Author's Notes:I thank you all for the reviews and support. This chapter is a little longer then usual, but hey I don't see that as a bad thing. I also noticed I've been miss-naming the phase titles. Ooops. The last two chapters are Phase Eleven and before that is Ten. Just to clarify for anyone who noticed and was baffled. As always, please read and review!

Phase Twelve: Shattered Glass

Chapter Twenty-two

Preston was awake when she entered his shed. He lay on his back, gazing up at the metal ceiling, hands neatly folded over his stomach. Brea hadn't expected for him to be awake, rather she had been wondering how to apologize for waking him when she entered. When she paused in the shed threshold, bowl of broth in hand, he turned his head, pale eyes looking at her, and he smirked. "So…You got the hots for our little John, huh?"

"What?" She asked incredulously, not sure if she should be confused or insulted. Or both. "Who's John?"

"Caleb," he clarified, "He's John. Sean's Paul, and Rodney is Ringo."

Brea rolled her eyes and entered, carefully sitting next to the man. "So then who's George?"

"I am," he replied with a grin. "So that makes you Yoko."

Brea sighed, aggravated. "It's not like that. He's just friend."

"Alright," he replied with an indifferent shrug. "If you say so."

Brea helped Preston sit up so he could take some broth. He manages half of the bowl before refusing anymore, citing his reoccurring nausea. Brea was about to get up and leave when Preston abruptly said, "I'm sorry."

She looked at him confused and shrugged, not seeing any point in him apologizing. "It's Ok. Kimberly was teasing me too, so…."

"Not about Caleb," He said, shaking his head, "About what I said to you before, when you first got here. Y'know, about the fruit thing? I didn't mean to make you feel bad or anything. Annie got on my case about it and I hadn't really gotten a chance to talk to you alone, so…" He motioned to the room around him, but more in a fashion of saying 'so here we are'.

Brea was still, not quite sure how to respond. After a moment of internal debate, she sat back down to hear him out.

"It was pretty inconsiderate," He continued, looking at her with his pale eyes. "I'm sorry. Ratchet told me about that Xeon guy. Said you were stuck with him for a while. Must have sucked."

She tried to think of something to say that didn't sound arrogant.

"It wasn't…unpleasant so much as it was...boring," she said, mentally adding with copious malice, 'except for the last few days of course'. "He wasn't around much really. I was alone most of the time."

Preston nodded and was silent for a moment, seeming to study her. "Must've been real lonely."

Brea blinked, having not expected him of all people to say such a thing. Sure it'd been boring without anyone around and sure she was lonely a lot of the time…but what did that have to do with anything? He was probably trying to make small talk, she decided. He probably felt awkward about what he'd said. So she nodded and conceded the point. "Yeah…it got pretty lonesome sometimes."

"No wonder you feel bad," He mused.

Okay that was unexpected. Brea's chest suddenly tightened and she looked at him bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"Fixit said you felt like you were to blame for the shit that guy did to all us, like you let it happen or something," Preston explained in a simple tone. "That's pretty jacked up thinking. But all alone with only that guy as company for months? Makes sense you wouldn't see the shit that was going on. I mean, I've always been on my own technically, but I left home when I was still a know-nothing punk, so there ya go. My Dad was no good. Drank a lot and would just knock the shit outta me and my Mom. She was like you I guess, in a weird way. Even when she got the shit kicked out of her, she still stood by him, like somehow if she ignored everything it'd go away or if you didn't talk about it that it never happened. Sometimes I wonder if she even realized what was going on the way she would act after it happened. Or worse was when she blamed herself for it. She was afraid to be alone, I think. My Grandpa was a bastard too, I bet he beat her when she was a kid. She was probably use to ignoring that kinda shit just to be able to have some sort of normalcy, even if it was shit. But I wasn't afraid to be alone like her. I couldn't wait to get the fuck outta there. So one night when my old man got real hammered and started in on me, I punched him in the face and left…well ran actually. Anyway, I hitchhiked to the nearest city and never looked back. Joined a gang there, too. And no, before you ask—I didn't kill anyone. I did have a gun though. But my point is, even if I was on my own technically, I still had those guys in the gang to fall back on for help or just to hang out with or to bum cash or drugs off of or whatever. The lowest point in my life was when I didn't have that. It was worse then jail. Yeah, I spent a few years in the slammer. I was still the same junkie as I had been when I got out, but the gang wasn't around anymore for me to fall back on. I can tell you, that really sucked. And it's also when I got snagged. So there's a lesson there; don't do drug and join gangs or aliens will abduct your sorry ass."

