Author's Note:
Yay! Extry long chapter! And Smokescreen-Y U SO ADORSABLES? 3 3 3
A whimper woke Ratchet. He sat up from the medical berth in half an instant, attuned to these bouts, and as he jumped to his peds, the whimper turned from a cry to a scream, escalating in half a second.
He crossed the medical area to Nightstalker's side in one stride, knelt and began to shake her. "Nightstalker!" he shouted. She twisted in his servos, fans kicking on as fear heated her systems. She shrieked again, cringing away. "Nightstalker, wake up! Wake up! Nightstalker!"
A few good shakes later, Nightstalker jolted back to the land of the living with a thin gasp, and she grabbed hold of Ratchet's chassis, shaking. Ratchet held her, feeling her tiny tears trickling down his chest.
About half a minute later, according to habit, Bumblebee skidded into the room, half groggy with sleep and big worried optics. *Is she okay?* he asked quietly.
Ratchet nodded, letting her shed hiccupping tears on him. Her newly fixed wrists—something he had hurried himself raw to finish when her first voluntary words were, "I'd like drink my energon on my own. For the sake of what's left of my pride . . ." and suffered lack of sleep again that June berated him of—therefore, her newly fixed wrists allowed the use of her hands. He could feel her fingers digging into him.
"She'll be all right, give her a second."
And then, true to how these things went, Bumblebee sat down on the floor at Nightstalker's feet, and he held her little peds in his lap, stroking over her toes. It was a minimal touch, but Bumblebee was the only other one other than Ratchet that she let touch her.
It took her a little while, as always, to calm. Over the course of three days, the other Autobots had learned to turn over and go back to sleep since there was nothing they could do for her processor nightmares. Only Bumblebee, in his devotion, would continually get up even though Nightstalker did not seem to take much comfort in him being there. He just adamantly said that she did care, deep down, she just wasn't capable of showing it yet.
When Nightstalker calmed, soothed by the safe feeling of Ratchet's arms and the comfort of devotion at her peds, Bumblebee patted her leg before excusing himself back to his berth with the promise to Nightstalker that they were all here for her. It was a promise Nightstalker was used to hearing. They all promised it was going to get better. They all promised they were there for her, they wouldn't let Megatron hurt her again, she was safe, she was going to get better, Bumblebee's sweet little *I love you. Hope you feel better soon* and yet . . .
For some reason, it wasn't what she wanted to hear.
Ratchet's hand held the back of her helm. "Nightstalker, easy. It's all right. I'm right here. Go back to recharge."
She began to tremble again. "No."
A small sigh decompressed from this age-old fight. "I know you're afraid," he said softly, "but you need the rest. It's going to help you recover quicker. It's done wonders in helping your motor lines. The infection is going down. They're healing, Nightstalker. So I need you to rest."
"He'll be there for me again," she whispered back. Her little wings fluttered.
"And I'll be right here when you wake up," he pacified her quietly. "The nightmares aren't real."
"They were real."
"Not anymore. I won't let that happen to you. Not ever again."
"Then can you stop the nightmares?"
"No. But promise me you'll get some rest, Nightstalker. You need it."
"I don't want it."
"Promise me."
And, as this conversation always ended, she gave a dutiful, "All right . . ."
And Ratchet held her until she fell asleep again. Alone with her, Ratchet was more liberal with his affections. He lied her back down on the berth and took her servo in his and pressed his face to it. After taking a strangling breath, Ratchet vented out his frustration, anger, and despair and took the berth next to her again, sleeping near her in case she needed him again.
After all, he was getting this recharge not for his own sanity, but June's.
"Nightstalker? It's June Darby."
She had heard the human's soft steps coming to her. She had almost mistaken her for Raf again. And she still lied on this Primus-forsaken berth, unable to walk with her broken hips and Primus knew what else. Ratchet had tried to give her the full run down on what all was damaged, but Nightstalker had cut him off. She didn't think she wanted to know.
"Mind if I sit with you?"
When Nightstalker didn't respond, June took the liberties to go ahead and sit herself on the edge of the berth with her. Nightstalker felt a hand rest lightly against hers. Her fingers twitched at the feather-like touch, but she controlled the urge to wince away.
"Nightstalker," June said gently, "I'd like to talk to you about what happened between you and Megatron. If you would let me, that is."
Nightstalker gave a half shrug, uncaring at this point.
June paused, reassessing the femme who had clamped up tightly from everyone—even Ratchet, to an extent. She gratefully went to him to draw strength, but did she want to talk about it and let it out? No. Just severe bouts of crying and screaming in nightmares, and a lack of response to anyone, even Raf or Bumblebee.
June passed her thumb over Nightstalker's hand before taking a breath and saying, "Nightstalker, how are you really?"
