A/N: I'm glad everyone took so well to Caleb! lol. No one can resist an englishman. That accent is a killer. Also I must tell you I have not given them (Caleb and his bros) a designated home town so their accents might jump around the UK a bit.

Phase seven: Insanity

Chapter Fifteen

One more day. Just one more day and she would be free. Well, a day and a half really.

As punishment for her part in the day's prior escapades, Ratchet had taxed on another two joors, about twelve hours, bringing her glorious total to a frustrating 36 hours. Once again she fumed at not having a watch to calculate the time. She was not very happy about the additions and had no reserves about telling the Medic off, but her words were like little pebbles flicking off the Cybertronian's armor. He mostly ignored her, every so often making an 'Oh, really?' or 'Is that so?' kind of comment or noise at her empty threats. She felt like a toddler trying to bully an adult; there was no real potential for the fulfillment of said threats. He seemed to humor her and let her banter on about her frustrations. If anything…he seemed glad to see her venting. He even laughed a few times as she fumed when she became theatric, swept up in the moment and the realization she was getting away with it.

"And I'm sick of everyone treating and talking about me as if I'm not there or that I'm not intelligent enough to understand what's being said. Or—or that I'm gonna break or have a mental break down if anyone talks to me like anything but a child. I'm 17 dammit! I'm almost an adult! First time in half a year I'm around other humans and you won't even let me be around them because of what? That you think I might go crazy? Give me some credit here! I'm not an idiot. I understand at least a little of what's going on, I'm not that blind!" She stamped her foot for emphasis. "Just because I'm smaller then you doesn't make me stupid!"

Ratchet had been in the middle of sorting through a box of something when her words struck him. He paused and turned his head slowly to peer at her, a curious look crossing his face that Brea was not quiet able to place.

"I'm not stupid…" Brea's face was flushed from her ranting and she was slightly out of breath, making the pronunciation of the alien words all the more difficult, her hands clenched at her sides and she stood with legs spread evenly as if to keep her upright. Her eyes leered at him and it occurred to her in a flash of insight that she was taking out all her frustrations out on him and she felt a momentary swell guilt. She was mad. Really mad…and for all the world she didn't really understand why she was so mad at him. Perhaps she wasn't mad at him at all; he was simply the closest person around and she needed to vent. "I'm not. I'm just…tired of being looked down on."

Silence filled the room, broken only by the soft humming of the medic's internal systems and Brea's breathe as it slowed back to it's normal tempo. Ratchet stared at her for a long moment and she began to feel awkward. Averting her gaze, she felt her face and neck began to heat in a blush.

"You're right," Ratchet said finally and she looked up at him, feeling slightly stunned. "You're not stupid. But I never intended to make you feel inferior. I'm a medic, and my first priority is to see that you recover from your injuries. All of them; physical and mental." He seemed to wilt. "I also apologize for what I said before…to Mirage. You weren't meant to hear it. We don't blame you for any of what's happened; we understand you were in a difficult position. I am sorry for ever saying it."

Brea stared for a moment and then nodded numbly.

"So don't let it upset you."

"How can I not?" She asked with a little more resentment then she felt. "How can I not look back at all that time and wonder where the hell my brain was? Why I couldn't figure out the big picture until some shoved my face into it? You were right, I—"

Brea cut off when Ratchet suddenly raised his hand above her and for a fleeting moment she though he was going to squish her, but instead of a pounding death via fist, his index finger extended and tapped her on the head. In consideration of size ratios, a Mech tap was more equivalent to a very well aim knock across the scalp.

"Ah!" She cried out, reaching up to grope the offended area, hunching over as if to make herself a smaller target least the Medic decide to strike again.

"Stop that nonsense," He said plainly.

"That hurt!"

"Don't dwell on what you can't change. It's not healthy," He told her flatly. "Especially for you."

"It still hurt!"

"Good. Now whenever you feel the urge to go down self-misery road, let that bump be a reminder to not do so," He smirked at her. "And don't think you're being singled out either. I treat everyone equally, Cybertronian or human."

She looked up at him with a mixture of offense and shock. "They told me you didn't hit humans though!"

"That was before I calculated how much force I could use without doing excessive physical damage," Ratchet replied smugly. "You can thank Rodney and Sean for that."

"Well check your math!" She barked, rubbing her head and then muttered, "No wonder they called you the Hatchet."