Brea huffed a small laugh, but something inside her head was churning. She seemed fused to the ground, staring at it him if the answers were right there in his eyes.

"So I guess what I'm saying is…I understand why you did it, even if you might not," he went on, "No one wants to be alone, even if the only one around's a complete bastard. It's just how we are I guess. We need someone around to play off of or we go nuts. I've heard some people say something like we need someone else to be there to validate our existence or something like that. I dunno, but we're just made to around other people. Even the way society is and how we are, we need other people to survive. We can't do it all alone. Or in your case, you needed a giant alien bastard. But just because he did something evil, doesn't make you evil. Guilt be association isn't one of our creeds here, kiddo. You got some psychological boo-boos? Let us know what they are so we can kiss 'em and make 'em feel all better, alright?"

Brea slowly nodded, completely missing the joking tone he spoke the last part in and feeling numb, but in a good way. "Thank you."

"Hey, that's what we do. You ain't alone either so you don't need to go pull a 'Kimberly' and disappear when you're scared or something. That's what she does. Runs. It's all she does," He paused. "We all have our demons to face. Some of us have lived up to 'em and some of us are still working on it. You should've seen how screwed up those boys were when they were brought in from the Arenas. Took a lot of group hugs for them to calm down. Especially your boy-toy."

Brea frowned, blushing. "He's not my…"

"Whatever," Preston replied, not bothering to hide his smirk. "Fixit was the one to wiggle his story out of him, but they have a sort of Doctor-patient confidentiality thing going on. I don't even think his brothers know all of it. Fix' only told Ratchet the vague details about it, especially after Kimberly whacked the kid a good one."

"Huh?"

"Oh yeah," Preston replied. "When she was first brought here. I guess Caleb recognized her from somewhere and tried to talk to her and she just went off on him when he got too close. Gave him a huge gash across his cheek. The condiment twins've been keeping her away from us ever since."

"She's outside," Brea said absently, mind spinning with the news. "With Becky. She's talking now too. To me anyway."

"I thought that might be her," Preston said. "Good to see her latching onto someone. A human I mean. I don't think those two know what their doing when they isolate her like that. She needs to reassert herself into a group setting. Annie's always telling us we need to be a close group, like a family, because trauma makes us all feel like outcasts or something like that and it'll help up cope with all this shit or whatever."

"They mean well," Brea replied, trying to act as if what he had just said meant nothing to her. But her mind was spinning. "I mean, Sunstreaker almost chucked someone off a tower balcony for messing with her. So it's not like they're doing anything bad on purpose."

Preston's eyes widened. "What?"

"Oh yeah," Brea grinned, "I actually saw it happen too. Xeon's tower was across from where Kimberly's owner lived."

Preston whistled in application. "Wish I had psychotic body guards to throw people off of balconies for me."

"You have Ratchet," Brea giggled.

"He's more like a giant robo-nanny," Preston scowled, "I swear, I keep expecting for him to talk with a British accent and force me to sit out straight and shit."

"He hasn't given you cod-liver oil has he?" Brea teased.

"No but he's given me so much other weird shit I almost wish he would," Preston replied, shivering at the thought.

Brea laughed.

"So," He asked, settling against the wall comfortable and folding his hands together when she'd settled down. "When're you gonna tell Prince Charming you wanna be his Cinderella?"

"Oh would you please drop it?" She asked, closing her eyes in irritation.

"Why?" Preston asked with a mischievous grin, "It's fun."

"Pestering people is fun?" she asked incredulously, rising to her feet.

"It passes the time," he replied simply, following her with his eyes.

She paused in the door way, turning toward his and raising an eye brow, unappreciatively. "Ha ha." And she flipped him the bird.

As she left, she heard Preston laugh. "Hey now, this kitty's got some bite. Mrow!"

She just shook her head, trying very hard to not smile. And Failing.