Nightstalker stubbornly kept her silence for a moment before she rasped in a breath and whispered, "June. Don't try to fix me."
"You're broken," June said just as quietly. "As a nurse, I tend to try to fix these kind of things."
"I don't want your help."
"But I want to give it."
"Take it somewhere else. Leave me alone."
June nodded patiently, saying, "All right. I won't try to help you. Can we just talk instead?"
Irritation seemed to be bubbling under Nightstalker's complexion—June could see her brows cinching slightly, so she pressed onward, looking for that emotional response. "We don't even have to talk. I can just sit here if you like."
"I don't want you here."
"And I think it's about time you stopped isolating yourself from the others." June paused, letting that sink in as the kids giggles as they played a round of racing with Bumblebee and Cliffjumper washed over them. "Nightstalker," June said softly, "you can't bury it. It's only going to fester inside and hold you back from feeling free again and willing to move on with new relationships. You don't have to be strong for us, Nightstalker. We know it hurts, and we want to help. We don't want you to have to bear this all on your own." The only response June was able to gather from Nightstalker was briefly flickering optics. She stifled a sigh and instead said, "Now, what do you feel like?"
"I hate the world."
June nodded. "How so?"
Nightstalker scowled then. "Do you really need to ask? I was raped! I hate that I was raped, I hate Megatron; I hate that I was stupid enough to believe that he cared, stupid enough to believe in him that there was any sort of good. I hate that I hurt, I hate these berths, I hate laughter, I hate Ratchet worrying about me, I hate jumping at everyone's touch, I hate living like every shadow is going to attack me, and I hate life. I hate everything about it. I hate it. I hate it all."
June nodded with rapt attention. "Is there anything you love?"
"No." After a pause, she gave an unwilling and heavy sigh. "Yes. Raf and Bumblebee. All of you guys. Miko's music. Flying. I don't know. There's not much in comparison to what all I hate. I hate myself too."
June shifted. "Why?"
Nightstalker frowned, turning her face away. "For letting it happen." Tears sparked in her optics, and Nightstalker blinked fast, shaking her head. "June, I was so stupid! Optimus was right all along, but I didn't want to believe him. So I went back. And while I learned good things, things I needed to know . . . I think I'd trade it all back to not have this happened." Her lips quivered, and she bit down hard to hold it all back. "I'm stupid, June, that's all, just a stupid whore . . ."
June's hand tightened on her hand. "Nightstalker, don't tell yourself that."
"Why not?" she interrupted bitterly. Then, she muttered almost so quietly June didn't hear it, "It's true."
"No, it's not," June said patiently. "Nightstalker, you know better than to let Megatron's lies hurt you. And if you keep telling yourself something like that, you'll start to believe it." When Nightstalker failed to respond, June added, "Nightstalker, I know you aren't a stupid whore. You are . . . much more than that. You're a sister to Bumblebee; and a sister to Raf; you're a fantastic young lady who is trying to find her way through a war that has torn apart her family and home. And the fact that you've kept going by your own strength is admirable."
Nightstalker didn't respond, just listlessly turned her head away, and June crossed her legs, tightening her hand over the metal one. "Nightstalker, can you tell me about the rape?"
Her optics flickered. "I don't want to think back on it."
"I know," June said gently, "but . . . Let's assume that there is meaning in madness. Telling and retelling about it is the theory behind exposure therapy. If you flood your brain with details, it will tire of them. Think: people who haven't been raped retell silly stories to their friends about things that upset them, then tell them again to others, and then RETELL them to their friends—and the stories are infinitely less traumatic. Somehow, there's mastery in the retelling. We feel more control over the situation."
June paused, and when Nightstalker cycled in an unsteady breath she patted her hand and said, "Nightstalker, you don't have to push yourself. If it's too traumatic to tell in one sitting, we can do it bit by bit, I can come back as much as you like. I promise you can confide whatever you want to me—I won't pressure you, and I won't tell anyone anything."
There was a long silence. June waited for Nightstalker's response, turning over in her spark the massively unfortunate events that had befallen this already gun-shy femme. She was unstable as it was, flipping war sides, estranged with Optimus, and a little bi-polar to top it off. She worried.
Finally, Nightstalker took a breath and whispered with a quivering voice, "Is Cliffjumper okay?"
"He's doing all right," June said positively. "Arcee and Ratchet and Jack have been talking to him. He's opened up to Ratchet, and his disposition the next day was improved greatly, though he's still worried sick about you." June paused. "You and Cliffjumper are going to have to talk it out, one day. Not anytime soon, I know you're not ready, but . . . His heart is consumed with what he let happen."