The medic's mouth pinched into a frown. "Keep pushing it and see if I don't add another joor."

She glared. "That's extortion." She didn't know the how to say 'extortion' in Cybertronian and was forced to speak in English.

He smirked. "That all depends upon your perspective of the situation."

Brea was lounging. She lay crooked in her bed, legs dangling over the raised lip of the box. She stared up at the underside of the overhead cabinets and tried to think of ways to occupy her mind for the next 32 hours…

She rubbed her head gently, running one finger over the goose egg. Stupid Ratchet and his rules…

Fixit was left in charge of the infirmary while aforementioned medic left for some unknown place, which he seemed to do often Brea noticed. The Micromaster spent his time cleaning or working at his station, a size appropriate bench and assembled tools that were built into the wall a few yards from where Brea's box-bed had been set up. Instead of laying in bed the whole time, as Ratchet had ordered prior to his departure, Brea had decided to 'stretch her boundaries' so to speak and wander around the counter space to ease her boredom.

She stood behind Fixit for a minute or so as he tinkered with some strange conglomerate of mechanical parts and bits, watching as he went about the seemingly meaningless work.

"You know, if Ratchet catches you out of bed after what he told you, he's gonna shut you in a storage locker," Fixit told her, not even turning to face her, but seeming to know she was there.

"I don't wanna just sit in bed all day," She argued, "Sitting still makes me sleepy and if I sleep too much I feel all groggy and lethargic."

Fixit chuckled, continuing his work all the while as he spoke. "You go ahead and tell Ratchet that and get back to me on how well that excuse works."

Brea walked around to stand next to Fixit's bench, whining in Cybertronian, "But I'm bo-o-o-ored…."

Fixit paused to send her a surprised look. He had heard from Ratchet that she could speak and understand Cybertronian, but this was the first confirmation of it. He smiled, "That was pretty good. You're pronunciation is a little off though."

She huffed irritably at the familiar criticism, leaning forward onto the table, muttering, "Xeon said the same thing."

Fixit grinned at her. "Funny, I wouldn't have thought Xeon would be the kind of Mech to teach a human anything useful."

"I convinced him to," She grinned back smugly, as if to say 'look what I did! Ha ha!', "I told him I could be more useful that way."

"Smart girl, appealing to his ego," Fixit returned to his task.

Brea tilted her head in bemusement, not recognizing one of the words. "…e-ego?"

Obligingly, Fixit repeated the word in English, "Ego."

"Oh, ok. Ego."

Fixit had her repeat the word several more times until he was happy with her pronunciation. Brea found it slightly amusing that the Cybertronian word for 'Ego' was so difficult to say and was pondering that thought when the infirmary door opened, startling her.

Both Micromaster and human looked over to see a Mech's head peak in attentively, grey helm with a bright red chevron. Brea instantly recognized him as the one who had found her in the ally way in Kaon. She felt her heart give a little ker-plunk.

"Hey there Blue," Fixit greeted cheerfully, putting down his tools.

The mentioned Mech looked towards the Micromaster and relief seemed to wash over him. Holding his arm curiously with the support of the other, the Mech walked all the way into the room. His form was identical to Prowl's save for the paint job and the wing panels jutting out from behind his shoulders drooped in an almost forlorn way. He looked utterly, Brea felt, like a child. It was strange to look at a very tall someone and be struck with such an impression.

Even stranger was the unwelcome memories that his presence suddenly conjured up in her mind. A chill swept through as and for a fleeting moment she was no longer in the infirmary, but back in that ally, hiding from those who wished to do her harm. Cold, alone, and very scared. Death felt so close she could feel it's its icy breath brushing against her neck...

"Hey Fixit," The grey Mech's voice broke her from her thoughts and she shook her head as if to scatter them away. His voice was attentive, almost fearful. He looked around the room as if expecting something to pop out at him, "Ratchet's …not here is he?"

"Nope, sorry. Left a few breems ago for a meeting with Prime," Fixit replied, striding over to stand near the counter's edge, hand placed on his hips. Neither of them seemed to pay attention to Brea. "What did you need, buddy?"

"My arm. I think I might have snapped something in the joint," Bluestreak lifted his indicated arm and made an effort to get a better look at his elbow, but his anatomy wasn't designed for such flexibility and he only succeeded in looking very silly. He looked up at Fixit, imploringly, "Could you take a look at it for me? And maybe fix it before Ratchet comes back? If he found out about this I'd be welded into the wall for sure. And I'm have duty next joor!"