After she'd put the remainder of Preston's Broth away for later, she returned to find Becky giggling in Kimberly's arms as the red haired girl softly bounced the infant on her knee, smiling brilliantly. Brea had to smile at the endearing sight. "You're a lot better with kids then me," Brea admitted as she sat down next to the girl, hoping she wouldn't pursue the 'Crush on Caleb' topic. "I'm always afraid I'd drop her or something."

"She's cute," Kimberly replied, leaning in and giving the bubbly little girl a kiss on the forehead.

"I have an idea," Brea said, leaning back on her elbows. "On how we can get you comfortable around other people again."

Kimberly stopped bouncing Becky, much to her irritation, to look at Brea with mild alarmed. "…What?"

"I'm sure Sideswipe and Sunstreaker only want to help, but I think they may be doing more harm then good. Preston was just saying so and I think I agree. I say we take it slow. I mean you talked to me when you wouldn't talk to anyone, which was a big step for you. And now you're in the camp, playing with Becky and Preston's in bed not but a few yards away. I'm just purposing we take another step," Brea paused, "But I'm not going to force you into something your uncomfortable doing. I just want to help you; like you helped me. It might not have seemed like much, but just listening, and that teddy bear (which I still want to name) really helped. And it won't be for you either. We just need to take baby steps."

Kimberly looked down, considering her words. "You don't have to answer me right now," she assured her. "Just think about it. When you're ready, just let me know. Ok?"

Kimberly nodded after a moment. "Ok."

Brea was starting to drift off when she heard foot steps on the metal path, immediately recognizing them as belonging to Mechs. She sat up to see Jazz and Wheeljack strolling down the path way towards them. Beside her, she saw Kimberly stiffen, but she didn't move. She hadn't really seen Kimberly interact with other Mechs so she wasn't sure what to expect.

"It's OK," she told her with a smile, placing a hand on her leg.

"Hey there," Jazz called as they approached.

"Hi," Brea gave a wave, rising to her feet. Kimberly stayed where she was, cradling Becky.

"Wow Kimi," Jazz said, pausing at the edge of the path. "I never see you around here." He sounded genuinely surprised and crouched down, grinning at the girl. "How you been doing?"

"Okay…" she answered meekly, hunching her shoulders as if trying to hide; seeming more shy then afraid. Brea grinned from ear to ear as Jazz's face fell in absolute astonishment. His mouth was agape and beside him, Wheeljack titled his head curiously, "I thought she couldn't talk."

Brea laughed and patted Kimberly playfully on the head. "I'm working on it. She's made very good progress today."

"But…how?" Jazz asked. "Even Sideswipe couldn't get much of a peep from her. And she adores him!"

A smile crept to Kimberly's face, which did not go unnoticed by Brea, who smiled and crossed her arms. "It's all about tactics."

Jazz crossed over the grass to sit next to her, dumbfounded. "I guess so…" He said at length. He suddenly grinned. "Well in any case, it's great! Congratulations Kimi. Welcome back to the land of verbal communication!"

Brea turned to look up at Wheeljack who was standing on the metal path, indecisively, as if unsure if he was allowed to approach. She smiled and waved him over. "Come on over, Wheeljack," she said. The Mech seemed to perk up and he carefully crossed the grass and sat down on the other side of her, sandwiching her between the two Mechs.

"See?" Brea said cheerfully, "I don't bite."

"She lies!" Preston's voice called out teasingly from his shed and Jazz laughed, leaning over to peer inside.

"Hey man," he said. "Wanna come out and join the party?"

"Uh…Better check with Kimberly," Preston replied. "I don't want her to go all Kung-fu crazy on me."

Jazz turned to Kimberly expectantly, giving her a hopeful smile. The girl looked uncertain for a moment, glancing between Jazz and Brea. Seeming to have come to a decision, she rose to her feet, with Becky still in her arms, and walked over to sit on the other side of Wheeljack, the white and grey Mech's bulk nearly blocking her from sight. "Ok," she said meekly.

Brea grinned with pride at the girl's progress. Beside her, Jazz also grinned and turned to peer back into Preston's hut. "All good to go, buddy."

Preston appeared at the door, a little wobbly on his feet, and peered into the clearing to make an inventory of those present and where they were. Noticing Kimberly was sitting, or rather hiding, beside Wheeljack, he strode over to sit next to Jazz, a good distance from the girl.

