Author's Note:

Yay! A little more fluff and . . . Yeah, I know I forgot to upload on Sunday. Had my dance recital (which turned out very well) and was too tired to even think about it, and Memorial day was uber busy. Hopefully this cutesy fluff stuff makes up for it! ;)

Nightstalker willingly going out to help Miko and Jack on the train really helped things around the Autobot base.

Ratchet's respect grew for her (if a hint of apprehension still stayed). Bulkhead finally gave up his grudge to Nightstalker with the gruff remark that if she had saved Miko she was all right in his book. Nightstalker was relieved when she got Ratchet to agree to remove her Decepticon insignia and replace it with an Autobot emblem. It gave her little giddy feelings on the inside to know that she was accepted somewhere when it had never happened in her past life. Always the loner . . . She felt cared for in this environment, and that was what made her revenge on Optimus fester the worst.

She didn't know whether she lusted for it or if she was haunted by it. Every time she saw his back that pain would slash through her, but the doubt butted its head in every time she saw Bumblebee smile at him or eagerly throw his spark into whatever Optimus asked of him. Her claws gouged more trenches into her berth at night until she was forced to flip it over just to sleep on it.

However, it was still Arcee that made Nightstalker feel like dirt. And unfortunately, it wasn't all Arcee's fault. Sure, the dagger eyes cut and the cold shoulder bruised, but Nightstalker found herself a bit angry at herself that she let it get to her. Not only that, but compound it with the fact that Nightstalker felt inferior to the femme.

She was everything Nightstalker . . . wasn't. She stood tall, proud, and serious, and she held a will capable of withstanding even Optimus. Arcee was strong—she could FIGHT! And she could fight with the best of them. She was constantly on the front lines, Optimus's "go-to" girl; she had purpose, she had people who admired her, and to really drive the stake of jealously in, she was beautiful with striking eyes and curvier than Nightstalker could have dreamed. Nightstalker felt like the disgusting shadow of a femme covered in black—not attractive with blues and pinks that complimented her frame or pretty blue optics. She was stuck with the haunting orange, just like the past that covered her like a hazy shroud, stifling the individual hiding beneath it.

Currently engaged in a fascinating game of patty cake with Bumblebee, Nightstalker let her eyes stray to Cliffjumper on the medical berth who was sparkling red with his new paintjob. He was getting his hand attached today, and Arcee hovering around the medical area was taxing Ratchet's patience. Cliffjumper's excited fidgeting didn't make it any better, and finally, Nightstalker saw an iconic moment of Ratchet.

Filled with exasperation, Ratchet barked, "Hold STILL, Cliffjumper! I can't get your hand attached if you keep wiggling like a child!"

Cliffjumper grinned rakishly up at Ratchet like the petulant child he was accused of being, saying cheekily, "I thought an experienced doctor like yourself knew how to handle younglings?"

The attack was so swift Nightstalker almost missed it, but a sharp bang echoed out and Cliffjumper yelped, his good hand flashing to his head. Her orange optics widened at Ratchet's irreverent bedside manner, and her hands messed up the game with Bumblebee. He whirred cutely with distress that they had messed up.

"Yeow! Primus, Doc, what's your problem?"

Ratchet scowled, brandishing the wrench threateningly. "THAT'S how I deal with your type!" he growled before muttering under his breath as he carefully began the process of attaching his hand again.

"Excuse ME for being for being eager to get my hand back!" Cliffjumper snarled back—but he did behave himself and didn't move a mite more.

Nightstalker's lips twitched when he sulked into silence, and Bumblebee tinkled a laugh too. *That's what he gets* Bumblebee said with crinkling eyes. He leaned in close, holding a hand up in a whisper. *Just don't get on Ratch's bad side* he told her is a hush. *You'll fly almost scot free when you've got a check up or something*

Nightstalker smiled at Bumblebee, eyeing the notoriously rough medic of his field. He was currently bent over Cliffjumper's wrists, carefully attaching wires in his toil. She leaned forward too, whispering back, "I think I can remember that."

