After my last check-up in May, I asked Arcee if she was going to meet Bumblebee in California again this summer.

"Probably not," the femme answered. "It's not really feasible with my transformation cog broken. Why do you ask?"

I took a deep breath. "Yesterday Mom was talking about making the trip by herself this year, and then last night I had another nightmare. It's been a while since I had one, and I think it was triggered by the talk of California. I think… I think it's time for me to go back. To stand in the same place and know that the demons are gone. To make new memories for the place. It's my civilian home, and I want to reclaim it."

"You're Iron Will's daughter, alright," Arcee nodded with approval, but then her optics dimmed. "I'm sorry I won't be able to teach you to ride a motorcycle."

I smiled up at her. "Ratchet would probably have fits if I tried to with this hip. Maybe Bumblebee could let me take a turn behind the wheel, though? The Decepticons set me back a year, but I do still need to learn how to drive if I ever plan to live off Diego Garcia."

A smile warmed her faceplates. "Maybe a trip to California could be arranged after all."

…

Just to be safe, I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Sarkisian before we headed stateside. I was worried she'd think I was crazy to do this, but surprisingly, she didn't try to talk me out of it. Instead, she asked, "What do you need from me?"

I took a deep breath. "I don't know. This feels like a big step, so maybe…do you have any other tools for my toolkit?"

She nodded slowly. "Maybe. There's a technique that you might be ready for. It's called TIC. It helps you recognize the lessons learned from your traumatic experience and then turn those lessons into a mantra."

"I'm game for that."

The first step, once I'd made myself comfortable in the big leather recliner, was to briefly retell the story of what happened, to help me get back into the memory (but not too deeply into it). After that, we discussed what my role had been in the experience. I hated the label of 'victim' but it was true on several levels. Then we talked about what other people's roles had been. Bumblebee's role was the most complicated, of course, but I'd already hashed that one out for the most part. Same thing with 'Bee when it came to the next step: assigning responsibility for various aspects of the traumatic event. The Decepticons were overwhelmingly the most to blame.

The question that actually made me pause was the fifth step. Dr. Sarkisian asked, "So what truths have you learned in relation to or because of the incident?"

I sat there for a couple of minutes trying to figure that out. Truths were good things, and nothing good came out of that day. Well, not for me, anyway. Bumblebee won the lottery.

Thinking about 'Bee reminded me of Arcee making the special trip out to my house and telling me that her triple-changer "upgrade" was a trauma of her own. She'd said that she'd found meaning in it. Was I ready to find meaning in being squished like a bug by a Decepticon?

"I don't know," I finally admitted.

"Have you learned anything about yourself?"

"That I'm grouchy during physical therapy?"

She half-smiled and tried again. "If you could go back in time and tell last-year's Annabelle something to help her get through her ordeal, something you've learned since then, what would it be?"

That I'm loved. I wasn't sure if that would have actually helped me get through, but it was a truth I hadn't really, truly understood until this year. Mom and Dad loved me. My Autobots loved me. Even Optimus Prime had a soft spot for squishy me. But I don't know how that would have helped when my ribs were broken and I was going into shock.

That I'm safe.

I looked up to Dr. Sarkisian. "I've learned that I can be safe again. That I'm surrounded by people who love me and will work to make sure I'm safe." Even if it means breaking their own rules to clone my hip or take me to prom.

Dr. Sarkisian nodded. "I think we can work with that. Let's turn it into a mantra, something you can repeat in stressful situations. So if you start to feel anxious during this trip, how would you tell your younger self that you could be safe again?"

"I don't know," I admitted with a shrug. "I don't really know what a mantra is supposed to be. I mean, before this conversation, I thought it was kind of like counting the rosary."

"There are similarities, but for our purposes, it could be something like, 'I am safe now.'"

I tried it on for size. "I am safe now." It felt good to say it, to taste that truth on my tongue and let it settle into my heart. "I am safe now."

…

When we showed up on base to catch our flight stateside, a black topkick and blue motorcycle were waiting on the tarmac. Some cargo was in Ironhide's bed, covered with a tarp. "Okay?" I said as we approached. "You're our security detail for California?"

The tarp lifted slightly and two blue optics peeked out from underneath. I yelped in surprise. "No, I'm still your security detail," Arcee declared. "Mia and 'Hide are my ride."

I laughed a little shakily, and Dad lifted our suitcases up to her to stash in the bed. "Glad you could make it," I told Arcee, and I really was. Even though I was in a better head-space around 'Bee, there was still a part of me that felt it was deeply unfair that Arcee was still damaged from that horrible day.

Not that she ever acted like it was. One of those blue optics winked at me, and then she lowered her helm again so the tarp could fall back into place.

