The nightmares continued to plague Cliffjumper. He faded in and out of consciousness, alternately screaming in terror or weeping for mercy. Arcee was always there to soothe away his fears with sweet words and a kiss of an angel, and if Arcee happened to be absent when he awoke, he could lean upon his friends for comfort. He still had yet to realize that there were humans residing with them in the missile silo, but the Autobots promised the impatient kids that they could meet Cliffjumper when he was of sounder mind.

Bumblebee continued to give Nightstalker her doses of energon. She had alternate reactions to him as well. Sometimes she would collapse into hysterics because she feared him so much, but those soon ended when she realized the yellow scout was not going to hurt her. She would try to refuse the energon believing that she was not fit to live, and she would do nothing but stare listlessly at the wall. And still the taunting and threatening Decepticon voices would not leave her alone, never ceasing to fill her with dread and make her thrash silently on the ground as she tried to stifle her screams.

Bumblebee sensed her terror and despair, and he always tried to support her with cute beeps and woops, the whirls expressing compassionate words, but they fell to ears who ignored them. He eventually gave up on conversation again.

The Autobots were forced to mobilize though. Megatron's tyranny would not cease, and they used the ground bridge to transport themselves to Megatron's space bridge. Halting his dark energon from jettisoning through their space bridge and into Cybertron had been impossible, but they reversed the powerful currents of their space bridge. The Decepticon space bridge imploded on itself, and Megatron perished in the blast, reaching out with insane hands towards his army of zombies.

Ratchet was relieved to find that none of the Autobots were severely injured. They had all sustained little damage so they could repair each other and leave Ratchet to piece together Cliffjumper's new leg in peace.

It was the day after Ground Zero that Cliffjumper regained consciousness without horrendous cries. He blinked his optics up at the familiar ceiling, staring a bit uncomprehendingly that he was back in the Autobot base. It was surreal, and a hollow comfort, but one he clung to with his life.

"Cliff?"

Bulkhead's astonished voice filled Cliffjumper's audio receptors. Cliffjumper blinked, trying to reason that the danger was past. His torture was over.

"What? He's awake!"

An excited feminine voice echoed Bulkhead, and Cliffjumper heard the patter of tiny footsteps across the floor.

"M-Miko—wait!"

Cliffjumper turned his head, gazing down on a tiny form. Her black and pink highlighted hair caught his attention first, tied low in a sloppy ponytail with two puffs of hair as pigtails. She had a designated punk look, purple and navy striped leggings covered with tiny shorts and knee-high boots also with purple laces running down the front. Her undergarment shirt was pink and covered with an off-purple tank that had a curiously green alien-type pixel on the chest. Cliffjumper blinked, immediately assessing her deep purple nails, the pink hair dropping in her face, and the strange baby blue alien keychain. Her yellow belt seemed out of place, but so did her scrunched up face that was puckered in his direction. She was misplaced—she was a human.

"Hey," she said, watching him closely.

Cliffjumper blinked once at her, unsure of what to make of her. It took a minute to loosen his tight vocal processor—he was afraid if he opened it, he would only hear his own screams again. "Hey yourself," he squeezed out of his vocals, impressed at her lack of fear towards them. Then, he had to scoff to himself—he was currently incapacitated on a medical berth, and that had to be apparent by even human standards.

However, she gave a huge grin, brown eyes crackling to life with spontaneous activity. "My name is Miko! I'm Bulkhead's human he's gotta protect. And you're Cliffjumper!"

His lips twitched with the effort to smile at her, but Cliffjumper couldn't quite manage, still a bit disoriented and bewildered by the whole situation. "I see I don't need an introduction," he stated with vague traces of his old self. He heard Autobot footsteps clomping towards him.

Still, there was something about Miko that he liked. He didn't know if it was just her eccentric look or the fact that she had completely ignored Bulkhead when he asked her to stop, but Cliffjumper got a positive vibe from the tiny human, roughly in her middle teens. "I bet you've got Bulkhead on a tight leash."

