Note: This chapter was updated 1/5/10, mostly as part of the effort to fix this story's overall narrative voice to make it consistently third-person. There may be minor changes from the original, but nothing plot-significant.

3: Crash

Swoop awoke to sunlight streaming brightly, swirling with sparkling dust motes, through the row of clerestory windows of her room. It was a reminder of how much she loved the sunniness of her room; she was surprised that Snarl had not fought her for it, even though it was really too small for him…

She also, however, awoke to a very unamused Ratchet, who was scowling down at her. His arms were folded tightly over his bulky chest, and he was bouncing unhappily on his heels. It was a sure sign of vast displeasure, the kind of displeasure that he usually reserved for Optimus Prime when he was being heroically stupid as well as for certain Lamborghinis pretty much all the time.

Ouch, she thought with a mental wince.

Wheeljack was there, too, peeking warily over Ratchet's shoulder and regarding Swoop with deeply agitated worry.

Great, she mentally sighed.

"Hi?" she ventured uncertainly, aloud. She wasn't at all used to waking up to people crowded around her recharge berth, staring at her.

Swoop recognized that she was in trouble, of course. She had disobeyed direct orders quite flagrantly, and there were always consequences of that, consequences that she wouldn't be able to escape just because she was a queen, a concept that even now didn't seem quite real to her. Really, Swoop just wasn't sure quite how much or what kind of trouble she was in yet. If Optimus Prime or, Primus forbid, Prowl ended up joining the party, then she would know that she was in seriously deep doo-doo, but so far it was just the mother hens.

Which, when she thought about it, was actually sort of worse.

"You were supposed to report directly to the medbay," Ratchet was severely informing her, meanwhile.

Which was true. She'd chosen to disregard Ratchet's request-that-wasn't-a-request and instead returned to the quarters that she shared with her brothers, where she'd been welcomingly hugged by all four of them in turn, nearly crushed by Sludge, in particular. More importantly, she had not been asked any questions whatsoever before…before… The last thing she remembered after having a wash to get rid of the dirt caked on her was snuggling on the couch in the common area, watching some movie or another, one with lots of loud explosions, which meant that it was one that Slag had picked. Her head had been resting in Slag's lap, and he'd been absently but very soothingly stroking her head crest, and her feet had been resting on Grimlock. It had been comfortingly normal. Normality like that wasn't going to last, she knew, not now, but while it had lasted, it had been exactly what she'd needed.

Now, Swoop sighed and sat up slowly, feeling woozy and unsettled as she did so. A dull but insistent ache was radiating from the general vicinity of her spark chamber. She knew that this was to be expected, though, so she was not overly worried about it. Once upright and once the world stopped spinning around her, she pulled her knees into her chest and then looked up at Ratchet, who was still glaring demandingly down at her.

"I know, Ratchet," Swoop said as innocently and contritely as possible, making with the puppy-dog eyes for good measure; they usually worked like a charm on Wheeljack, at least. "I know. And I'm sorry. I just didn't feel like being poked and prodded and asked a lot of…uncomfortable questions."

Ratchet sighed irritably, but his expression softened by a smidgen, his displeased posture relaxed a little, and Swoop suppressed a sigh of relief. Wheeljack, meanwhile, took advantage of the easing-off of tensions and ducked around Ratchet. He plopped himself on the edge of Swoop's berth and then, reaching toward her, he cupped her face in both of his hands, insistently forcing her to look at him.

"Are you all right?" he asked urgently, fearfully, "ears" flaring manically. His face was inches from Swoop's, his gaze boring into her as he eyed her critically. "Did he hurt you?" he demanded to know. "Because if he did, then I swear to Primus I'll—"

Swoop had to fight to keep from laughing at Wheeljack's ever-deep well of paternal concern and protectiveness. She knew that he had been and apparently still was deeply worried about the whole thing with Starscream. He'd made that very obvious when she had left Headquarters, fretting and acting as if he'd never see her again. Laughing at his concern now would be cruel, though, and Swoop could never be cruel to Wheeljack. Never.