Nightstalker nodded. After another moment, she whispered, "I thought I loved him." Her intakes seized sharply, and she shook her head. She closed her optics and tears trickled out. "I thought I loved him. And then he rapes me. Without a second thought. And I'm mad as hell that I was stupid enough to go back to him when Optimus had warned me not to. I'd love to rape him back, let him scream and squirm and torture him until he's a writhing mass under my claws! And most of all—is that the Autobots are just LETTING him get away with it!"
Frustrated tears leaked out of her optics. "Are you kidding me? I don't care that they're here for me, I know they're not going to let him hurt me again, I know they're worried, I know they want to comfort me, they love me, they—but I just fragging want SOMEONE to be MAD! Isn't ANYONE concerned with the injustice, the evil that he did to me? He raped me! I just want someone, Primus, anyone to mention how they'd rip him apart for me if they ever got their hands on him . . ."
Nightstalker stopped shortly, steadying her intakes when they started to turn jagged. With a deep breath, Nightstalker shook her head.
"And I'm dirty. I feel dirty all the time, Ratchet's gave me a decontamination bath every day, and it's not enough. I can't get him off of me, no matter what I do, he's still touching me, still spitting on me, still licking me—"
Nightstalker broke off again, and when June started to speak up, she blurted, "No! N-No—Just let me talk, don't say anything." It took Nightstalker several minutes to reorient herself before she admitted, "And . . . I just don't feel like going on with life. Sometimes I'd rather Ratchet just let me burn myself dry of energon and let me offline. I just feel . . . feel like I have nothing to live for anymore, and the only reason I don't pursue it is because I can't bear Bumblebee and Raf losing me, cause I know what it's like to lose a sibling . . . And I just feel like I'm going to be like this forever, hopeless and broken and no energy.
"And I'm scared of being alone." A bitter laugh left her, and she shook her head. "I don't want to be around anyone cause I don't want them to see me weak and broken and a pathetic little whore, but I don't want to be alone because I feel like Megatron's going to jump out at any moment and rape me again, but I know that's stupid and illogical since I'm in the silo, and it makes me feel even dumber and even more pathetic." She scoffed another laugh. "Jumping at my own shadow . . ."
She stopped again. "And Megatron." She shook her head. "Yeah. Him. I was giving him my spark and he rapes me. So, Cliffjumper is rescuing me, and Megatron finds us on our way out and attacks us. We escape in an escape pod, crash into a cave, and the cave collapses on us." Nightstalker paused. Her spark seized. Lubricant filled her optics.
"Ms. Darby, promise you won't tell anyone?"
The nurse nodded patiently. "I promise."
Fat tears began to slip down. She bit her lip hard, shivering both with the remembrance of the tender moment and fear for if she could ever let Cliffjumper kiss her again. "He kissed me," she whispered passionately. She shivered, hot tears streaming. "Oh Primus, June he kissed me, and I . . . I've never been kissed like that before . . . so—so perfect and sweet a-and . . . June, I—I liked it so much and now I'm afraid . . . I'm afraid to even let him touch me, I'm afraid I'll never let him—let him . . ."
June squeezed her hand in silent support before saying softly, "Nightstalker, give yourself time to heal. If Cliffjumper really does care for you, he'll wait until the sun burns out for you."
Nightstalker swallowed tightly. She trembled, the hot tears streaking out faster. "M-Ms. Darby—I'm afraid . . ." A hiccup passed through her systems, and she blurted, "Oh Primus, he's going to think I'm disgusting!"
June started on the inside, not expecting it, but she should have. She squeezed her hand reassuringly again, saying quickly, "Nightstalker, that's not true and you know it. Cliffjumper's just worried."
"You don't know that," Nightstalker snapped angrily. She clenched her jaw, fighting back the pointless tears. "You can't speak for him."
"Then let him speak for himself." Nightstalker's optics popped open, and she looked down at June who just gave her a supportive smile. "You'll have to talk it out with him, Nightstalker. Don't worry about rushing into it, give yourself some time, but . . . Talk to him. He needs it as much as you do."
Nightstalker lied back on the berth tiredly, and she took several steadying in cycles as June's thumb passed soothingly over the back of her hand. After a moment, she finally said, "Ms. Darby . . . thanks for talking to me."
June smiled easily, saying, "It was no trouble, Nightstalker. Feel free to call me if you want to talk with me again. Can I come back tomorrow?"
Her shoulder gave an uncaring shrug. "Sure."
June smiled. "Good. I'll be back to see you then."
June slipped off the medical berth, calling to Jack that she was heading back to the hospital. Nightstalker listened to her car start up and drive away. After a moment, she called, "Ratchet?"
The medical officer was there in a moment. "Yes?"