Miko grinned then, crossing her arms. "You bet I do! That old lug wouldn't know what to do without me around!"

This time, the smile tugged itself into small existence, especially when Bulkhead didn't even grumble at her claim. Cliffjumper was surprised when two more humans scrambled into his line of sight.

He noticed the taller boy first, not because he was bigger but because of subtle bearings. He dressed plain but clean, old jeans and simple black converse, gray long sleeves under a darker grey t-shirt. His black hair was a bit mussy, but styled forward and dipped into his eyes. Cliffjumper stared at him, taking in the sight of extremely dark green eyes that were strict and smart. For some reason, he got a tug deep in his gut that he reminded him of someone from long ago . . . Cliffjumper tried to wrack his central processor for who he was thinking of, but it wasn't coming back that instant. He forgot about it when the teen spoke.

"My name is Jack," he said, watching him closely. "Arcee's my guardian." Cliffjumper kept away a frown when he realized that they were all walking on eggshells around him, like he was going to shatter at a single misplaced movement.

"Well met," Cliffjumper said instead, optics looking curiously at him with a familiar twinkle trying to come back. "You must be something if Arcee's sticking around with you."

Jack grinned, shrugging a little. "I think an order from Optimus can change her mind."

Cliffjumper just shook his head a little. "Nah, if she didn't like you, not even Optimus could stop her from dumping you off. Chin up, kid, she likes you."

Jack just self-consciously grabbed an arm, giving another helpless shrug.

The younger boy pushed up his glasses on his nose. "Hi, Cliffjumper. My name's Raf."

Cliffjumper turned his blue optics to the smaller human, immediately deeming that the nose pieces on his rusty-red glasses needed to be tightened to stop them from slipping down his face. The boy was much shorter than the others, wearing denim jeans and gray sneakers with orange streaks highlighting them. His button up under-shirt was a sort of faded light tan, and he wore an orange sweater over it. He was small, but his brown eyes were intelligent beyond his years. Cliffjumper decided he liked him too.

"Hey, little fella," he said, a real, albeit small, smile finally making its way to his face. "How you holding up as the littlest here? You're not letting anyone push you around, are you?"

Raf gave a small smile, and he gave a small shrug. "No, it's fine, really. Everyone's really nice." He looked up suddenly with wide eyes of innocence. "I hope you get better really soon."

A pang shot through his spark. The innocence of a child was exposed before him, the simple wish for compassion even though they were strangers. Cliffjumper shook his head and saw Arcee hovering nearby, as everyone congregated around to see him. "I'll be just fine. Ratchet's a great medic." Turning his head the other way, he smiled at Arcee, glad to see her. He started to sit up. "Hey Arcee. You're looking—"

Cliffjumper's grip staggered—he didn't have a grip. His weight suddenly shifted forward and to his left, and he caught himself before he completely collapsed on the floor. Horrifying realization hit hard when he stared at the vacant spot where his left hand should be.

The pain rushed back. His optics dilated inadvertently remembering her blade cutting his metal open like an experiment as those orange optics looked on hollowly while he screamed and begged for mercy. Her clawed fingers digging into his body for the nerve endings of wiring—

Cliffjumper broke away from the disturbing line of thought, jerking his gaze away from his hand only to collide with his legs.

...

His leg.

A weight crashed down in Cliffjumper's mind as he suddenly realized exactly how handicapped he was. His breathing turned shallow, and he felt his one hand gripping the medical berth so tightly it was crunching beneath his terror. His optics widened with horror, little gasps starting to vent rapidly from his systems, and he felt Arcee's soft touch that he flinched away from.

"Cliff . . ."

No. Her touch was not HER touch. Blue optics were NOT orange optics. Cliffjumper seized Arcee with a sudden kiss, right and only hand grabbing her and pulling her close. He heard an audible sound of disgust which he determined from Miko.