Innocently engaging in the patty cake game again with silly grins over the Autobot that didn't know he was being gossiped about, Nightstalker eyed the medical table again. Her lips tipped at the sight of Cliffjumper sitting sullenly on the berth.

*Don't underestimate Ratchet though* Bumblebee said suddenly, wide blue eyes dilating. *He's the best medic I know, Nights*

Nightstalker felt her breath catch, and her hands messed up their game of patty cake yet again. At Bumblebee's worried whir, she tried to shake it off, stuttering, "S-sorry, Bee, I guess I'm just really awful at this game . . ."

*What's wrong?* he chirped, eyes dilating again with worry. *Was it something I said?*

Nightstalker took a deep breath and let it out. Instead, she let a wry smile tug her lips up some. "It's nothing, Bee," she said again. "It's just been a long time since I've heard someone use my nickname."

*Your brother?* Bumblebee asked with guileless optics.

Nightstalker nodded, lips pursing. "The one and only. Primus knows you remind me so much of him . . ."

She heard the rev of an engine behind her, and Bumblebee looked up with wide optics. *Bulkhead and Miko* he chirped.

Nightstalker glanced behind her, bouncing her crossed legs where she and Bumblebee sat in the floor. Bulkhead's door popped open and Miko jumped out with an immediate and loud groan. "You sound just like my parents!"

Bulkhead transformed up with a confused look. "Aren't they . . . Japanese?"

Miko didn't bat an eyelash. "They may SPEAK a different language, but you SAY the same thing."

"Because we want the best for you!" Bulkhead pleaded. Nightstalker tentatively waved to Miko, and the punk-rock girl saluted back. "And that means making sure you go to school, not jail!"

"Uh-oh," Jack said with a snarky smirk. He leaned on the railing, sarcasm seeping from every wiseass word. "What'd you do?"

Nightstalker rolled her optics. Sometimes a bit more of Jack would show through his stern personality, and he could be quite the smartass when he wanted to be.

Bulkhead just knelt down to Miko, saying, "Look, Miko. Before I was a warrior, I was a laborer—construction. I can build stuff, I can break stuff—THAT'S IT."

Miko blinked up at him for a second, and then her face split into a grin. "I love breaking stuff!" she burst, smashing a fist into her palm. "I wanna be just like you, Bulk!"

The green mech gave a heavy groan as the computer beeped. "Why would you want to be like me," Bulkhead asked, "when you could be . . . a medic, like Ratchet?"

He pointed to said mech who had temporarily abandoned Cliffjumper for the beeping computers with the stern remark to not move or he'd get a whole lot more than just a wrench.

Nightstalker stood, shrugging. "Ease up, Bulkhead," she said, crossing her arms. "Construction's just fine if that's what she's passionate about." Her lips screwed up when they both looked to her. She avoided their gazes. "She could do a lot worse. Construction's a fine choice of job."

Unconsciously, her gaze flicked up to Cliffjumper again, and he just stared back, knowing exactly what she was hinting at. Finally, he just shook his head.

"I'm detecting a fresh energon pulse," Ratchet stated to them, "from the nation called Greece. An ancient city, quite historic, I believe."

Bulkhead looked to Miko with a twinkle in his optics. "Ancient Greece, huh? Oh, field trip!"

Nightstalker had to chuckle to herself at how quickly Miko jumped on that. Cliffjumper shouted out quickly that he'd do it, but Ratchet pulled rank because he wasn't finished attaching his hand yet. Cliffjumper groaned loudly and irritably, but it ended up being Bulkhead and Miko driving through the ground bridge. Nightstalker's lips twitched when Ratchet returned to piecing together the last bit of Cliffjumper from his time in the torture chamber—no matter how put off the mech was that he still hadn't had a single assignment in the months since his imprisonment.

