"Adjust your stance a bit, Mikaela," Ironhide pressed his hands against her shoulder, forcing her downward so her knees were bent and she was eased back, like a fighter in a ring.

"How does that feel?"

"Better."

"Can you shoot?" Ironhide closed one optic, standing so close to her that she could feel the heat radiating off his frame. They were in the old target room – the same one she and Trina had used to go about their daily psychiatric sessions. It was the most familiar room in the entire base besides the medical bay and Optimus' private quarters – a place she had been spending vast amounts of time in – and she partly credited that fact to her success. Ironhide was a tough teacher at normal, and Mikaela assumed he was easing back a bit due to the fact that Optimus was sitting in the corner, Trina beside him, watching.

Her father had joined them, too, but he was keeping as far away from Optimus as possible, pressed up against the wall and shooting Mikaela sullen looks every once and awhile.

"Of course I can shoot," Mikaela answered, once she had found the energy to speak. The targets on the wall seemed farther away than they actually were, and she felt herself swallow, trying to wet the back of her throat. Of course, it was a lost cause.

"Then shoot."

"I will if you stop pestering me. I have to concentrate."

"If I were a Decepticon," Ironhide swung around and shoved her gun to the side, out of his face. "Would I be showing you any mercy right now? Would I be giving you the time to concentrate?"

"No," Mikaela mumbled.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," Ironhide said gruffly. "Now, shoot."

Mikaela obeyed. The blast sent her stumbling back, her shot flying wide and hitting the wall beside the target, burning a hole in the brick larger than a dinner plate.

"You almost had it!" Trina called, smirking ever so slightly.

"Almost? As in, like, what? Ten feet?" Mikaela squinted to analyze the smoking crater in the wall. She turned to Trina and said, "Yep. Ten feet."

"Ten feet too many," Ironhide rounded on her, expression agitated. He glanced at Prime for guidance, and his leader just shook his head. Mikaela felt a wave of shame wash over her, and she turned away, embarrassed.

"At least I tried."

"Your stance was wrong," Ironhide sighed and shook his head. "You should be lower. Foot back, eyes trained directly on the target."

"Hey," Trina called, and two pairs of optics swiveled to look at the human's small frame leaning against Optimus' leg. "In an actual fight, the target is going to be twenty feet of metal and steel. This is just practice."

Trina delivered the words that Ironhide could never say, and Mikaela found herself nodding in agreement. Ironhide just snorted, and Mikaela could tell that his pride had been stepped on, just a little.

"You make it sound like you're preparing me to fight Megatron," Mikaela said with a surly laugh. "He's the only one whose twenty feet tall."

"He wouldn't be the first," Optimus murmured.

"Yeah, well….you're good," Mikaela sauntered over to his hunched frame and patted his knee lightly. Then, quickly, she kissed his cheek. "Way, way to good."

"Aww…." Trina cooed.

To the side, Ironhide shifted uncomfortably before regaining his gruff composure and rolling his optics. "I swear to Primus, femme, you're going to be the end of me."

Mikaela smiled.

"That was frightening."

Mikaela looked down at her father, seeing him smoothing back his brown hair. His eyes were sunken and he looked even more tired than ever. But, unlike the others, who had all retreated to their rooms, he had stayed behind as Mikaela finished the last round of targets. Alone.

"How so?"

"I never imagined my daughter would result to carrying a gun."

"Hey," Mikaela stepped back, joints creaking. "In this world, things are different. Just be glad you weren't around when I couldn't defend myself."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Like what's a bad thing?"

"Not being able carry a ten-ton gun. Not being able to transform down into a…machine. A car," her father waved a hand dismissively. "It's as if you enjoy being like this."

Mikaela threw back her head and barked a laugh, blaster abandoned, and her full attention on the small human standing behind her. He had lost his daunted, nervous expression that, at first, Mikaela was led to believe that it had all been some sort of act. Her father was quite good at subterfuge, something that had gotten him arrested more than one time.

"I thought you were over this," Mikaela gestured to her body. "I sure am. So that should make it easier for you."

