Author's Note:

Thanks for all the reviews on this! :) Also, I went on a writing spree tonight, so you'll have the next chapter tomorrow! :) The next chapter will be special because it'll only have Cliffjumper's dialogue

Optimus. Crying.

More than that, weeping, sobbing. He knelt on his knees, his shoulders shook, he buried his face in his servos.

It was the first time in . . . millennia the medic had seen the Prime break down so fully.

Instead of saying anything, Ratchet merely stepped forward and placed his hand on his shoulder. That was all he could do right now. That was all he needed to do right now. Just a touch so the Prime would know he wasn't alone, that he had someone to lean on. He stood with silent comradeship as Optimus wept over Nightstalker's comatose form, letting the Prime expel the bundled up emotions that had consumed him from the inside out. He needed it. Sometimes, Ratchet wondered how he could even keep going.

It took the Prime several minutes to slow his crying and bottle up his emotions again. He still shook irregularly, and his rasp of, "R-Ratchet . . ." was rough and thick. He shook his head and took Nightstalker's servo gently with his own, his swallowing hers, and he bowed his forehead against the back of her servo.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to them. A tremble ran through him. "This is all my fault . . ."

Ratchet finally loosened his glossia. "No, it's not. You can't claim absolute fault for Nightstalker's actions. She had the free will to make her own choice, and I believe she would have gone back with or without your consent. And, in the end, it was Megatron's villainy that did this."

Optimus shook his head. "Ratchet . . . It is more than just that . . . I—" He cut off short, conflicted, and Ratchet tightened his grip on his shoulder.

"What is it, Optimus?"

A bitter laugh left him. "I am afraid of myself."

Ratchet nodded patiently. "Meaning?"

Another raw laugh spilled from the Prime, mocking and sour. "Has it not been clear enough?" he said. "Ratchet, I . . . I think I've lusted for her the second she crossed the threshold of the silo."

Ratchet arched a brow. Now that he hadn't known. And, clearly, the Prime was eaten up over this fact. Treading carefully, Ratchet asked, "Can you explain this to me?"

"What is there to explain!" Optimus snapped. He took a steadying breath, shaking his head. "I've lusted after Nightstalker when I should not have. All I want to do is protect her, teach her what she had not been taught, between right and wrong, and I'm consumed with the urge to—" He choked off a moment. "Ratchet, she looks upon me like a father-figure! And I—all I can see is what my body feels. I've already broke once! I—I nearly took her, by Primus, I nearly took her . . ." He jerked, servos clenching spasmodically. "And I'm afraid—if I couldn't keep control, if I can't keep my control—oh Primus, Ratchet, I could have been the one to do this! What if I had raped her? Continued to take her when she begged me to stop—!"

"Optimus." Ratchet cut in suddenly, shaking the consumed Prime's shoulder out of his snowballing thoughts. "First off, you never need to be afraid that you would do this to her. This is evil, and you would never do that. Have faith—I've known you almost all your life, and I am a very good judge when I say that you would never EVER do something like this to her." Optimus shivered beneath him again, but he gave a faint nod. Ratchet knelt next to him.

"Optimus," he said, "this thing of lust . . . You have to understand that you are still only a mech. If you didn't feel lust towards a femme, or a beautiful one like Nightstalker, I would be worried you had lost your humanity. It's a very normal thing to feel."

A haggard, "Then why does it feel so WRONG?" was all his answer.

"It should," Ratchet said gently. "Quite frankly, if you didn't think it felt wrong, then I would be worried." He tightened his servo, saying softly, "Optimus, Nightstalker needs a leader she can trust. Had you . . . gone through with it, you would have ended up destroying any trust and faith she's built in you. And that's the last thing you want to do right now, especially given . . . recent events." Ratchet's voice tripped over the sentence, and Optimus winced. His servos tightened on Nightstalker's. "I'm saying this for both of your sakes," Ratchet murmured. "Please, whatever it is you feel for her, let it be for the right reasons and not for simple base desire. It isn't fair to either of you. You—BOTH of you—deserve much better than that."

When Optimus could only nod to that too, Ratchet frowned a little. "Optimus . . . What DO you feel for Nightstalker? Is it love?"

Optimus shook his head, working out, "No—I don't know! I just—I don't know. No, it's not that, I just . . ." He finally took a deep breath, lifting his head to stare at the far wall. "She confuses me."

A small smile pulled at Ratchet's mouth. "A very true statement for us all . . ." He patted Optimus's shoulder before rising and taking the energon cube the commander had provided for him. "Rest easy your spark," he said softly. "Don't try to take the blame of what you did not and would not do. Now, I'm going to have to ask you to step aside, I have a lot of work to do."

Optimus's lips twitched a little before the smile faded, and with a last, apologizing squeeze of Nightstalker's servo, he left the determined medic to his own design. Instead, he went to the back, feet trudging heavier than he wanted as the weight of the world settled on his shoulders. He stopped in front of Bumblebee's berth room door. Lifting a wearied servo, he knocked.