Ratchet set his mouth in a grim line, standing from Cliffjumper. "I'd waste my breath telling you not to stress your—"

"Thanks Doc!" Cliffjumper burst with a rakish grin, leaping up and giving the startled medical officer a chest bump and friendly hit to the shoulder. "You're the best!" Nightstalker watched the elation light up his eyes as he let out a whoop, jumping into a clumsy handstand. "Check this out!" He struggled to hold it for several seconds and ended up falling awkwardly forward. He crashed on his back with a laugh.

*I can do it better!* Bumblebee jumped in, mimicking the handstand with just as much hassle as Cliffjumper had. He fell too, and Cliffjumper laughed at him, optics sparking with the challenge.

"Can NOT!" he barked back, chuckling as he attempted the handstand again. "I'm better at everything and you know it!"

*Are not!* Bumblebee chirped hotly back.

Nightstalker's lips tipped up in amusement as she watched both mech's trying to out-compete the other. It wasn't long before they both had the handstand down pat and they were trying other radical things to oust the other. Finally, Cliffjumper gave it up with a wave of his hand and grinned over at Arcee. She blinked, optics widening.

"Now look at this," Cliffjumper burst and picked her up around the waist, hoisting her up with both hands. She gasped, squirming in his grip to get away.

"C-Cliffjumper! Put me down!"

Cliffjumper just laughed warmly, and Nightstalker's lips twitched when he threw Arcee up and caught her again, grinning at her disdain. "Put you down when I can finally pick you up? With BOTH hands?" He chuckled, nuzzling his helm to hers. "I don't think so."

"C-Cliffjumper," she stated as strongly as possibly, trying to free herself from his strong grip, "let me down!"

"Why?" he asked candidly, grabbing one shoulder and the opposite thigh. Arcee almost squeaked when he bench-pressed her above his head. "I could juggle you with both hands!"

The energon was flushing into her cheeks, giving them a rosy hue. "Cliffjumper, have a little control for once!"

"When I just got back my hand?" he said cheekily. He flashed a grin to Bumblebee, optics twinkling mischievously. "Hey Bee! Catch!"

Arcee shrieked when Cliffjumper tossed her to Bumblebee, and Bumblebee caught her with a laugh. Arcee growled shortly, wrenching herself from Bumblebee's arms and dusting herself off. "You—Cliffjumper—are so infuriating!"

Cliffjumper's dentures just flashed as he winked at her. "Please, that's the whole reason you fell for me! Say it, say it Arcee—you like it!"

The energon was clearly warming her cheeks bright pink. Arcee sputtered a moment, lips squirming, before she finally gave a sound of extreme exasperation and stalked off in the opposite direction.

Cliffjumper laughed warmly, turning his grin towards Nightstalker who couldn't hide her own smile of amusement. However, his happy expression flat lined and Nightstalker felt her own expression deadpan.

His blue optics stared at her curiously, the only sounds in the missile silo that of the video game Miko and Raf were competing in. After a moment, his optics seeped compassion her way and his lips screwed up into a slight smile.

He walked her way, and Nightstalker's spark jumped uncertainly. What? She took a step back, but he just turned around and curled his fingers in a gesture for her.

"C'mon," he said wryly. "Forgive-me-back ride."

Nightstalker blinked uncomprehendingly. When she did, Cliffjumper's grin widened, and he threw a wink back to her. "It's what I do to forgive people and/or to have people forgive me. So in other words, I'm saying it's no big deal about the torture chamber. So hop on and let's just put it behind us."

Nightstalker felt her breath stop. Her metal hinged up in disbelief, wings perking at his confession. Her lips trembled, and she turned her face away.

Shame poured through her.

"No . . ." she whispered, shaking her head. She felt lubricants swelling behind her optics. "I can't . . ."

"Sure you can," he said, using that supportive tone he had used to pull her out of her scared shell. "Just hop on—you won't be heavy."

*I'd do what he says, Nightstalker* Bumblebee said with a cheery chirp. He moved over to watch the video game, saying, *Cliff always manages to get what he wants*

Nightstalker shook her head harder this time, saying stronger, "No. I—I can't . . . You . . ."

