, closed my eyes, and tried to relax my shoulders at least.

After a minute, Arcee began humming. It took me a few seconds to recognize the melody, but it was the lullaby Mom had sung for me, the Cybertronian one Arcee had sung when I was still a baby and she was still new to Earth.

I started bawling again, and she gently said, "I'm not angry. I'm here for you, but I'll go if you want me to."

In answer, I ventured closer. The scent of hot machine oil and car wax hit the back of my tongue – by now those were familiar, home smells. Kneeling in front of her, I opened my arms, and she hugged me tightly, holding me while I cried. Like when I lost it in Dr. Sarkisian's office, I couldn't speak for a long time. The hurt and fear and anger and relief just tossed me around until the storm of emotions passed and I was exhausted again. All the while, Arcee held me and stroked my hair.

"Love you, little one," Arcee said. "I keep forgetting how quickly humans grow. I'm sorry I crossed a line, and I won't let it happen again."

"Love you, too," I croaked.

"Ready to sleep?"

I nodded, and she stood, gathering me in her arms. As if I were a little kid, she carried me up to my bedroom, ducking her helm in the doorways. Her clawed hands tucked me in, but I felt safer than I had in months. "We'll talk more tomorrow," she promised and was gone.

...

True to her word (or threat, a little voice whispered in my mind, but I shushed it), Arcee was on the back deck the next morning, talking with Mom across the picnic table. They both got quiet when they saw me.

"Breakfast?" Mom asked me, rising to her feet.

I shrugged. "Maybe in a few minutes."

She gave me a quick hug and then continued inside.

I crossed the deck to take a seat across from Arcee. She didn't say anything, and for a long minute, we just sat there in silence.

"Did you stay here all night?"

"I had a lot to think about," she answered. "Ironhide will give me a lift back later this morning."

I looked up at her curiously, and she added, "I'll hide under a tarp in his bed."

Nodding, I looked back down at the tabletop between us.

The silence stretched long again, and more to break it than anything, I asked, "What did you have to think about?"

Arcee didn't answer at first, and eventually I looked up again. She dodged my gaze, staring at her clawed hands. "Samuel's the only other human who knows this, but I didn't have a tripartite form on Cybertron. I was like 'Bee and Chromia and the others. One form each for both alt and robot mode."

I stared, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

In a voice so low I had to lean a little closer, she said, "We all call it an upgrade, but that change was involuntary."

"Battlefield injury?" I guessed.

She huffed a quiet laugh. "Sure, we'll call it that." Sobering again, she said, "There was a night, before Chromia came to Earth, where...where I basically did to Bumblebee what you did to me last night. Complete meltdown."

I winced a little at her description, and her metal hand reached across to gently touch mine. "Hey, at least you didn't give me any dents."

I half-smiled at that.

"I've...found meaning in what happened to me. It's healed me in ways I didn't think possible. I guess… I guess what I'm trying to say is I know what it is to feel broken, and I know what it's like to find healing. And I also know it's a long road between those two. You don't ever have to worry about hurting my feelings or offending me."

I stared at her hand still touching mine.

"And I hope that you can find meaning someday, too."

Was she talking about her bond with Bumblebee? In my mind, I again saw the two of them 'bot-smooching in the medbay and felt my bile rise. "I need to go," I said, jumping to my feet and running inside.

...

I sat in my room, stomach rumbling from my skipped breakfast, until I heard Ironhide's engine coming up the driveway.

This was my last chance today to fix things with Arcee. I curled up tighter under my blankets.

A car door closed, and a few seconds later I overheard voices down in the living room. Every now and then I could understand what they said.

It was my dad's words that struck me to the heart. "...some space, let her choose to do the right thing…"

I had a choice here. The thought struck me like a thunderbolt. And I was choosing to let anger or whatever it was control me. I could choose to go downstairs. I could choose to say goodbye at least to Arcee. Or I could choose to stay here and hide under the covers.

Ironhide, sprawled out in the medbay with Johnston pulling pellets from his chassis.