...

The long flight was made much more pleasant by having three 'bots along for the ride. Or maybe it was because it was these three Autobots. Arcee and Chromia were a riot no matter the circumstances, and Ironhide was… 'Hide. Tough as nails, strong as a bear, and kind as Santa Claus. This was my family, and when the pilots gave the go-ahead for us to move around a bit, I remembered just why I loved them.

Arcee pulled a foot massager from her subspace and held it up invitingly. "Shall we kill some time in comfort?"

"Seriously?" I laughed. "That's what our security detail is packing around?"

"No," she said, pocketing it again and instead pulling out an impressive array of weapons. "This is what your security detail is packing." Again the guns, blades, and crossbows disappeared and the foot massager returned. "This is what your Aunt Arcee brought along for her favorite niece's comfort."

"Oh!" Chromia exclaimed and started pulling random things out of her subspace and then pocketing them again – a grenade, a plushy My Little Pony, some Cybertronian rounds, and then finally an Army-green ammo box. "There it is!"

My brow furrowed in confusion until she opened it up and proudly displayed the contents. Instead of pointy bullets in the protective foam layers, there was something black and glossy. Pulling it out, I realized the black thing was a lid...for nail polish. The ammo box was full of nail polish! Cracking up, I nodded in agreement.

"Mani-pedi it is!" Arcee gleefully declared.

...

The femmes primped and pampered me through most of the flight, only stopping for meals or when we had to land and refuel. Once we'd done nails, they played with my hair and then, on the final leg of my journey, Arcee insisted on giving me a massage. It was heaven until we hit turbulence.

Mom didn't usually mind turbulence, but as I sat up to buckle myself into my seat, I noticed a pained expression cross her face. She successfully smothered it with an almost-convincing smile, but I'd seen it and the image stuck with me, even though I didn't know what to make of it.

As we began our descent to Edwards Air Force Base, Mom reached over and placed her hand over mine. Only then did I notice that my hands were clenched into fists. I closed my eyes, took a deep, calming breath and tried to remember how good it felt to be massaged into a happily-melting Earthling under Arcee's attention. Was that why my Autobot aunts had done everything they could to make me relax on the trip? So I'd be in a good place physically and emotionally for what was ahead?

I smiled a little as my heart warmed. Of course that's what they were doing! Too bad I didn't think of it sooner – that would have been a good place to use my shiny, new mantra.

When we disembarked and stepped out into the desert sun, the heat wasn't too bad at all – it was dry instead of muggy like back home. In fact, I felt a little chilled, though I wasn't sure why. But the smell of mesquite was a familiar one, and I climbed up into the back of Ironhide's cab.

I watched out the window, checking in with my own body from time to time to make sure I was still calm. Every now and then, I'd sense my anxiety rising, and I'd take a mindful minute to dial it back down. But I could, and that was the important part. I was even okay when the road started to really climb toward the place where we'd been ambushed. Mom squeezed my hand encouragingly, and I gave her a smile and a little nod. I could do this.

When we arrived, Ironhide pulled onto the shoulder and rolled to a stop, Mia parking ahead of him just a little.

Dad turned around in the front seat to meet my gaze. "Remember, we'll stay as long or as short as you like. You don't even have to get out if you don't want to."

"I have to," I softly said. "For me."

He nodded, his eyes grave, and he opened his door.

Taking a deep breath, I opened my door and climbed out into the sunshine.

It was warm, after Ironhide's A/C for the last hour, and I closed my eyes, soaking up the rays. So far, so good.

I tilted my head down and opened my eyes to study that road. I felt a little flutter in my heart when I realized what I was seeing. There was a clear line between the old blacktop and the new, the place where Deception rockets had cut off our retreat by destroying it. The memories flitted through my mind, but they were just memories and didn't overwhelm me. Fierce satisfaction swelled in my heart.

The 'cons failed, I told myself – both now and back then. They're dead or in hiding and I'm here to stand with my own two feet on the road that still works despite everything they threw at us.

I stepped out onto the blacktop, feeling the shimmering heat rise off it, and leaned in to the symbolism of it. Repaired. Better than new. Resilient.

Turning, I looked at the rocky outcropping we'd sheltered behind. Spring grasses had grown over some of the craters, but the rocks still showed the scars where they'd been broken apart. I paced closer, noticing trees with broken branches that were scabbed over with dried sap and healing. I bent low, examining a shrub that was half crushed but fighting to make a comeback.

And then a treacherous puff of wind stirred the dust at my feet. That dusty smell of ranch roads hit me like a wrecking ball, mingling with the scent of pine and crushed grass. I curled up, trembling, reliving the smells, the pain, the fear.