Fixit laughed. "Sure thing kid. We'll have you all patched up in time for your shift, just pull up a seat and we'll have a look," The mini-medic chuckled.

Bluestreak looked around for a moment and found a near-by stool. Pulling it closer with his good arm while keeping the other close to his body, he sat down and placed his injured arm atop the table for Fixit to see. It was only then that his eyes fell on Brea, who had successfully recovered from her unpleasant flash back.

His dour demeanor brightened and he smiled. "Oh! Hi there."

Brea smiled back. "Hello."

"I was wondering how you were doing," He said. "I wanted to check up on your sooner, but I had double shifts and now with Mirage on the recovery list it just makes everything harder to fit in, y'know? We've been trying to get more Mechs to help us out but so far we've only gotten a few 'maybes' so it'll be double shifts until that changes. I hope it does soon too. So, Ratchet still has you locked up in here, huh?"

Brea nodded, "Jazz did manage to sneak me into The Sanctuary earlier, but Ratchet found out. I still have a few joors left till I'm free…"

"Oh well that's not too long," Bluestreak said enthusiastically.

"Maybe, but when you don't have anything to do it's like an eternity," Brea replied, walking closer and sitting down. "How did Mirage get hurt?"

"Oh, well he's our espionage expert," Bluestreak answered, "He goes around and gathers information and stuff. I wasn't with him at the time, but he was scouting out the area around a euthanizing compound and I guess he must have been caught, otherwise how did he get that blast through the shoulder? A little more to the right and it might have severed his whole arm off. Isn't that what you said Fixit?"

Bluestreak looked towards the third presence in the room who was currently looking, poking, and prodding between the armor plating of Bluestreak's arm, into where Brea could only assume was the elbow joint.

"Yep," Fixit replied. "Just a few degrees more and the main connecting supports would have been shattered and there would have only been some Energon and coolant lines to keep it connected to his body. He's a lucky glitch, I'll tell you that. Of course he'll just call it skill."

Bluestreak laughed. "Only Mirage would claim that it's a skill not getting your arms and stuff blown off. The again he gets shot at so often, maybe he's developed one, who knows. Mirage's secret 'not getting killed' maneuver! Ha. I'm sure Ironhide wouldn't mind learning those kinds of moves. He use to get shot up every mission back during the war and he never complained once about it. If it weren't for Ratchet always nagging him about getting fixed, he'd probably have kept all the dents and stuff as like badges of honor or something."

"Is he OK now?" She asked, feeling a little nervous about all the talk of appendages being blown off.

Bluestreak looked confused. "Ironhide?"

"No, Mirage."

Bluestreak sent her a smile. "Oh sure, he's fine. But his processor is calibrated so that he shoots with his left hand and one of the gears in his left arm was damaged so he can't really use it and we don't have the supplies to replace it. So he's stuck in his quarters or out trying to get volunteers until either we get more funding or Jazz secures more supplies. I heard Hound's been thinking about it. I haven't talked to him lately but I think he'd like helping out here. I bet Bumblebee would too, but he has that clerk job up at the Citadel, so he might not leave. If my job paid that well I don't think I'd wanna leave it either. I'm kind of surprised Optimus got Prowl to ever agree to leave his personal staff at all to come help out here."

"You know how Prowl is," Fixit replied, "If Prime asked him to take a skiff and fly into the nearest star, he'd probably do it."

"Maybe, but he'd point out how illogical it was first," Bluestreak laughed.

"Point being he'd still do it."

Bluestreak laughed, leaning back a little and causing to Fixit to snap at him to not move.

"Speaking of the Citadel and orders, is there any news from Prime?" Fixit asked.

The grey Mech's wing panels drooped.

"Nothing we didn't expect to hear," Bluestreak replied in voice that was barely above a whisper. "Xeon was declared clean by the investigation committee. And so has Ratbat and Onslaught."

Brea's happy mood deflated instantaneously and she felt her insides drop. The Micromaster paused in his ministrations to fix Bluestreak with a disbelieved look. "They didn't find anything?"

Of course they didn't find anything. Brea seethed to herself. Xeon had that…that creepy yellow guy—ah what's his name...Swindle!— he had Swindle change everything! Didn't Mirage tell them about it?

