Fraternizing

by Whozawhatcha

A Decepticon torturer isn't the kind of femme the Autobots are willing to take into their ranks but Optimus makes an exception for their eager prisoner. However, no one expected the slightly bipolar femme to carry a dangerous grudge with her ambiguous past. Stakes run high and secrets run deep, and despite her conversion to Autobot, this femme cant shake her ties with Decepticons

44. This Is It

Author's Note:

Song used is "This Is It" by Kirk Franklin. Yeah. I'm channeling my black half today (I'm a mix of black and white)

---

"Well, um . . . Hello, Nightstalker."

"Um . . . Hi."

There was a pause. "Well, I uh—I know we haven't really talked person to person, you know, other than an order here and there, but . . . I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right."

"Sure. I'm okay."

"Well, uh . . . good."

They sat there a moment longer. The moment stretched to awkward, and finally Fowler said, "Oh! Um . . . My wife wanted you to listen to a song. She said it's called This Is It by Kirk Franklin. Yeah, that's his name."

Nightstalker nodded again. "Sure."

The moment stretched. Fowler shifted, and Nightstalker resisted the urge to tap a finger. Finally, Fowler stood up, saying, "Right. Well, I ought to get going."

Nightstalker nodded. She shuffled her peds, hips fixed by Ratchet a day ago. It felt good to feel her feet. "All right. Bye."

"Bye."

Fowler walked away, expelling a worried breath and yet relieved to be out of Nightstalker's presence. He didn't know how to act around her with what had happened, a thought that still sent him hot under the collar. Still, as he walked up the gangway, he stopped in front of the railing, calling, "Prime."

Optimus's heavy footfalls brought him up to him. "Agent Fowler."

The man paused. After a moment, he straightened his loosened tie, and though he didn't look directly at the Prime, afraid that he would see the painful worry and hatred bottled up deep inside, he muttered, "Next time you get the chance . . . don't let that bastard walk away. At least make him limp."

Fowler exited. The door to the elevator whizzed shut before Optimus made his answer.

"Gladly."

The raspy beeping of the computers made Ratchet look, and he scowled. At that, Optimus approached him. "Ratchet, what is it?"

"A high frequency with an embedded message from Wheeljack," Ratchet sneered. Optimus simply arched a brow. Grumbling, Ratchet opened it up, and he frowned, reading it. "This message is only for the femme called Nightstalker. Unless you're her, I wouldn't suggest reading this." Ratchet and Optimus paused. Ratchet looked over to the medical area. "Nightstalker!" He began walking over. "You've got a message from Wheeljack," he told her. He held out a hand. "Come on. Let's go."

She blinked up at him. "I can't walk."

Ratchet's jaw ticked. He had tried to get her to work some yesterday, and she plaintively refused. "Nightstalker, I've fixed your hips," he said. "I can't put the strength back in them for you, you'll have to do that yourself. And the only way it's going to happen is if you get up and WALK."

She stared up at him, and Ratchet scowled. He stubbornly kept one hand out. "Nightstalker, I'm not bringing you over there unless you walk. I can help you the whole way, but I need you to use your legs! At this rate they will atrophy and you'll never have the use of them again."

Nightstalker blinked, and she dropped her head. "Guess the message can wait."

Ratchet scowled angrily, frustrated that she wouldn't lift a hand to help herself. He stomped off, absolutely quivering with raging ire, and Optimus just looked at him. Ratchet held up his hand as if he had tried to speak, muttering, "DON'T try me at this point, Optimus."

Optimus nodded his head. "I think, at this time, Nightstalker needs more support than pressure," he finally stated. Ratchet watched him walk towards the medical area, and it was on the tip of his tongue to call the Prime back and tell him not to interfere with his patient, but he let it go with a frustrated growl.

WHY wouldn't she help herself? Had Megatron said something otherwise to her? June resolutely kept everything she and Nightstalker talked about confidential, much to Ratchet's carangid, and that hurt too. She trusted June enough to tell her about these things and not him? After everything he had done for her . . .

It hurt, to be alienated. Optimus cradled Nightstalker easily in one arm and brought her up to the computer, opening the message for her, but averted his face so she could read it herself. Still, she spoke aloud, unconcerned at the contents of the message.

"Heard what happened. Hope you're getting better. Just letting you know that Megatron's missing a couple of his crucial energon mines, all destroyed in your name. Buck up and toughen up. Grab life by—" She paused. Then, Ratchet watched with disbelief as her lips twitched; she even sputtered a little. "Grab life by the balls and make it your bitch. Megatron too."

After a moment more, Nightstalker gave a laugh. Her first since the incident. A couple giggles more, and she shook her head. "I needed that."

Jealously raged in Ratchet's chassis. Optimus just gave him another look as he took Nightstalker back, sitting her back on the medical berth. Ratchet seethed—

Even WHEELJACK was helping her more than he was! What was he doing wrong? Why couldn't he make her feel better?

The days dragged. Over the next couple days, Ratchet tried his hardest to work with Nightstalker, but nothing seemed to work. Instead, she seemed . . . preoccupied, if that were possible. She was always pinch-faced, brows crinkled, and she tended to sit in a ball a lot. Her wings would flutter, and her deep dives into her own mind of though stretched for hours. Then, she would welcome a distraction of Raf and Bumblebee, have her session with June, calm down from the session with June, and then laps back into that intense brooding.

Ratchet didn't know what she was thinking about, and he worried. It wasn't that he suspected Nightstalker of foul play or a severe case of depression that she hid admirably well (he would expect the latter of the two compared to her wanting to hurt herself) he just . . . WORRIED. It unnerved him to see her like this. And, her bipolar tendencies tended to swing from one extreme to the other, with more than often her extreme paranoia and self-loathing and hatred directed towards Ratchet or June and not the others. Her pretense of getting better was stretching thin—if she didn't truly start recovering soon, the other bots and kids would notice and there wouldn't be a damn thing she could do to hide it.