"Yeah you can," Cliffjumper just repeated, waggling his fingers to gesture her closer. He arched an eyebrow back at her. "Do I have to come and get you or are you going to just get on?"

Nightstalker shook her head again, retreating back from him. "No, C-Cliffjumper, you don't understand—" Nightstalker shrieked slightly when he grabbed her, hoisting her up onto his back without any more preamble.

"Then fill me in on the way," he said. Nightstalker found herself wrapping her legs around his waist to keep from falling; he had such a strong grip on her wrists that she couldn't get away if she tried. "Once around the base and we're done."

The energon flushed brightly into her face—indignation, not embarrassment. "Cliffjumper, put me down!" she cried out, trying to pull her wrists free of his grip as he walked them down the first hallway of the base. "Let me down! I—" Nightstalker choked on her words a second, and she fisted her hands and dropped her head. "I don't deserve this!"

"Nonsense," she was surprised to hear Cliffjumper say immediately. Nightstalker lifted her head, blinking owlishly without understanding, catching the lubricants in her optics. Cliffjumper nodded his head to the passing Optimus Prime who blinked with surprise at them. A grin tilted his lips up and a twinkle crinkled his optics. "Hey, Prime."

Nightstalker avoided the Prime's gaze, but it only made her eyesight collide with the left side of Cliffjumper's face, and her breath caught seeing where the welder had left its mark permanently. A thin line ran down the junction between his face and his helm, a constant reminder that it had been HER hand that had caused him that pain. His screams slashed across her countenance, and his despairing moans replayed in her audio receptors like a malignant plague.

Nightstalker gritted her jaw, struggling to control the tears threatening that he didn't see. "C-Cliffjumper, put me down!" she repeated, struggling harder than before. He just re-fixated his grip on her, holding her fast. "I said I don't deserve it!" she gasped, the lubricants falling freely down her cheeks now. "Let—Let go! Let me, Cliffjumper, I don't deserve—I'm—I—I don't deserve forgiveness!"

Cliffjumper finally glanced over his shoulder, truly worried now, but his blue optics widened when he saw her crying. "H-Hey, whoa, c'mon now, don't cry." Still, he didn't let her go, just shifted her around so that he was holding her to his chest, awkwardly patting her shoulder. "C'mon, Nightstalker, I—I don't do tears. C'mon, don't cry . . ."

Nightstalker beat his chest plate weakly, wanting nothing more than to hit him hard and force him to let go of her, but she was so terrified of hurting him and the screams that haunted her—a violent tremble ripped through her.

"I said I don't deserve it!" she wept again, shivering and fluttering her wings restlessly. She could still see that look in his azure optics when he had lifted his head and pleaded for mercy; she could still hear his shrieks, the stench of burning metal, his broken wails in that dark room of torture—

Another violent shudder tore through her, and Cliffjumper passed a worried hand over her wings, gently kneading her shoulder. "All right, try and calm down for me? I'm really not cut out for this crying business . . ." He patted her shoulders awkwardly again as she struggled to bottle up the sobs, hugging him tightly even though she wanted to just shove him away and put safe distance between them.

"Look," Cliffjumper said, "it's not a matter of if you think you deserve forgiveness or not. The whole point is I'm GIVING it to you." Nightstalker felt herself crying harder at his words like salt on a raw wound. "It's all right. I forgive you—for everything. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Yes it does!" Nightstalker cried, hitting him again. "It—I—After what I did—no one can forgive me for what I've done!" The guilt festered deep as she struggled to control her sobbing, wings twitching restlessly. She didn't deserve it—she deserved to suffer, and then die, and it still wouldn't be enough. She shivered. She could still feel his metal ripping beneath her claws, and his energon slicking her hands.

Why couldn't you have just let me die?

Nightstalker trembled in his arms, burying her face into his neck. "I can still hear your screams . . ." she whispered hoarsely, guilt and fear stealing her voice away.