Nightstalker blinked up at him. "Um . . . Can I sit with Raf?"
Ratchet nodded immediately. "Of course. Do you want me to move you up where the children are? Or would you rather Raf come down here?"
Nightstalker paused. Her throat worked at being around them all at once. "Um, just Raf down here . . ."
Ratchet's hand brushed her audio receptor with a gentle, supportive touch before he turned to Raf. "Rafael?" The boy paused his game, looking up at Ratchet. "Nightstalker wants to sit with you."
He jumped to his feet, shoving his remote into Jack's hands. "I can see her now?" he said hopefully. His wide eyes could have ripped hearts out.
Ratchet nodded. "Be careful and be gentle," he warned the boy. "Ask before you touch. Even for hugs." Raf nodded bravely, neck bobbing a little bit. Ratchet reached down then, letting Raf into his hand and he brought him over to Nightstalker, letting him jump off onto the berth. Ratchet left them.
Raf shuffled his feet uncertainly, and Bumblebee watched from afar with hope that he might get that close next. When Raf bit his lip uncertainly, Nightstalker reached up a hand and curled her fingers around him. Raf held perfectly still, and after a moment, asked, "Can I hug you?"
Nightstalker swallowed. "Sure."
However, he did what she least expected. Instead of hugging her like she had figured a hug would be, he latched a hold of her thumb, hugging her thumb with all the might he could muster. "Are you going to be okay?"
Nightstalker paused. She didn't believe it, but lied for his benefit, "Sure. June and Ratchet just say it takes time."
He hugged her thumb tighter. "Yeah? Well, I'm glad you're finally getting better. I just . . . felt so sad all the time. But I bet I'll start to feel better now that you're feeling better." A little smile made his nose crinkle and his glasses to scootch up on his face. "I missed you."
Nightstalker's throat worked. "Y-Yeah. I missed you too . . ." Before he could see her tears, she guided him forward and let him put his arms around her neck in a precious little hug that made her spark ache even more. "Hey, have I ever told you I love you?"
"Um . . . No."
Nightstalker wet her lips and pushed out a slow breath. "Well, it's very, very true. I'm sorry I didn't say it before now that it was almost too late, but . . . I love you very much, Raf. You're the sunshine in my day."
Raf gave a little sob and pulled her closer. His little tears dripped on her neck wires. "I love you too, Nights."
She looked up, and her gaze met Bumblebee's. The scout practically quivered, and she gave a little gesture for him to come over, and he bounded over in one stride before forcefully holding back a hug.
*Can I hug you?*
Nightstalker's throat worked, but she nodded. "Yeah. Slowly. And don't crush Raf."
Little tears beaded in those big, big optics. *Thanks* He knelt and slowly, carefully hugged her. Nightstalker tensed a little at the feeling of him over her, feeling a little suffocated because she couldn't freely get up, but she hid it, wanting so bad to make it right for them. "I love you too, Bee. The moonlight in my darkness."
He pressed his cheek to her. *Love you too. A lot*
He let go before she had the chance to tell him to get up and that she needed space, and belatedly, she realized Ratchet had to have warned him about how a hug would constrict her. Nightstalker sighed as Raf let go too, both of them sitting next to her, content to get as close as they could without pressing her beyond her limits. "Thanks guys," she sighed.
Bumblebee tinkled a little laugh of relief. *No problem. I'm just glad to see you finally getting back to yourself*
"Me too," Raf said solemnly.
"Hey, Raf!" Raf looked up as Jack gestured up. "Found another picture of Bee on the net! Can you come scrub it?"
Raf laughed some and wiped his cheeks. "Sure!" With another quick hug, Raf bounded up the stairs much happier than he had come down. Bumblebee's optics whirred as he looked down on her.
*Missed you. It's really good to have you back*
Nightstalker reached up and squeezed his hand reassuringly, more for herself than him. She wasn't sure if she WAS truly back or not.
An exceedingly frustrated groan filled the silo. "Why can't I just DRIVE from now on?"
And to that, in true Ratchet-the-Hatchet style, he barked, "Because your legs will atrophy if you choose not to use them!"
A grumble, and Miko's voice chanting out, "One! Two! . . ."
Bumblebee and Nightstalker shared a knowing look. "She's good for him," Nightstalker finally said.
Bumblebee laughed. *That she is*
"Wait—what's that?"
Nightstalker waved Bumblebee off when he wanted to see what they were looking at, and Nightstalker just sighed to herself, resigned to her broken hips that forced her to stick to the berth like it was a prison. Needless to say, an incoming Cybertronian escape pod was the least of what she expected. They banked against using Wheeljack as reinforcements even with two bots down, and Bumblebee waved at Nightstalker as he went out with Optimus, Arcee, and Ratchet.