"Well isn't this nice?" Preston smirked, leaning back on his elbows. In the light, Brea could see just how sickly he really was; his skin was very pale and covered in scars (remnants of his time in the labs, perhaps? The thought sent a silent shiver through her), his eyes were sunken and he seemed world-weary, as if he had seen more then one should see. Despite that, he was well adapted to hide it; a defense mechanism maybe? He couldn't have been older then 35, but he appeared much older. Brea hadn't realized she'd been staring until Preston caught her eye. Brea blinked, flushing slightly, and turned away. She glanced guardedly back over to seem he was still looking her way, wicked grin plastered on his face.

"My my, how fleeting your fancy is m'lady," He snickered. "Arth thou in heat?"

Brea was sure her face was melting, gauging by the shear heat by which she flushed. Straightening in offense, she and shot him the most severe glare she could without potentially harming herself. She grasped for words, scoffing indignantly and possibly trying to find something close by to hurl at him "Ah! You…how dare….you-you…sick…you're a pig!"

"And you are far too amusing," Preston replied with a puckish grin.

Brea looked up to see Jazz beaming with mirth and glared. "You better wipe that smirk off your face before I fine something sharp to do it with."

"See?" Preston said to Wheeljack, sounding far too amused for Brea's liking, "She does bite."

"Oh, when I find a stick big enough…" Brea said as she rose to her feet and went off to the side of the camp to find something and she could hear everyone giggling at her.

Preston just laid back and laughed at her empty threats. "Oh come on I was just kidding with you Barbie. I know you already got yourself a Ken."

Brea was about to retort when she heard a soft snicker and she whirled back to glare at Kimberly, who ducked behind Wheeljack's leg. She huffed in irritation, "Kimi! Don't encourage him!"

"Who's he talking about?" Jazz asked.

"No one!" Brea cried.

"Juliet found her Romeo," Kimberly added in her quiet voice, now speckled with notable glee and peeking out just a little, her face aglow. Had Brea not been near indignant fury, she might have noticed and perhaps even appreciated it for what it signified.

"There ya go Kimi!" Preston praised. And then, much to Brea's exasperation, Preston began to sing. "…Will you be my Yoko Ono (Yoko Ono) you can follow me wherever I go. Be my (be my) be my (be my) be my Yoko Ono. Oh, be my (be my) be my (oh-be my) be my Yoko Ono…"

Brea was about to chuck a stick at him, sickly or not, when Jazz, almost bursting into a fit of giggles, reached out and plucked it from her hands, tossing it away and far from her reach. "Aw, come on now, Brea; fight fair. No sticks."

She opened her mouth to reprimand the intervening Mech when he reached out to slip both his hands on either side of her and picked her up, setting her atop his thigh, still chuckling.

"Is this all one giant conspiracy?" Brea cried, wiggling against the Mech's grasp. She felt as though her head might explode from all the blood rushing to her face, fueling the maddening blush. Already she could feel the beginnings of a migraine.

"Ah, he's just teasing," Jazz told her, readjusting his grip when she began to succeed in squirming out from between his hands. He laugh, "C'mon. Stop wiggling."

"Let me down," Brea demanded.

"Only in you promise not to mortally wound Preston," Jazz replied, his voice practically vibrating between his chuckles.

"No promises," Brea retorted, "I may just maim him."

Wheeljack was utterly bewildered by the strange interaction between the two humans and Jazz, wondering if the female was at all serious about her threats or if they were mere jests, brought on by anger or embarrassment. He supposed so, seeing as Jazz seemed to find the entire engagement very amusing. Then again, Wheeljack seemed to recall that Jazz found many things amusing. Nevertheless, he added the observation to his notes to study later as well as to overview all he had made to better get a scope of the enigma that was the Human species.

His first encounter with Humans had not been at Optimus Prime's facility; rather it had been at an acquaintance's domicile several orns prior. It had been a small gathering of analogous minds in the Iacon area, most former Autobots, but one guest had been a neutral and another a Decepticon. Despite their past, most made no indication that there had ever been ill-feelings between their respective factions or lack thereof. It was a gathering of great thinkers and nothing more. In fact, Wheeljack found the former Decepticon to be a very engaging individual and had spent a long while discussing several theorems and algorithms with him. The former Decepticon had brought along his 'pet', a young human, to show the curious group. The Mech explained he had come across a trader while visiting associates in Kaon and found the little creatures intriguing and purchased one for scientific observation. So far, the venture proved disappointing, mostly due to the organic's complete ill regard for cooperation and tendency for its optics to leak, an apparent physical response to any anxiety or distress. Wheeljack was at a loss to determine the little human's gender for it was rather young and its follicle growths atop its head had been cut short, close to the scalp in a way that made aesthetic deciphering near impossible.