"Easier for me? I'm your father, for God's sake! I've–"

"Watched over me for all these years?" Mikaela scoffed and knelt down, arms braced on either side of her father. Teeth bared, optics flashing, she said, "where were you when I was fighting alongside Sam Witwicky in the Mission City battle? Huh? Where were you when I watched that same boy die back in Egypt?"

"You're exaggerating things."

Mikaela slammed her fist down, the impact knocking her father off his feet. Eyes wild, sweat running down his brow, he scrambled back.

"Where were you when I needed someone other than Sam to hug me when I cried, to talk to me and tell me how much they…." Mikaela choked on the next word, biting her lip plates to keep from speaking. Finally, steeling herself and slacking a little, she said, "You get my point."

"I get it loud and clear."

"Then learn it, and take it to your grave," Mikaela sat back on her rear, her father getting to his feet, brushing off his clothing. "And, considering my lifespan, is hurtling towards you faster and faster, even as we speak."

"You think that I haven't thought about that, either?"

"Certainly more than you should," Mikaela snapped. "That's the worst part. Knowing that you're going to outlive everyone….you, Sam….Trina."

"Fisher said the same thing."

"Fisher doesn't know shit," Mikaela replied sourly. "He's full of it."

Her father was silent. They both were, Mikaela processors racing. Outside, the soft patter of rain could be heard against the roof, the sound of soldiers bustling in the hallways blending in with a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning.

"He want's a war, you know," her father whispered. "A real one. Human's against Cybertronians."

"What, are you and Fisher so extremely tight now that he tells you all his secrets?" Mikaela didn't wait for him to reply. Leaning on the palms of her hands, she said, "What other crap has he told you?"

No response.

Mikaela got a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach, something she hadn't had in a long, long time. She watched her father, scanned him, saw that his heartbeat had accelerated and his palms were sweaty, and indication that he was refusing to speak the truth. As a human, she had never picked up on the visibly cues, but now, they were as easy to see as reading a map.

"It was all his fault."

He was breaking down, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. He shook his head, sniffed, and tried to regain his composure though his hands were trembling and his face was red.

"Who? Megatron?" Mikaela shot forward.

A shake of the head.

"They were after the boy," he finally said. "Sam…Witwitty or…"

"Witwicky."

"Yeah. Him," Mikaela watched her father stand up, craning his neck to meet her optics. "That big mech…the one they presented at the rally….I think his name was Barricade. They sent him after Witwicky and…"

She remembered that day, a day like any other. But she and Sam were fighting and, unknown to them both, the fight would take a sudden, awful turn. She remembered the fire, the screaming and the blood and the metal, most of it blotted out, for Mikaela's horrible mindmate was doing her best to try and shut it away.

But she remembered enough.

"Why…why would he go after Sam?" Mikaela asked, eyes narrowed, thoughts flying so fast that they threatened to crash her processors. It was as if someone had pierced her head with an arrow, the disbelief just as unbelievable painful.

"Why wouldn't he?" Her father replied. "Who else on Earth had gotten up-close and personal with the Autobot faction? Who else had revived Optimus Prime and saved the world twice? Whose N.E.S.T one crucial civilian link, the messenger who tells them what to do and who to trust?"

The horror, the absolute realization, the truth of it all, was robbing Mikaela of her words.

"Fisher keeps Barricade around like some kind of pet. But their business partners really, and they struck a deal. Fisher probably amped up Barricade's security in return for that one little task," he shook his head in disgust, and Mikaela could see the anger and despair flashing in his eyes. "He wasn't going for you. You just happen to be caught in the crossfire."

Mikaela didn't speak.

Couldn't speak.

But she did storm out of the training room, away from her father's shouts.

"I'm sorry!" he had broken down and was crying, big, heavy sobs and useless confessions. "I'm sorry I didn't…tell you sooner. I'm so sorry."

She kept walking.

She stormed past Optimus, who had emerged from his quarters. Who reached for her, grasped her arms and spun her around and tried to pull her with him, tried to speak to her, to calm her, but she wriggled out of his grip.

She ran away from him, disregarding his attempts to call her back.

She transformed down faster than she ever had before, skidded through the front gate, plowing past the human guards as she did so. Out into the rain, she drove, tires screeching across wet asphalt as she pulled out onto open road. She drove and she did not look back.

Fisher had to die. And she knew the one mech who thought the same.