"Wheeljack, I'm fine!" she interrupted him reassuringly, reaching up to grab each of his hands with one of her own, pulling them away from her face and then squeezing them comfortingly. "Starscream was… He behaved," she added, sincerely. "Really. He didn't hurt me at all except…where necessary."

Swoop didn't have the heart to tell Wheeljack that she had quite enjoyed her deflowering, actually, both before and definitely after the comparatively brief interlude of intense pain like she'd never experienced before. Starscream really was just that good. But Wheeljack would not want to hear that and definitely wouldn't understand. No Autobot would. It was something that she would have to keep to herself forever, and she was fine with that. She freely acknowledged that it would be interesting to see what would happen the next time she and Starscream met, though…

Meanwhile, Swoop's assurances seemed to remove a huge burden from Wheeljack's shoulders because suddenly he was grabbing her and enveloping her in a tight, relieved hug.

"Oh, thank Primus!" he breathed fervently, clinging to Swoop for a long moment. Then, pulling back from her, hands gripping the sides of her shoulders almost painfully, he added. "I was so worried. We all were. Especially because you were gone for so long. I think even Prowl was a little freaked, by the end."

Swoop smiled at that, knowing that he was exaggerating but not caring at all. And then she heard an explosive snort from the direction of the doorway to her room. Sure enough, Slag had poked his head into the room and was scowling in distaste at the love-fest playing out in front of him.

"I wasn't worried," he announced loftily. When all eyes shifted toward him, he gave Swoop an exaggeratedly weary look, and added, "Told 'em you've kicked Starscream's aft hundreds of times, Swoop, would just do it again if you had to. Do they listen to me? Noooooo…"

Swoop grinned widely and brightly at him, gave him a thumbs-up, and crowed, "ESAKS, baby!"

Slag responded with a similar wolfish grin and a thumbs-up of his own before pulling his head back, and the door to Swoop's room slid closed again.

Wheeljack looked at Swoop askance.

"ESAKS?" he asked, befuddled.

"Elite Seeker Aft-Kicking Squad," she explained…and then she leaned back against the wall at the head of her berth, suddenly feeling tired and very drained.

The unsettled, achy feeling from her spark had increased. Its usually-steady pulse that subtly underscored her life was off, slightly but noticeably; it was racing and then slowing randomly. The fluctuations were making her queasy and not a little light-headed, and she closed her eyes for just a moment, hoping that the sensation would pass. She dimly heard a scuffling sound, and then muted and strangely garbled voices, and then the high-pitched whining whir of a medscanner quite close by. She opened her eyes to see that Wheeljack and Ratchet had suddenly exchanged places. Ratchet was now perched on the edge of her berth, and he was scanning her with a deeply concerned expression on his face while Wheeljack anxiously paced the tight confines of the room.

"What?" Swoop asked indignantly, feebly batting away Ratchet's scanner. "I'm just tired."

"Swoop," Ratchet said calmly but firmly, the tone of his voice compelling her to look at him. He gave her a penetrating, concerned, and very serious look as her gaze met his. "You've been sleeping for two days. You shouldn't be tired at all. Plus, you just lost consciousness for about ten minutes."

Swoop just stared at him for a long moment, and then blinked owlishly at him.

"Two days?" she eventually echoed, incredulously. "And I did?"

Ratchet nodded, scowling at the scanner's readings, not looking at her.

"Totally down for the count," he confirmed with a brusque nod. "And Grimlock not three minutes ago oh-so-helpfully informed me," he added acidly, "that you were in some sort of fugue state during those two days because you didn't seem to know who you were, who they were, or where you were. Once, Snarl found you wandering up and down the corridor, not really awake."

"And you kept calling Slag Starscream," Wheeljack wryly added. "He was a mite insulted."

"Mmmm," Ratchet sourly agreed. "Needless to say, I'll be having some…discussions…with your brothers about taking medical matters into their own hands. Once I get you squared away, that is."

Swoop was gaping at both of them, meanwhile, trying to absorb all that they'd said.

"I don't remember any of that," she informed them dumbfoundedly.