The ground bridge shut off, and Raf hurried to the computer to man the ground bridge. Miko and Bulkhead argued, mostly Bulkhead who seemed to be taking his legs so hard that he was angry at the world. The feeling of being angry was one Nightstalker could sympathize with.
Cliffjumper sat down on the ground, resting his bum leg some from where he had been working it hard all morning. He looked at Nightstalker. Nightstalker looked back. Then, at the same time, they looked away from each other and didn't speak until the ground bridge blasted back open.
The newcomer was tall for being almost as young as Nightstalker. However, before many pleasantries could be exchanged, Miko was all excited and running up the stairs and blurting out, "We haven't had another bot here since Wheeljack! What's your story, Smoke? Where'd you come from? How'd you get here? How many blasters you packing?"
After getting a look of Smokescreen and committing the new friendly to her memory banks, Nightstalker laid back on her berth tiredly. She listened halfheartedly as Smokescreen detailed his travels from Iacon to Earth to pacify Arcee's major distrust. He was completely excited to be here—she could hear it in his voice, pumped to be getting the chance to get in some action.
"Next thing I knew, I'm hitting solid ground. Hard."
"The Decepticon warship must have picked up the pod's beacon and guided it to Earth," Ratchet supplied helpfully.
Arcee was happy to know they had screwed with the 'Cons. Optimus bypassed her comment, asking, "Smokescreen, do you know of Alpha Trion's fate after the fall of Iacon?"
Smokescreen shook his head. "I wish I did. But that was the last I ever saw of him." A moment passed where Optimus looked away, and Smokescreen quickly filled the solemn gap with an overtly cheerful, "Well, that's it! My life's story. Not exactly the glory I'd envisioned for myself . . . until now! Being here with Optimus Prime—I KNEW I was destined for great things! I mean, now that you have help, how hard could it be to end this war?"
An angry growl cut through the room, and anything that even squeaked with the squeak of a mouse quieted in silence as Bulkhead limped slowly into the room, staggering steps clomping heavily. "Take a good look, newbie," Bulkhead growled, optics slitted with threatening ire. Smokescreen's optics popped in shock. "THIS is how hard!" Getting his equilibrium set beneath him, he threw an arm out to the medical area. "THAT is how hard!"
Smokescreen was stunned, and he followed to where Bulkhead gestured and Cliffjumper and his bum leg filled his sight and Nightstalker lying without inflection on the berth with broken hips met his sight. Cliffjumper gave a slight shrug as if to say, "You brought that on yourself with such a stupid comment," while Nightstalker simply ignored him, staring up at the ceiling.
"Smokescreen," Optimus began to say, and the young warrior jerked his attention to the leader, "I suggest that you take some time to become acclimated to your new surroundings. A tour of the base would be an excellent start."
"Sure thing!" Miko burst eagerly. However, not a moment after she said that, did Bulkhead groan a grumble to himself, leaning against the raised balcony. "I mean," Miko backtracked quickly, "Jack here offers a very informative tour."
"So, what happened?"
Jack glanced back at Smokescreen with a frown. "What?"
Smokescreen shrugged. "I mean, to the guys back there. What'd you say the big guy's name was? Bulkhead?"
Jack nodded. "Yeah."
"And Cliffjumper and Nightstalker. I've got it." Smokescreen shrugged his shoulders again. "I mean, come on—to get wounds like those? What happened to them?"
Jack resisted a scowl and instead his jaw just ticked a moment. "Look, all I can tell you is Bulkhead suffered a cheap shot in the back and Cliffjumper got hurt protecting Nightstalker."
After a pause in which Jack didn't elaborate, Smokescreen felt prompted to prod, "So? Nightstalker?"
Jack's brows pinched. "What about her?"
"Well, what happened to her! She didn't even respond to me when I introduced myself!"
"I'm not at liberty to say," Jack said strictly.
"Huh?" Smokescreen shook his head. "Seriously?"
Jack stopped and turned around to look him dead in the eye. "Very serious," Jack said.
Smokescreen frowned. "That bad, huh?"
Jack nodded.
Smokescreen shuffled his feet, cocking his head as he looked down on the small human whom he deduced to have some brass bearings. "You seriously can't tell me?"
Jack shook his head. "I respect Nightstalker's privacy. You should too."
Smokescreen paused a moment as Jack turned on his heel and began to walk down the hall. After a moment, Smokescreen followed. "So I take it only a couple people know what happened to her?"
Jack's tense hands slacked. "No. We all know."
Smokescreen shifted. "Oh. I see." A short of silence. "If I ask, will she tell me?"
Jack stopped again, turning around to Smokescreen. "Why do you need to know?"