Arcee broke the kiss with a glance to the kids, energon flushing high in her cheeks. "Cliff—"

"No," he said before she could mention the kids or anyone else in the room. Taking her behind the helm, he held her face to his, foreheads resting against each other. "Stay. This is . . ." He took a deep breath, steadying himself of his loss of limbs. "Soothing."

His word choice affected her greatly. Cliffjumper heard her breath catch a little and a sweet, returning kiss touch his lips briefly. Her comforting hands came around him, returning his awkward hug because he didn't want his handless arm to touch her.

After several long minutes, Cliffjumper opened his optics and looked up to Optimus who waited patiently for a word. "Optimus, can I ask you a question?"

The Autobot leader seemed surprised. "Of course, old friend," he said graciously, as humble as he would always be.

Cliffjumper dropped his head and swallowed. It was just a feeling, but . . . he wanted the certain answer just to be sure. Even if he felt like she was right there . . .

"Optimus, is she here? In the base?"

The slight dimming of Optimus's optics in worry was all Cliffjumper needed. More clearly, he felt Arcee stiffen like a tree in his arms, and it only reinforced the fact. Cliffjumper dropped his arms from around her, contemplating this within himself.

It was terrifying. That meant his very own torturer was locked up in one of the back rooms, just . . . there. While it gave Cliffjumper some twisted sense of pleasure to know it was now her in stasis cuffs and helpless, he couldn't find the cruelty in him to condemn her for what she had done to him. After all, she HAD saved his life no matter how detrimental it had been to her own safety. She had made it very clear that she hadn't been going to let anything happen to him.

Cliffjumper heaved a sigh through his vents, bending over and resting his head on his hand. Now that he noticed, he wasn't even red anymore—nearly every piece of available armor had been stripped down and replaced with new parts gleaming a murky grey. Left hand and right leg completely missing—his spark jumped in impending dread at the thought, and her deathly orange eyes glazed in his mind. Her claws left burning trails of lava over his vision. He trembled before taking a shuddering breath, struggling to contain his fear.

Even his face pulsed in pain, but one thing Cliffjumper was NOT was a coward. This was his mountain of fear to climb and conquer, and he had to conquer her alone, without the help of friends. Even though terror squeezed his spark tight, he forced the words past his throat.

"If you would accompany me, Optimus . . . so I'm not alone . . . I would like to speak with her."

Nightstalker officially decided that Starscream really got under her metal.

He taunted her. And he didn't just tease her, he cruelly harassed her until she thought she was losing her mind.

She wanted freedom. She hated the numerous days she had spent forgotten in the back room, energon each day by Bumblebee but nothing more. She was left to rot in the back, forgotten as they clearly did more important things than to think about the deteriorating mind of their prisoner without any sort of company except the vexing voices in her head that she couldn't block to save her life. She blamed it on Soundwave, because he was the only one she could think of that could jam her frequencies from afar.

It was freedom she sought most. Nightstalker regretted the day she ever surrendered to the Autobots instead of fleeing when she had the chance. Her wings strained against the stasis cuffs that held her bound tight. She needed to fly again. She longed so much for her freedom that it drove her mad inside her dim and shrinking prison walls.

That was where Starscream came in.

The infuriating slagger had the gall to mock her freely, telling her of beautiful days, pleasantly warm, and clear azure skies for his taking. He vividly narrated his lengthy flights in the air, riding the winds of blustery days and the days where the wind blew sparsely to which he performed the slickest tricks and barrel rolls. The feel of the breeze caressing his body, the warmth of the sun on his metal, and the pleasure of dashing through the air at high speeds—

It was enough to make Nightstalker shriek and thrash on the floor, slam her shoulder against the locked door, and howl pleas to be set free.

She was a grounded seeker. A dirt kisser. It set her soul to flames and burned her alive from the inside out. Nightstalker was stifled within the perimeter of the room, and her sanity slowly tipped day by day the longer she was within it.