"'Course you don't!" Ratchet responded with an exasperated snort. "That's what happens when you're in a fugue state!" Then his voice and his entire demeanor softened, and he laid a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Look, Swoop," he said, "I know you did some research about all of this so that you'd know what to expect. But I think that you're forgetting that your origins are not exactly typical, so this might not go exactly how it's supposed to go for you. You need to be closely monitored."

Swoop sighed.

"I know, I know," she said quietly, resignedly.

"And I know," Ratchet continued, still softly, "that medics make the very worst patients, but I… Winglet, I need to keep a very close eye on you during all of this. All right? Please? For me?"

Swoop stared at Ratchet, shocked. If he was using pet names – much less saying please! – then he had to be really concerned. Wheeljack used pet names for Swoop and her brothers all the time, usually without even thinking about it, but her other "dad" wasn't nearly so demonstrative. Only when he was really worried did Ratchet get even vaguely sappy. So, Swoop was suddenly worried, too. She tapped the scanner in his hand with a fingertip.

"What's that thing saying that has you so worried, Ratchet?" she asked. "I have a right to know," she added firmly, to head off any arguments he might try to offer.

Ratchet sighed.

"Yes," he said quietly. "Yes, you do. So, you should know that you're experiencing power fluctuations in your spark, some dangerously strong surges and dangerously deep troughs well beyond what should be, so far as we know, happening. And you don't seem to be assimilating energon like you should be, which is why you can hardly stay awake and why normal recharge isn't really helping. So, one of those troughs combined with low energy levels in general is probably what brought on that half-waking state that you were in."

"Oh," Swoop responded, blinking as she assimilated the information, the medic in her seeing clearly now why Ratchet was so concerned.

"So," Ratchet continued firmly, "you're off-duty until I say otherwise. We're going straight to the medbay where I'll be running a full, deep-level diagnostic on you to figure out what's happening here. And I'll be keeping you in the medbay for close observation for at least a week. I want to make sure that these odd issues don't have anything to do with…with Starscream being…involved."

Swoop heaved a reluctant sigh. Extended confinement in the medbay was the very last thing that she wanted. But she knew that Ratchet was right, that his…suggestions…were logical and that she should acquiesce. Because this wasn't about what she wanted. If everything had gone according to plan, she was beginning to produce new lives even as they were speaking, and she already felt deeply, instinctively compelled to protect them, and at the moment, protecting them meant taking care of herself, even if doing so meant endless days of boredom. So, Swoop nodded at Ratchet, wordlessly signaling to him that she was agreeing with his requests which weren't, of course, requests at all.

"That's my girl," Ratchet said approvingly, squeezing her hand and then using it to pull her to my feet. She swayed a bit, the world spinning around her for a moment, but then it steadied, and she waved away Ratchet's further assistance.

Swoop felt very weak, though, as she walked out of her room and through the common area of her and her brothers' shared quarters, and then out into the corridor. She knew it would be a little over five weeks before the new sparks could be removed from her, and she wondered if she was going to feel this weak and exhausted and foggy and not-exactly-unpleasantly floaty the entire time. If so, she acknowledged that it was still worth it; it just wouldn't be much fun.

The three of them walked slowly, silently, toward the medbay. Swoop was in the middle and Wheeljack and Ratchet were to either side of her, hovering worriedly. It was a short walk to the medbay, though, so Swoop certainly wasn't anticipating trouble.

Unfortunately, trouble seemed to have a way of finding her, wherever she went and whatever she did. And this time, trouble came over her very suddenly, blackness rapidly eating away at the edges of her vision, quickly reducing her field of vision to a very narrow and distorted tunnel, the world spinning crazily again. A rapid series of sharp, stabbing pains lanced out from her spark, and she groaned and staggered from the force of it, crashing headlong into Wheeljack. He scooped her up into his arms and, without further thought, started running. Dimly, as Swoop lost consciousness, she heard Ratchet's voice up ahead, frantically yelling at people to get the hell out of the way, and she wondered what all the fuss was about.

Next time: Soooooo…Just what the hell is going on here, you ask? You'll get some answers when next I update…