Smokescreen halted again, and he put up his hands in submission in the deserted hallway. "Look, I didn't mean it like that," Smokescreen apologized. "Jeez, I keep getting off on the wrong foot with you all . . . Look, I'm just saying, she didn't look right. And I'm not just talking about just her hips, she was cringing away from me even though she knew I was a friendly. I mean—she looked at me like I was going to attack her!"
Smokescreen judged Jack's face, but the young human's will to protect Nightstalker was bigger and he didn't let the emotion flicker from his face. Smokescreen sighed. "Look, I just noticed that she doesn't look right. Her optics weren't right. I don't know. Guess I got a little worried."
Jack finally let out a breath and shook his head. "I guess . . . if you really want to know . . . You'll just have to ask Nightstalker. And if she doesn't tell you, DON'T press her. All right?"
Smokescreen nodded. "All right."
Still, as Smokescreen followed the small human down the halls of the quaint silo, he could only silently be impressed by the fortitude the small organic had and he could only respect his devotion to the tiny femme.
"If you wanted to replace me you should have called Wheeljack! . . . I could have lived with THAT."
Bulkhead's grumbling could be heard across the main room of the silo. Nightstalker listened, not knowing whether she wanted to cuss his sorry-aft out for whining or hug him and sympathize with him.
"No one is replacing you, Bulkhead," Arcee placated him. "For one thing, Smokescreen's too green!"
Miko scoffed. "Well Bulk's as green as they get!"
It took them a moment. "What Arcee means is," Ratchet said, "Smokescreen still has a great deal to learn."
"And once you've got him trained, then what?" Bulkhead snapped angrily. "He's in, I'm a doorstop!"
"Bulkhead," Optimus said seriously, "your place with us is not in jeopardy. There is no dispute that we have long needed additional firepower. It is essential that our team learns to work WITH our new recruit—not against him."
"Better hope the hotshot's blasters are as big as his mouth!" Bulkhead shot back. "How hard could it be . . ."
It was interesting on how much inflection Nightstalker could hear in people's voices when she wasn't seeing their body movement. Still, red energon was discovered; Smokescreen forbidden to come on a mission until he had more training and an alt mode (Jack took him out); Optimus, Bumblebee, and Arcee went out to seize the red energon; Cliffjumper moved about restless, already getting antsy about not being in with the thick of it and working twice as hard as Bulkhead to get his leg working correctly. Cliffjumper hobbled more than limped, leg in a splint but still—he moved much more efficiently than Bulkhead did.
And so, Smokescreen, all gung-ho, wanted to be backup—so did Bulkhead. Cliffjumper knew better than to ask the strict medic and instead bided his time, working hard on his physical therapy. Then, Smokescreen was given clearance with the Phase Shifter to knock Starscream out of his armor—which worked flawlessly and Optimus dragged the gigantic armor inside.
"Told you I just needed to borrow it for a while," Smokescreen said airily. He gave Optimus a look and lifted the Phase Shifter into sight with a roll of his optics. "Doc here thought I was stealing your relics."
Ratchet snatched it from his hand. "ONLY until you explained your plan, which I then sanctioned. It's called protocol!"
"Ratchet is correct," Optimus told him. "Standard procedure must be observed by EVERY member of this team." When Smokescreen dropped his head shamefully, hurt that he had clearly disappointed Optimus, the Prime changed his tone, noting the young warrior's disposition. "However, I believe we must also commend Smokescreen." Smokescreen lifted his head then, optics practically shining with pride. "You have proven to be a quick study," Optimus said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "by choosing to place strategy above bravado."
Arcee scoffed, but not cruelly. "There's going to be NO living with him now . . ."
"While this may lack the pageantry of a proper Elite Guard ceremony," Optimus continued, "I wish to welcome you into Team Prime!"
Nightstalker lifted her head to look at him, and his optics touched hers before he quickly looked away, but his face glowed now that he had been officially accepted by them all. A grunt broke the silence.
Bulkhead stood in the hallway, bracing himself on the wall for balance as he looked out at them all congratulating Smokescreen. "The newbie did all right . . ." he finally muttered, looking over at the Apex Armor.
Miko was already down the steps with a bright grin. "Don't worry, Bulk!" she said cheerfully. "He's got nothing on you!"
Bulkhead didn't respond. Instead, he just turned haltingly, hands slapping against the walls of the halls as he began to limp away.
Miko, not very put off—or, at least she didn't let on-said, "Seriously! Once we get that leg of yours back into shape, ol' Smokey's going to learn real quick who the top wrecking ball is around here!"