"To keep it clean," The Mech had explained. "Some grow it out long, but it is hard to manage and I cannot be bothered with grooming. Better to lob it all off and be damned with it."

"Does it not hurt them?" Wheeljack asked alarmed. He reminded himself that the Mech had been a Decepticon, so it shouldn't have been all that surprising to see such...vindictive tendencies.

The Mech waved the question off. "Oh, no. It is not live tissue; there are no damage receptors or the equivalent to such. It does not hurt them in the least."

At first glance, Wheeljack had labeled humans a primitive carbon based organism, nothing special aside from the fact it was the first example of bi-pedal organics Cybertronians had come across. However, after some discussion, he began to notice little things, through watching the small creature in the corner of his peripheral optical input and of what its owner spoke. The Mech had placed the tiny creature atop a table beside several data-pads they had been discussing. The human was covered in a strange grey organic material that covered most of its upper body and past its hips, draping around its knees. It seemed to ignore them, gazing at the pads instead.

"It's quite a gloomy little creature," The Mech confessed with a resigned tone. "Doesn't do much really. They're very jumpy things. Any noise louder then 6 treems startles it into a panic and it hides for half a breem, sometimes longer."

"Does it have language capabilities?" Wheeljack asked. The human was kneeling over the edge of a data pad, looking down into the screen at the blue interface. Wheeljack was careful not to look to obvious as he watched the human's inspection.

"Oh yes," the Mech replied, oblivious to Wheeljack's wavering concentration. "However, any attempts at communication that I make seem to confuse it."

The human's small hand reached out and it cautiously lowered it towards the data pad screen's surface. It gingerly touched the screen with one of its impossibly small fingers, quickly lifting it and looking down as if to see if it made some mark…which it barely did. Data-pads had very sensitive interface screens, making writing onto one much easier then the archaic Chip-readers which had not-so-very sensitive screens. Wheeljack had witness many a frustrated Mech destroy a perfectly functional Chip-reader because they pressed the writing utensil too hard too the screen in an over-exuberant attempt to write legibly.

The small, barely noticeable, mark seemed to enthrall the small human and it began to scribble on the pad earnestly, smiling as it did so. It scrolled its fingers, making depictions of things and adding several glyphs. Once it had covered a small corner of the pad, it moved down for more scribble space.

Its owner continued the discussion, completely unaware of his pet's endeavors. "In fact, I spoke to an associate in Tarn who had also purchased one and he mentioned that the human he had informed him that their species had many different languages and that the one which we are supplied with upon purchase is considered 'standard' but is not spoken by all. He knows and speaks the standard, but it is not his 'native' speech. I assume now that this little one is not fluent in the standard speech and such was the reason for its apparent confusion. I've been attempting to determine its native language, but so far it had proven difficult. The Kaon Trading Company does not keep such information, or if they do it is not available to the public. It's quite frustrating really."

Wheeljack tilted his head, bewildered at such concepts. "Different languages? Not just dialects, complete different languages?"

"Oh yes," The Mech replied, taking a sip from his high grade. "My associate and I have been considering having his human meet mine so that we might discern what language it does speak. I dare to hope that it may even speak its native language so I can inform it through translation that its behavior has been thoroughly unaccommodating."

Leaving the gathering, Wheeljack had dismissed the organics called Humans as nothing more then a curiosity, a commodity, but not a subject he was particularly interesting in pursuing.

It wasn't until he had been approached by Mirage two orns later that he began to have an inkling that there was more to Human then he previously gave credit. And his suspicion had been cemented the first day. The first human to which he had been introduced had been an adult male named Craig and it surprised the engineer and scientist greatly that the human was far more intelligent then he had expected. There were small things in their mannerisms that fascinated Wheeljack, especially in the way they interacted with one another. They were primitive in comparison to Cybertronains, yes, but most known species were. But for organics, Humans were infinitely more advanced and intelligent then any other specimens Cybertron had ever known.