He patiently held her in the abandoned hallway. "I'm not screaming now," he stated softly.

"But you were," she rasped, shaking so hard her metal tinkled together. Nothing could describe the horror, despair, and pain that had made his voice shriek and break. Little sobs slipped past her mouth. "How can you possibly forgive me after what I've done to you . . . ?"
The arms wrapped around her tightened a little. His answer was delayed in coming, but finally, he murmured, "I don't know . . ." He shook his head, cuddling her close to his chest. Feeling herself slipping down, Nightstalker tightened her legs wrapped around his waist.

Cliffjumper vented a sigh through his system. "I really don't know," he said quietly, clearly remembering every second of his time as a prisoner of the Decepticons. "Maybe saving Jack and Miko had a part in it. And the way Bumblebee really adores you. And how protective Optimus is of you."

Nightstalker cringed as if his last statement had been a slap in the face. The guilt festered worse, digging its claws in deep.

Cliffjumper hugged her tighter. "All I know is that that femme I saw before you started torturing me? She's right here. And the last of that torturer died when she set me free."

Nightstalker's crying renewed again at his moving confession. "H-How can you know that?" she hiccupped around sobs. "I-I—I could go back to that at a-any time . . . it would be s-so easy . . ."

"You won't," he said softly, but confidently. "I trust you. You're an Autobot now—you're with us. You wouldn't betray us for the world."

The sobs grew harsher, and she felt her hands digging into Cliffjumper hard. He stiffened slightly at the touch of her claws, a faint repercussion of the torture chamber, but he relaxed again.

Primus, if he only knew how inadvertently he lied! Something she lusted for with all her spark and yet she dreaded with every wire inside her body—the death of Optimus Prime. He had to atone for what he had done—or in more exact words, what he hadn't done. She had to kill him, and yet couldn't, and she would. She trembled in Cliffjumper's grip, leaking optic lubricant into his shoulder wiring.

His thumbs stroked comfortingly against her. "All right now," he muttered, hefting her up again when she began to slide down. "Let's stop all these crocodile tears. I'm not a fan of crying after all—it really kinda scares me." He shook his head, patting her shoulder again. "Calm it down, Nights. Deep breath. It's all right—forgiven is forgiven."

Forgiven. The word was alien to her, but like a sweet balm to her spark caught in turmoil. Her shaking slowed as she followed Cliffjumper's instructions, and she tightened her arms around his neck.

Seeing that she was finally calming down, Cliffjumper nodded and grunted, shifting her around again so that she was on his back. "Good. Now let's finish this forgive-me-back ride already!"

Forgiven. A tremble caught in the back of Nightstalker's throat as she held on tight, burying her face in his neck. He really WAS different, special, and now more than ever, Nightstalker was glad she had saved his life. After all, he spread cheer around like that silly Kris Kringle character, so light-hearted all the time even plagued with memories of the torture chamber. Forgiving to a fault, too, since he could forgive her of the torture.

Not only that, but . . . She owed him. By Primus, she owed him so much. She had met sweet Bumblebee so much like Fli-Ni who filled something inside her that was empty. She had friends like Ratchet and Bulkhead. Despite Arcee's hate to her, Nightstalker had a femme to look up too—a femme that gave her the drive to become stronger and become her own femme full of fortitude and will; one who never backed down in the face of danger. Arcee challenged her to conquer her fears and achieve the desires of her spark, be they good or bad.

And even Optimus . . .

Primus knew she owed Cliffjumper so much. She hugged him tighter as he paraded her around the base on his back, handsome face set forward. Through him, she had been brought to a place where she belonged.

Nightstalker bit her lip, burrowing her face into his neck while a few more trickles of lubricant seeped down her cheeks. Forgiven.

"C-Cliffjumper . . ." She couldn't raise her voice over a whisper she was so choked up, but that was okay. No one in the world had to know but him. "Thanks."

His two hands tightened on her. "No problem, Nights."