Nightstalker sat up a little, resting on her elbows as she watched Miko watching Bulkhead disappear down the hall without a single word to his human partner. The silo was completely silent as Bulkhead limped heavily along, slowly, the clack of his armor clattering and every piston popping with the stress of carrying his weight. After a moment in which Bulkhead completely left sight, Nightstalker said, "Ratchet, carry me."
Smokescreen whirled, and before he had thought about what he was saying, blurted, "She talks!"
Nightstalker scowled as she sat up fully. "Of course I talk," she muttered snappishly. "Ratchet, pick me up. Carry me."
The medic crossed the room with a foul expression to Smokescreen before he collected Nightstalker in his arms and picked up her feather light body. Nightstalker wrapped an arm around his neck, and Ratchet strode down the hall with her, already knowing she wanted to talk to Bulkhead. He didn't question it, but rather just hoped that she could improve the ailing mech's disposition. Still, he wasn't sure how she would do that when she violently refused any physical therapy for strengthening her arms.
It took them a round around the silo to find Bulkhead in one of the training rooms sitting down, fists clenched tight as he glared at his punching bag that had last been used by Ratchet himself. His angry optics flicked up to Ratchet and Nightstalker, but they softened slightly simply because Nightstalker was in the room.
"Sit me down next to him."
Ratchet did so, and when she flapped a hand at him, he eyed them both warily before he took his red and white hide out of the training room. After a moment in which Bulkhead resolutely glared at the punching bag, Nightstalker finally said, "Bulk, look at me."
Bulkhead turned his head, looking at her, and she looked back. When nothing was forthcoming, she scowled and snapped, "LOOK at me!"
Bulkhead reared back and away from her, surprised at her vehemence. "N-Nights?"
She hit him. Granted, she hit him on his arm and about as soft as a feather, but she still got her point across. It even made Bulkhead scoot away some. "Are you really stupid, Bulkhead?" she said angrily. "I really don't think you are." When he still just looked at her uncertainly, Nightstalker scowled and gave a gesture to her legs. "So? Do you see yet?" She grabbed her right leg, picked it up, and flopped it to the side. Bulkhead winced at the abnormal angle she put it at. "Looks good, huh?"
Bulkhead averted his optics, averted his whole head away and strained out, "Nightstalker . . . don't."
"And why not?" she snapped. "Bulkhead, my hips are BROKEN! I CAN'T walk! And you, who has function in his legs—be it may limited function—but they are FUNCTIONING! They work! So why are you tossing that aside and bitching about it?" When he still didn't look at her, she hit his arm and growled, "LOOK at me."
Unwillingly, Bulkhead looked over, optics dancing with the urge to look away from the sight of her hips. "You have a chance to get better," she said with strained patience. "This," and she gestured to herself, "is plenty worse than your problem." Nightstalker shook her head and leaned back. "Tell me, Bulkhead, would you rather get shot in the back or would you rather get raped?"
Bulkhead winced away. "Nights—"
She interrupted him with a scowl and growled, "PLEASE don't be stupid enough to answer that. Just get yourself together already! Miko's done so much for you, she's helped you at every chance she's had and you're throwing everything away, everything Ratchet's done to help fix you. Clearly, you just don't give two shits about the scrap they've gone through to help you. That it?"
Bulkhead cringed again, but finally said back, "No! No, that's not it!"
"Then what is it?" Nightstalker snapped at him. "You're a Wrecker! They're the guys that made Decepticons run before you even stepped foot on the field of battle. Trust me—I know! And you're going to let this get you down? Thought you were better than that, Bulk. Thought you had some serious brass bearings. And you're giving up on yourself."
"What," he finally shot back angrily, "and you're not?"
Her wings twitched. She touched her comm. link, saying, "Ratchet, come get me."
"See, now you want to run from it!" Bulkhead growled back. "Did it ever once occur to you that I don't feel like it for the same reason you don't feel like it? That maybe I'm just not good enough for the team? That I've blundered one too many times?"
"I don't feel like that at all!" Nightstalker shouted back. "I feel like a whore, Bulkhead! A pathetic, traitorous whore! And I know for certain you don't feel like that!"
Bulkhead winced into himself at her venomous words, and fed up with it already, Nightstalker began to crawl away as well as she could, pulling herself along with her limited arm strength.
Bulkhead turned his hurt optics to her, watching her with pity as she tried to leave without much luck. "So what, you're just going to give up?" he shouted after her. His hands fisted. "That's some way to go out after how Ratchet slaved over you to get you fixed! After how much Bumblebee and Raf cried over you! You're just giving up? I don't see you even TRYING Nightstalker!" She winced, gritting her teeth with the sheer effort it took to crawl and how much her arms failed her, so weak it was pathetic. Ratchet was there in an instant, picking her up and carrying her away, cradling her legs with care. "You're worse than I am!" Bulkhead yelled. "So who are you to tell me to—to—It's your own fault you're not getting better! You won't let yourself!"