Today, however, she felt a rare spurt of determination. Her shoulders ached from her hands locked together behind her back in stasis cuffs, and she was determined to get into a more comfortable position. Wiggling and struggling, Nightstalker twisted her body so she could get her hands in the front. Her spark sang briefly when she managed to get her hands below her aft, but then she found herself in an awkward position. Half on her back and with her legs in the air, her cuffed hands were stuck behind her knees.

Nightstalker huffed at herself and wiggled more, successfully falling all the way on her back. She cursed herself as she struggled to get out of the graceless position, but after a minute realized with a small pang of panic that she was stuck. Nightstalker frowned, trying harder to get her legs to squeeze between her arms, but her small heels kept catching on the bulky stasis cuffs. Nightstalker struggled some more until she heard clunky footsteps—staggered and slow.

A real panic attack hit her—no one could see her like this! Nightstalker fought to get her legs back through without success, and the steps came closer and closer until she heard the door whiz open, and she looked up.

Her alarmed eyes slammed into a pair of blue optics she hadn't seen in over a week. The one-legged bot cringed away when she looked at him, but Nightstalker cringed away from HIM as if seeing a ghost. She wiggled herself tightly into her corner farthest from the door before remembering her current bondage.

The energon almost flushed to her face as she realized her awkward position was almost provocative because her aft was clearly visible with her legs hoisted from her hands behind her knees. Nightstalker twisted, struggling to get her hands back to behind her back, uncomfortable or not. Helplessly realizing she couldn't get back there either, Nightstalker felt exposed to both mech's eyes that could freely devour the sight of her thighs and aft.

She cowered in her corner. Would they rape her? She was sure if she had been caught like this with Decepticons they would have done it by now . . .

Instead, she heard a familiar someone take a quavering deep breath and say, "Optimus, can you help her get in a more presentable position?"

Nightstalker watched with widened, horrified eyes as Cliffjumper took a steadying hold on the wall to balance on his one leg. The giant Optimus Prime approached her, and Nightstalker heard a terrified squeak catch in the back of her vocal processor. She pressed uselessly against the unyielding corner.

Optimus crouched in front of her, gentle optics touching her panicked ones. "Do not fear," he said quietly. Nightstalker flinched visibly when his hand took a firm yet modest grip on her aft and the other grasped her wrist cuffs. With a simple and solid thrust, Optimus had managed to force her hands back behind her back.

Any words of possible thanks choked the back of Nightstalker's throat. She immediately backed farther into her corner, hitching her legs up to protect herself and squeezed her eyes shut. Optimus's brow puckered as he backed away. He reached to take Cliffjumper's weight for him, but the smaller mech shook his head, focusing his eyes on Nightstalker.

He was fearful of her, but he stood awkwardly on his own without the strength of his leader. After a long moment, he finally said to her, "Hey."

Nightstalker tried not to flinch, but she hid behind her knees, orange optics peeping up scared at him. A nervous but true smile teased the edges of his lips.

"The name's Cliffjumper," he said to her, as if she didn't know. Her spark stilled when she heard his words exactly the same as long before. "I don't think we ever properly introduced ourselves."

Nightstalker's lips trembled uncertainly as she looked at him. He was discolored from that red she hated to a disgusting looking grey, so that meant nearly all of his plating had to be removed and replaced. He was missing his left hand, and he was missing his right leg. She wondered belatedly if the medic could possibly fix that. His face was repaired well though a jagged line ran down the helm line on the left; he still only had one horn.

Finally, since he awaited an answer, Nightstalker rasped, "Y-You want to know my name? Y-Your t-torturer?"

He flinched at the reminder, and his one hand gripped the doorjamb tighter. "Y-Yeah," he stuttered before he forced his blue optics to flick upward. "I'd like to know the name of the one who saved my life."