She sat and listened to the two Mech, all the while feeling her anger and frustrations mount. Under it all, another feeling began to grow as well…fear.

"Nope. Not a thing," Bluestreak replied. "All their documents matched and corresponded with the others'. The committee didn't have the jurisdiction to go any deeper without real probable cause. Even Prime couldn't win them the clearance for it. Red was pretty fritz. Said he was on the verge of a real case breaker when the Senate denied them a warrant. He's been reviewing the copies of the documentation looking for any discrepancies."

"It's defiantly a setback, but if anyone can find them, Red Alert can," Fixit added. "What about the other side, what're they up to?"

"Dunno. Mirage is out of commission until we get supplies and Prowl doesn't feel I'm ready to take his place. Which I understand, I mean I don't think I'm ready either. I may switch jobs with Jazz, he's better at the intelligence thing then me. Plus his model is easier to disguise so he can slip around into places my model would stick out."

"Yeah, you specialty models aren't very good at blending in." Fixit waved vaguely to the Mech's wing panels, "Then again, half of the population still carries a weapon, so maybe not."

Bluestreak laughed. "That's true. When we went to Kaon to get Brea here, I saw this one Mech who was armed to the back rotors in artillery. I dunno if any of it was loaded, but Kaon's pretty iffy on the weapon restrictions and the agreement anyway. Nice up there at the skyline sure, but the ground is as shady as it was during the war, just with less flying shrapnel and Decepticon patrols. There's the occasional landmine though."

"It's not so great up there," Brea added dejectedly.

Bluestreak sent her a smile, "I guess you'd know best, huh?"

A shadow fell over her face at the emerging recollection and she lowered her head to stare at the floor. She raised her hand to her neck, racing the images engraved into the metal collar. "Yeah…"

The Mech realized his blunder and tried rapidity to remedy his carelessness.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that!" Bluestreak exclaimed, distressed. "I didn't mean to make you sad, I'm sorry Brea!"

"It's OK," She assured him, but the tone of her voice betrayed her.

The two Mechs glanced at each other and then at her, both broadcasting their sympathy.

"Hey," Fixit said, calling Brea's attention to him.

"Hm?" She said, lifting her head.

"When I'm done patching Blue up here we'll look into getting that collar off. How does that sound?"

She sat there and stared dumbly at the smaller Mech, for a moment not fully processing what he'd just said, and then smiled appreciatively at him. Relief filled her eyes. "That sounds great. Thank you."

The Micromaster and Mech both seemed to brighten up at that and there seemed to be a sudden desire to switch topics.

"So, uh…How did you get hurt?" Brea asked the large grey Mech.

Bluestreak looked away sheepishly. "Well…that's why I was asking if Ratchet was in…he gets mad over unnecessary repairs and stuff like that. Especially with our low supplies. And this was kind of my fault so…yeah…"

"Kinda or totally?" Fixit asked, his words sounding like a friendly jib then a real question.

Bluestreak's shoulder panes drooped again. "Kinda totally."

Brea giggled, her spirits higher. "So what, did you fall down the stairs or something?"

The grey Mech sat a little straighter, "No, nothing like that. I uh…kinda challenged Sideswipe to an arm wrestling match…"

Brea burst into a fit of giggles while Fixit merely looked between the pair, confused.

"You what?"

"Well Sean and Rodney are always doing it and I wanted to try it so I asked Sideswipe if he'd do it with me and he said sure." Bluestreak looked downcast. "He won."

Fixit opened his mouth to reply, but Brea's continuous giggling seemed to disrupt his train of thought and he sent her an odd look.

"What is arm wrestling?" He asked and Brea fell into another fit, holding her middle and gasping for breath.

Bluestreak considered. "It's when you….uh…well…you and another person…well…you kinda hold hands and try to push the other person's hand down and stuff…it's hard to explain…"

Fixit deadpanned.

"Here," Brea said breathlessly, rising from the floor. She walked up to Fixit, still giggling, and reached out and grabbed his hand. "You and another guy sit across from each other at a table and lock hands like this. Then you try to push you opponent's arm down so it touches the table. Then you win."

The medic studied his hand and glanced at Brea.

"Sounds pointless…" Fixit replied.

Brea grinned. "Lesson 101 in Understanding Humans: a lot of what we do is pointless."