His voice faded. Nightstalker trembled in Ratchet's arms. She clung a little tighter wings fanning in agitation as Bulkhead's words creeped over her circuits. A moment later, she heard Ratchet rumble, "He's right, you know."
"Shut up," she rasped. She buried her face into his shoulder. "He's a glitch too."
Ratchet muttered so quietly she almost didn't hear it, "Aren't we all . . ."
Just when she thought it was going to get worse, that the hands would grip tighter, the claws would dig sharper, the spike would hit deeper, she was snapped out of it by a worried voice yelling in her audio receptor, warping from Cliffjumper's to Ratchet's.
Another hard shake that jerked her head as she fully came back to consciousness. "Nightstalker, wake up," Ratchet rasped. She blinked with terrified disorientation at him before she collapsed gratefully into his chassis, so thankful that he had broken her away from the nightmare of reality that she sobbed scared tears all over him. Yet again.
However, instead of Bumblebee making it to the main room of the silo for once, a wired young warrior skidded into the room with a shout. "Primus-slag it all!" Smokescreen bellowed. His ion cannons hummed as he took an offensive sweep of the silo, and not seeing any Decepticons, burst, "W-Where are the 'Cons?"
"Are you daft?" Ratchet snapped. He bunched Nightstalker closer, shielding her from Smokescreen as she cried hard on his chest. "There are no Decepticons here! Go back to recharge!"
With optics popping in frustration, Smokescreen turned his servos back into fingers and gave an angry gesture. "What? You expected me to ignore her screaming!"
Ratchet pinched his brows, venting in irritation. "Look. It's fine. Go back to recharge."
"It's FINE?" Smokescreen exclaimed. "Like Pit it is! Look at her! What happened?"
Ratchet's jaw snapped tight. "I. Am not. At liberties. To say."
Smokescreen scowled, hurt he was being left out. "Yeah, that's what you all say! Nightstalker! What happened to you?"
Ratchet opened his mouth for a cutting remark at Smokescreen's lack of tact, but Nightstalker pushed up for a moment, turning to him with blazing optics. "I was RAPED!" she screamed at him. Then, overcome with drenching shame, turned and hid back in Ratchet's chassis, trembling, sobbing.
Smokescreen recoiled. The truth hit like a slap in the face, and he stopped, feeling sorry that he had pried so hard. Ratchet scowled in anger, and finally, over Nightstalker's crying, he was able to say hoarsely, "Who did it?"
"Megatron," Ratchet said shortly. The medic turned his attention to Nightstalker, cupping the back of her helm and soothing her with whimsical words.
Smokescreen felt his internals heat up. His optics flared, and as he thought about Megatron's size—he had never seen him in person, but his size and skill and horrors were well known—and he felt the a sudden surge of protection for this tiny femme he barely knew. It wasn't right. By Primus, it wasn't right!
"Nightstalker," and the force of passion by which he said her name made her crying stop on an uncertain hiccup as she looked at him. He quivered he was so worked up at the thought of what happened, and he clenched his jaw before saying, "All right, listen to me. We're not going to let anything happen to you, all right? And Megatron—Pit, if Megatron ever shows his face again he's gonna wish we had never got our hands on him!"
Nightstalker straightened up some at him, teary optics blinking rapidly to see his impassioned optics. Ratchet scowled.
"Smokescreen, you can't go out for revenge! Optimus—"
"Frag Optimus if he thinks I'm going to let Megatron get away with this!" Smokescreen snapped. He pointed at Nightstalker, saying intensely, "I'm not going to just let him walk away. I don't care what it takes, I don't care who's orders I go against, all I know is that I'm going to gut that 'Con, and I'm going to give you his head. All right?" When Nightstalker faintly nodded, Smokescreen gave a curt nod back. He started to move back down the hall, past Bumblebee, but he suddenly turned back and pointed again. "And don't you let him win," he said seriously, optics practically blazing with passion. Nightstalker blinked back, astounded at this newcomer she barely knew. "Don't you let him walk all over you! You get better—and you come back stronger. Got it?" When Nightstalker failed to say anything back, he stepped forward and stressed, "GOT IT?"
Nightstalker finally bobbed a nervous head, unsticking her glossia to say, "G-Got it."
Smokescreen nodded again, and after another worried look back at her, stomped his angry peds down the hall as he went to his given berth room to brood about this kind of sick deed.
Nightstalker leaned back into Ratchet, letting him hold her, and Bumblebee sat at her peds, taking her feet into his lap and stroking her toes. However compared to the despair she had felt a couple of days ago in this very same position with these two mechs, Nightstalker felt . . .
Different.