He began to become more intrigued.

The most surprising observation Wheeljack had made however was when he and Perceptor had been introduced to the youngling, Rebecca—but was affectionately referred to as Becky. Impossibly tiny and observant, she was the epitome of new life; raw and vulnerable and impressionable. While Cybertronians were created with basic information programmed into their processors before they were brought online, humans were completely blank slates aside from the most basic instinct to feed. She could not even stand, let alone walk, on her own and was solely dependent on others to care for her until she learned. Becky reacted to seemingly mundane stimuli, most amusing of which had been Wheeljack's vocal indicators. Despite himself, he and Perceptor found that introducing various stimuli to the tiny human girl and causing her to laugh was not only an informative exercise, but was actually quite entertaining.

Brea ignored their expectant glances, turning her head and huffing. Their teasing had not been well met and she was determined to make her offense and indignation palpable. When Jazz had finally released his hold on her, she scooted off his thigh and planted herself across the fire pit from them, refusing to acknowledge their pleas for her to forgive them.

"I think we made her mad," Jazz said after his cheerful grin failed to prompt anything but a glare from her.

"Oh she'll get over it," Preston replied, unfazed as he laid back casually on the ground.

"I didn't even do anything," Wheeljack protested quietly. He had also tried to coax something from the female, which she had expertly ignored. Kimberly even attempted to get her to do or say anything other then ignore them, even going to far as to hold baby Becky in front of her and bobbing her up and down, making it look as though the little girl had suddenly been stricken with happy feet. Despite Brea's dedication to maintaining silence until someone made amends, that little display nearly broke her. Poor Becky looked just as affronted as she did, apparently not appreciating the forced dance lesson well before she had the ability to even stand.

"Don't be mad," Kimberly said, standing back up and readjusting Becky in her arms. Brea was beginning to find some morbid enjoyment from watching them squirm in uncomfortable silence.

"Would it help if we said we were sorry?" Jazz asked innocently. Brea didn't answer and tried very hard to keep her face placid. He reached out across the clearing to where she sat, his arm easily reaching over the fire pit. He gently prodded her shoulder with a finger, which she ignored.

"C'mon," Jazz pleaded, his metal plated face contorting into an expression that was definitively pouty.

She ignored him.

So he poked her again…and again…and again. And again. Irritation ignited into an aggravated series of slaps when Jazz's oversized finger swept in for another poke. "Stop poking me!"

Jazz just grinned. "C'mon, we said we're sorry."

"I didn't," Preston replied smugly from where he lay. Jazz looked down at him disapprovingly. Preston looked slightly sheepish and he shrugged. "What?"

"What do we gotta do to make you believe us?" Jazz asked. Brea was determined to not even answer, but a funny idea struck…and she couldn't resist.

"Stand on your head." Jazz's pitiful pouty face disappeared into a blank, uncomprehending stare.

"Huh?"

"Stand on your head and I'll forgive you," Brea said, trying not to sound too smug. Everything was silent until Preston started laughing.

"I'd like to see that!" He chuckled. Turning to the black and white Mech, Preston grinned, "Yeah, Jazz. Stand on your head. Let's see if you can."

Jazz was on his feet and he stared down at the man, who seemed impossibly small as he laid down next to a standing Mech, with mock offense. He huffed and straightened his back. "Of course I can!"

An hour later, Brea found herself huddled in the Pantry, wedged into a corner, hiding from a very irritated medic who had a thing or two to say to her about tempting Mechs to do idiotic stunts. As she sat there, she giggled unremorsefully and thought, Note to self: Jazz can't do hand stands and trees make for bad fall breakers.

Leave it to Kimberly, who suddenly decided to forgo her demophobia and play the role of Puck, to rat her out. When Sideswipe heard of the incident (and after he'd gotten over the shock of Kimi actually speaking) he laughed and beamed at his ward, "That'a girl!"

Sitting a little ways away with Zoë perched on his shoulder, Bluestreak muttered, "I know Annie said young humans tend to imitate others' behaviors…but I don't think we need another Sideswipe around here."

A little ways to the side, Sean and Rodney snorted into their soup and Caleb had to receive several good smacks to the back in order to get him breathing again after he had all but inhaled his apple.