Nightstalker recoiled in burning guilt. "The one who almost stole your life . . ." she whispered as if his screams had ripped from her throat leaving her hoarse and worn.

He trembled a moment in remembrance of what she had done to him before shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. In the end, you saved me no matter the danger to yourself."

Nightstalker shook her head vigorously and dropped her head into her knees, muffling her voice. "I trust you've realized you're missing a hand and a leg."

Her voice was a bit sharper than she had meant it to be, but she didn't see him quail into himself in fright at only a slight raising of her voice. "I'm trying to remember the femme I saw before you tortured me," he finally said around a tight throat. He swallowed. "You're making it difficult by trying to make me remember everything you've done to me."

"I can't forget it," she confessed, lifting her head to look at him again. Optimus stood respectively to the side, silent and faded from sight.

Cliffjumper's eyes were solid blue and probing as he looked at her. "Can I have your name?"

Nightstalker ducked her head self-consciously into her knees. She tried to wrap her arms around her legs, but only felt the stasis cuffs restraining her. "N-Nightstalker," she finally stuttered out, wondering why it was so important to him. Her wings strained desperately against her bondage.

Cliffjumper nodded though, eyes uncertain even cutting straight through her. "Can you tell me why you suddenly decided to rescue me instead of offline me?"

Nightstalker's throat bobbed tightly. "You gave me your name," she muttered, turning her face away again.

There was a stretch of uncomfortable silence. "My name?" he finally repeated. "That's it?"

Nightstalker nodded into her knees. "No more, no less . . ." She shook her head, letting her taunt shoulders slump. "You gave me an identity to go with my captive. And you kept talking to me . . ."

It was quiet for a lot longer, and Nightstalker wondered if he had given up conversation. Then, finally, she heard a weak laugh and looked up to see Cliffjumper shaking his head.

"Look at the irony of this situation," he said quietly, lifting his blue optics to look at her. "I'm the one that should be terrified of you for torturing me, and yet you're twice more petrified than I could ever be."

Nightstalker cringed, retreating tightly into a ball and ducking her face away in shame. She couldn't look at him. She didn't want him here. He was the salt rubbing on her open wounds.

"Get out," she stammered as strongly as she could, trying to keep the lump from her throat.

He was surprised at the sudden order, but went with it. "Let's go, Optimus." Nightstalker shivered to herself as she heard their footsteps recede, leaving her alone once more.

She refused to scream. The hysterical cries bubbled up and choked her throat, but Nightstalker refused to lose control again and lose herself. She trembled in the dim cell, locked up tight and regretting her entire life. She had wasted herself. Her talents. Anything she could have possibly been instead of a torturer was lost in the settling dust of her life. Fli-Ni would be ashamed, and Nightstalker was ashamed.

Cliffjumper didn't deserve what she had done to him. Different faction or not, torture was immoral, and she had let herself become corrupt by her designated job—a job she had volunteered for in the pathetic effort of empty vengeance. Her spark ached low and deep, and she felt little tears leaking out of her optics.

She rocked herself. Crying softly in the darkness, Nightstalker's spark reached blindly to the Well of the All Spark, homesick and grieving. Fli-Ni.

She wanted her big brother!

Nightstalker began to sob the lost tears of a little sister.

Author's Note:

How many assumed Fli-Ni was older? Or younger?

This is slow moving now, but next chapter i'll speed it up some. I can't get my head off the arc of Orion Pax episodes and afterwards. I've got to focus on now!

The story has changed a bit from what I originally had it. Now I"m not sure how I want it to end, it's seesawing . . . It's so juicy in my head and so yummily dark . . . Please PLEASE let me be able to pull of what I'm trying to . . .

Nightstalker's awkward position inspired by this yummy picture:

http:

/dirtyformers.

deviantart

.com/

gallery/

?set=

33327745&

offset=48

#/d4o9n13

Muah-ha-ha. I bet those stasis cuffs were bigger on her since she's so tiny :D