Dad was shaking my shoulder – a part of me knew it like a memory – but the reality of that single, calculating red optic had me pinned. Arcee's voice made flinch – she should be running for all she was worth with Samuel and Mikaela!

Sounds of transformation left me sobbing, and then Mom was stroking my hair. I don't know how many times she repeated it before I realized she was soothingly saying, "It's over, Annabelle. You're safe now. You're okay. I'm okay. We're all okay."

I reached up to squeeze her hand.

"You're safe," she repeated.

Not yet, I wasn't, but I was better. The dust smell wasn't in my nostrils anymore, but the memory of it was.

"Gum?"

"What, sweetheart?"

"Do you have any gum? Or mints or anything?"

"Sure, I guess. You'll have to sit up for me to reach it."

I opened my eyes to realize I was curled up on Ironhide's back seat, my head pillowed in Mom's lap. The gentle rocking told me 'Hide was on the move again.

Running away. We were running away. I was running away, but I couldn't, not really. Not ever. The Decepticons had caught me and that day was part of my flesh and bones now. It was part of the synapses of my brain. It was part of me and I could never fully leave it behind.

Longing for the gum and remembering Mom needed me to sit up, I brushed away the tears (slag it all, I was so done with crying!) and straightened in my seat. Mom must have been crying, too, because her eyes were all red and puffy as she dug in her purse.

We were just a mile or two away from the ranch. I must have been in the flashback for quite a while.

From the driver's seat Dad smiled a little at me in the mirror, but it wasn't enough to reach his eyes. "Glad you're back, sweetheart."

Mom handed me the stick of gum and I focused on unwrapping it. Just the powerful cinnamon smell of it was already helping to clear my mind, even though I was still so shaky that my fingers fumbled the wrapper.

"Why the gum?" Ironhide asked through the radio.

"The smell of dust...I was doing fine until I smelled it and…"

"Our sense of smell is a powerful memory trigger," Dad said, sounding so much like Dr. Sarkisian. "I should have thought of that."

"Maybe we shouldn't go out to the cabin on this trip," Mom suggested, probably thinking like I was of those two-track dust trails that passed as the ranch's back roads.

"It was dusty on Edwards and I didn't react like this," I pointed out as I popped the stick of gum into my mouth.

"You fought us when we tried to get you into the cab," Dad gently said. "We finally just had Ironhide transform around you to get you out of there."

Well frag it to the Pit and back.

Listen to your body, to your subconscious, I could almost hear Dr. Sarkisian say. It's when you ignore them that the memories are most likely to get out of hand.

I closed my eyes and focused inward. How did I feel, really? I was still shaken, still on edge, but I was also exhausted, and the exhaustion was winning. What was my subconscious trying to tell me? That it was okay for me to feel tired? That it was safe to rest?

Was I safe?

My conscious mind knew I was, but I dug a little deeper into my heart. I didn't feel unsafe anymore, but I wasn't exactly feeling safe yet. My traumatized past self didn't believe me.

I made it out this time, I told myself. I really am a survivor, just like Dad. I don't need to prove anything to myself or anyone else. I'm enough. I'm free. I survived. I made it out.

As that thought sank in, it made me shaky again but with a kind of giddy relief. Why was I feeling so relieved now? The exhaustion was still there, but the relief was just as strong.

The thought hit me like a thunderbolt: I survived!

That's what my subconscious was chewing on. I survived the field of that battle – then and now! It was like that coping tactic for nightmares where you imagine a different ending. We were creating an alternate ending in real life, one where I didn't get caught and we escaped. I opened my eyes and felt a smile spread over my face when I met Dad's worried gaze. "I know it looks bad, but I think this is actually helping. Let's try going as far as the main house. If I can't make it that far, we'll turn back and maybe we can get a hotel or something?"

"Just as far as the main house," he agreed. "But be careful to not push yourself too hard, Annabelle. Just like with your hip, you don't want to overdo it and set yourself back with healing."

"I'm walking away from that spot this time," I pointed out. "You're right, but I'm walking away!"

I think he finally understood what I was getting at because the smile made it all the way to his eyes this time.

…

I made it to the cabin. It took me going through all of Mom's gum and sniffing the wrappers the whole way, but I did. Dad gave me the tightest hug when I stepped out of Ironhide's cab and just held me while everyone else unpacked luggage or greeted the Witwicky's.

"I think a virtual appointment with Dr. Sarkisian would be a good idea," he softly said.

I let out a shaky sigh, still a little high on the relief. "Yeah, probably." I stepped back, and he walked me up the steps.