There was no answer. Optimus vented before pushing open the door. As he did, a short scream of *Leave me alone!* cut through the berth room.

Optimus stood in the doorway, afraid to move anymore because Bumblebee had pulled his weapons on him. The scout's eyes were dilated extremely tight in his agitation, but Optimus didn't back away.

"Bumblebee—" he started to say softly.

*Get out!* the scout shrieked. His guns hummed with the threat to shoot. *Get out! Get out! Get out! Leave me alone!* With another shrill cry, his weapons transformed back into his servos, and he threw himself down on his berth, distraught. *It's your fault! Get out! I don't want to see you!*

Optimus stood a moment with slacked hands. His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

*You should be!* Bumblebee shouted back. He sat back up suddenly, tight optics dancing with tears. *You should be! You should—You should just—Just—Get out! I don't want you here! Leave me alone!*

Optimus shook his head and took a step into the room. "Bumblebee, I'm not leaving. Not until you understand that I—that I am . . . sorry . . ."

*I don't care!* he cried out. He threw himself back down on the berth. *You let her go! You let her—Megatron never cared about her, how could you let her go! I hate—I—I—* The scout choked on his words, unable to say it, and another shrill shriek was muffled into his berth.

Optimus turned his face away, wrestling with his inner demons before he took a breath and whispered, "I hate myself too." The scout looked up. "I . . . let my selfish desires get in the way of what I knew was better. My judgment was impaired, and because of it, Nightstalker's energon now stains my hands." Optimus took several steps forward, and he knelt at Bumblebee's berth side. "Bumblebee . . . I know saying that I am sorry will not cover the damage that has been done, but . . . I beg that you please forgive me, and allow me the chance to never fail you again."

Bumblebee sat up again, blinked wide, innocent tears that tore the Prime's spark out. Finally, in a tiny voice, he asked *Optimus?*

"Yes?"

The tears began to slip down his face. *Is—Is Nightstalker . . . going to die? Is she—Is she going to—Oh, Optimus!*

With a weak cry, Bumblebee threw himself into the great Prime's arms and cried, hugging him so tightly he thought he'd never get away. Optimus wrapped him in a bear hug, and he found the only thing he could say was, "Ratchet won't let her leave us that easily." He leant what little strength he had left to his scout, comforting him in the privacy of his berth room.

It was late when Optimus woke. There was nothing in particular that set him off as the third day from Nightstalker's rape began, a mere two in the morning. Troubled, Optimus rose and began to walk, trying to work away his unease with a little physical movement. He could sleep later. Right now, he just felt like there was a certain medic who wasn't taking care of himself in his drive to save his patients.

Optimus walked back into the main floor of the silo just in time to see Ratchet pinch his brows tiredly, rub his face alert, and proceed to scan the unconscious Nightstalker—most likely for the umpteenth time.

Optimus walked forward and placed a hand on Ratchet's shoulder. The medic didn't even glance up from his readings and said in a clipped tone, "Yes?"

The Prime's body gave a slight depression at his focused CMO. "Ratchet, it is much too late for you to continue working. Your systems need rest as well."

Ratchet made an unconvinced and brusque sound as he brushed past Optimus to his computers. "I can manage. My patients, however, cannot. I am not going to rest while two are on the brink of death and the third running the risk of a severe infection that would either cause his death or at least an amputation."

An aggrieved rumble passed through Optimus for his stress. "Ratchet, please," he said gently. "If you do not take care of yourself, you will not be able to take care of them. At least allow me to take over your duties for a few hours of recharge."

Ratchet rubbed his face again, and he looked back to Bulkhead and Nightstalker before he said, "Optimus, you really need your rest as well."

"One night is not going to hurt me," he said stolidly.

"But—"

"I'll do it."

Both the Prime and the medic's helms looked over to Cliffjumper whose optics flicked on. Ratchet approached him, kneeling, asking, "How are you feeling?"

Cliffjumper blinked before taking a deep in cycle. "Like I want to watch over Nightstalker."

Ratchet set his jaw stubbornly, running a scan on the mech's ruined arm and leg. "I meant physical, Cliffjumper. Answer me straight."

He gave a vague shrug. "Like Pit, how do you expect me to feel? But I'm awake. And I won't be going back to sleep anytime soon, so . . . let me watch Nightstalker, and you two can get your rest."

After Ratchet buzzed about his head like a worried mother, he deemed that Cliffjumper was functional enough and promised he would get to work on his arm and leg as soon as he could. Cliffjumper just waved off the strung-up medic and watched as the Prime quite literally escorted Ratchet to his berth room because they all knew how the medic would turn back halfway down the halls.

After a few minutes of silence to which Cliffjumper merely mulled to himself with thoughts, he scooted himself across the floor to Nightstalker's side. He trembled. Pressing his good arm's hand to his face, he wrestled on the inside with what he had seen and let happen before he took a deep breath and stretched his neck up. He leaned his back against her berth and rested his servo on top of hers, listening to the beeps of her and Bulkhead's spark beats.

Then, he began to talk.