Sometimes you don't get second chances.

"Frag it to the Pit," I muttered, throwing off the blankets, pulling on a bathrobe, and stomping down the stairs. My hip started aching halfway down, but I kept stomping anyway.

The living room fell silent, and Dad, Hyde, Mom and Arcee (still in her robot mode and on her knees to fit in) turned to look at me.

My stubbornness carried me that far, but at the bottom of the stairs, I swallowed hard. "Thanks for...coming out here," I finally, awkwardly said. "Thanks...for taking the time."

Arcee's clawed hand caressed my cheek, and I felt a flash of satisfaction that I didn't flinch. "Our fighting femme," she said, and even I could hear the pride in her voice. "Fake it until you make it. Because you will make it, Firebrand."

I didn't know what to say to that. I guess I wasn't even faking it. Or not faking it enough.

"We're due back on base, and the twins have tried Prowl's patience enough this morning," Hyde said.

Normally a comment like that would have me begging for the story, but I was...too focused on holding it together to really care.

"Got it," Arcee said and, stooping through the doorways, she went out front and hopped into the bed of Ironhide's alt-form.

"I'll be back to pick you up after lunch," Hyde said to Dad. With a concerned look at me and a nod to Mom, he followed Arcee outside.

...

Later that week, I had another appointment with Dr. Sarkisian. Like last time, I slunk into her office.

She half-smiled. "Physical therapy went well, I take it?"

I fidgeted, staring at my hands. "I told her. I emailed her."

"Then why the long face?" she asked.

"Because I screwed it up," I muttered. "She came out to the house and I...I can't do this, Dr. Sarkisian. Maybe I am too broken."

"Care to talk about it?"

I snorted in amusement. "I'm in your office. Don't have much of a choice."

"There's always a choice," she firmly repeated.

I finally looked up at her. "Yeah? Well, Arcee went to the trouble to get special permission to come down to my house in her robot form so we could talk in person, and then she bared her soul to me, and it made me so angry I wanted to throw up, so I ran upstairs and hid under my blankets until Ironhide came to get her."

"Wait, bared her soul in the human meaning of the expression or…"

"The human," I interrupted her. "And I did go downstairs to say goodbye before she left, and she told me to keep 'faking it until I make it' because she could totally see through me."

She nodded with a little smile. "I see several choices there, for the record."

"Yeah, and I keep making the wrong ones."

She sighed, almost sounding exasperated. "Annabelle, there aren't right or wrong choices here – that kind of thinking is ultimately counterproductive. There are healthy choices and less-healthy ones, ones that will strengthen or weaken a relationship, but nothing objectively right or wrong in terms of your recovery. It's all a matter of your goals and how you want to achieve them."

"Slag it," I grumbled. "Goals? Really?"

"I know, it sounds like a lot of work. And it is. But you know what?"

She waited until I looked up to meet her gaze.

"Arcee put some effort into being there for you, didn't she? And though you haven't mentioned it, I'm willing to bet your mom and dad have, too."

I sighed and looked away.

"This is your journey, but you don't have to face it alone. There are people who care about you – who love you – and who are willing to help you do that work, if and when you're ready to let them."

I stared out the window, considering her words.

"You chose to let Arcee in," she continued. "You trusted her with the smaller of these two challenges. How do you think it turned out?"

I remembered Arcee holding me the night she arrived, before that strange anger showed up again, and how safe I felt with her. "Good, I guess."

"It strengthened your relationship?"

"Yeah."

"Do you feel like you're in a healthier place because of it?"

"I think so." And I felt the truth of those words as I said them.

"Well then, there you go. Making that choice empowered you to strengthen your relationship with Arcee."

With an indignant huff, I glared at her. "How do you always say the right things?"

She chuckled. "I don't. But your case isn't my first rodeo. It isn't anywhere near my wildest ride, either - not even close. You're doing better than you think, Annabelle."

I took comfort in that and even managed a smile.

"So, what do you want to accomplish next?"

Before I could chicken out yet again, I said, "I want to talk with my dad."