Samuel and Mikaela were both in the kitchen when we went inside, and Mikaela caught me in a quick hug, too. Resting her hands on my shoulders, she looked me in the eye. "How's my fighting femme?"

I ruefully smirked. "Still fighting."

"In a good or bad way?"

"Little of both, I guess."

She nodded in understanding and pointed to the pot of spaghetti on the stove. "Hungry?"

I grinned. "Ravenous!"

...

With the time difference between the ranch and Diego Garcia, Dr. Sarkisian wasn't available until, like, 22:00 hours, but Dad snagged the appointment. Arcee and 'Bee went on a patrol, though knowing what I did now about them, they were probably also "going on patrol." My emotions didn't blow up again at the thought, despite the flashback earlier in the day, and the realization made me glad. As long as I was good with my 'bots, I'd be able to handle anything else, one way or another.

So we played candy poker and just chilled for the rest of the evening. (I especially enjoyed eating my winnings.)

Later that night, I took my laptop into my parents' bedroom and joined the vid-conference with Dr. Sarkisian.

"Good morning, Annabelle," her familiar face greeted, and I felt another wave of powerful relief. It lifted my spirits.

"It's night for me, but same," I answered.

"Well, let's not mess with your jet lag more than necessary," she replied, getting down to business. "I understand you had a pretty strong flashback."

"Yeah. Looking back, I was pretty anxious, but I thought I'd dealt with it. And at first I was okay, even on the road where we got caught. But then I smelled that dusty-road smell, you know? And that's what triggered it."

She nodded. "Smells can be powerful memory triggers, and that's one that'll be hard to avoid on this trip, right?"

I sighed deeply. "Yeah. But I made it to the cabin. Took a whole pack of gum, but I did."

Her eyes sparkled. "The gum was a really good idea, Annabelle. Very resilient."

I half-smiled at her praise.

"Do you have some for the return trip?"

"Ironhide and Chromia are going to make a grocery run for us in the next couple of days, and they'll pick up some gum for us then."

"Good. So how can I help you today?"

"The mantra didn't work. Why didn't it work?" I was surprised that I was almost whining.

"Only you can know that, Annabelle."

"Well…can we do an EMDR session, then?" It wasn't quite magic, but it was so helpful, especially when she led me through it.

She nodded in approval. "Of course. But just know, it's not uncommon for a mantra to be refined over time or for a person to have more than one. This isn't a failure, just an opportunity for refinement."

After a few rounds, I realized why my mantra didn't work. "My subconscious didn't believe we – I mean, the sixteen-year-old Annabelle – that she was safe. Did that make any sense?"

Dr. Sarkisian nodded. "It did. Why do you think your subconscious didn't believe you?"

I thought about it for a second. "Probably because we still don't know how those Decepticons got past the satellites protecting Earth. They came out of nowhere, and there's no reason to believe that they won't again. I mean, they did it once, so obviously they could do it again."

"So maybe we can help you discover a new, better mantra. Are there any other truths you've learned?"

I couldn't really say I was 100% safe, but I was okay. I mean, things worked out in the end for me, and not even my subconscious could deny that. I went to prom with Optimus Prime, after all, and I wasn't even in a wheelchair for it. "I'm okay. I think that's what I want to use instead. Things worked out. I'm okay."

Dr. Sarkisian smiled in approval. "Sounds good."

…

Mom was sobbing. My eyes flew wide and, from my makeshift bed on the couch, I tensed in the darkness, trying to figure out if it was a nightmare again or if I'd really heard something. After a few seconds, there was shuffling from her and Dad's bedroom and another cut-off sob.

Concerned, I tiptoed toward the bedroom, but the floor creaked underfoot. All sound ceased for a couple of heartbeats, and then the door creaked open. In the moonlight through the windows, I could see the tall figure of Dad and a hunched, sniffling figure that could only be Mom.

"Go back to bed, Annabelle," Dad gently said. "It's okay."

"But…"

Dad cut me off. "We're just going for a ride. We'll be back before you know it."

"But you're sobbing," I said to Mom.

The smaller silhouette started shaking, and Dad said, "She said she just needs a good cry and doesn't want to wake the whole house. Go back to bed," he repeated more firmly and pushed past me, Mom sheltered under his other arm.

I stood aside and watched as they crossed the living room to the front door, then trailed behind them until I could see out the window. They climbed into the inky-black form of Ironhide's alt and rolled off into the night.

Not knowing what else to do, I crawled back under my blankets. For a long time, I stared unseeing at the ceiling. I thought Mom had been doing better after talking to Dr. Sarkisian. Then I remembered her puffy eyes after my flashback at the ambush site. Nobody told me what her reaction to the place had been, and I had been too focused on my own reaction to ask.

Well slag.