It frustrated him. She refused to get well, she refused to allow him to help her with the physical therapy, and the closest thing to her mental therapy was whatever June was doing with her. Of that, Ratchet could only be begrudgingly thankful and burn with envy that he couldn't do anything to alleviate her sufferings.

Still, something that thrummed beneath the surface, Ratchet worried over the fact that it had been over two weeks, borderline three since the rape incident and Cliffjumper and Nightstalker hadn't spoken a word to each other, in all, even going so far as to AVOID each other.

It boded ill; it worried the already extremely worried medic until it was border lining complete distress that he could only hide and bear.

At least Cliffjumper had regained full function of his arm and nearly full function of his leg.

. . .

NOW he chose not to be a pain!

---

"Bulkhead," Ratchet said with strained patience, "you shouldn't allow yourself to decline."

"Yeah, Bulk!" Miko chimed in cheerfully. "You gotta pull yourself out of this funk!"

"What's the use?" he muttered dejectedly.

Ratchet stifled a sigh. Combating three people sank deep into depression wasn't helping his strain at all. Nightstalker was completely unresponsive again, looking down twiddling her thumbs with a distant expression pinched in thought.

"You need to regain your strength," Ratchet pressed. "The time will come when—"

"When what?" Bulkhead interrupted snappishly. He looked up from where he sat with a sour expression. "When all of you will need an assist? Isn't that what the new guy's for?"

"Hey, Bulkhead!" said "new guy" said rather cheerfully—as he always did. He came up with a grin, toting the Apex Armor in his hands. "I've been thinking! With your injury and all, you might wanna take advantage of the armor I snagged from Starscream." He grinned. "Instant muscle suit!"

Ratchet could have dropped his face into his palms. No one saw that he was just trying to be helpful—in a rather misguided sweet way. He just couldn't believe that he was stupid enough to go about it as flippantly as he had, and he saw Bulkhead's optics flare bright as if Smokescreen had challenged him.

"You think I need a CRUTCH?"

In a rare show of aggression, Bulkhead leapt to his peds and slugged the armor out of Smokescreen's hands. It soared away and crashed into Ratchet's computer with devastating force and—

The bipping slowed to a halt and the power running it siphoned away with a groan.

"BULKHEAD! I NEEDED THAT!"

Bulkhead just growled, and with a sudden spring—if you could call fixing his limp to a bearable walk, merely a stiff walk a spring—he hit Smokescreen in the chest as he brushed by, snarling, "Out of my way, rookie!"

Smokescreen's optics popped with gleeful delight at Bulkhead's angry stomp. "He can walk!"

Subsequently, Bulkhead ignored the outburst pointedly, his Wrecking pride hurt that Smokescreen had suggested something to HELP him. Ha! He was a Wrecker! He didn't need the help of a flimsy crutch! With a newfound determination to prove that swaggering rookie wrong, Bulkhead snatched up the lobbing ball and began to do more reps, hell-bent on fixing his legs once and for all.

"Looks like he's fit for duty to me!" Smokescreen said jauntily with a smile.

Ratchet, unamused at the young warrior, muttered almost intelligibly, "You don't even know what you're talking about . . ." Back to action in THAT condition? Cliffjumper had a better chance to go out than Bulkhead did! At least Cliffjumper was beginning to walk normal and wasn't so stiff he could barely manage his strides!

Nightstalker listened to the exchange silently. Ha. If only determination were that easy for her to find . . .

As the bots went out to stop a resurrected Breakdown/Silas, Nightstalker could only wonder where to get the initiative to help herself. She succumbed to the fact that they were all right; she needed to do something. But she just felt . . . tired. Exhausted, weak, like she could fall down a rabbit hole and never come back up. Her will was broken, and she didn't know how to fix it.

She clung to Smokescreen, Fowler, and Wheeljack's words—they were the first ones NOT to coddle her. For some reason, that was what she felt she needed most. Sure, Ratchet didn't play around with her, but it was too much, "It's for your own good," and scrap like that. She didn't care about her own good at this point.

She just wanted to hurt somebody—a certain someone—and hurt him bad. She wanted to take life by the balls and make it her bitch.

She just had to figure out how to get out from beneath life's heel first.

She missed Raf. And had an inner spark attack when she heard about Silas/Breakdown nearly killing all of the humans—thanks the heavens stopped by Bulkhead and an assist from Smokescreen—which subsequently led to a breakdown later that night on Ratchet as she completely fell into hysterics. The best thing that came out of the day was seeing Bulkhead finally back into the swing of things and his jealous strife with Smokescreen pacified.

Overnight. Another nightmare. More Ratchet crutch, more Bumblebee crutch, and another morning—in which Smokescreen decided to blow his cover. Nightstalker twiddled her thumbs more, no initiative to help herself when she felt so dirty and hoping Jack could whip a certain ruckus Smokescreen into shape. The kid might have his spark in the right place, but scrap was he a troublemaker!

And, when Smokescreen and Jack came back late that afternoon howling with laughter, Nightstalker could only groan and think of the million things they could have done to laugh that hard with boyish delight.

"I am SO posting this tonight!"

More laughter. In fact, so much laughter that everyone present in the silo—Ratchet, Arcee, Bumblebee, and Cliffjumper—all looked to see what indeed was so funny.

"Arcee—Arcee! Check out Vince's car!"

Jack held a phone up to her. "The Bullet?" she said dubiously and she squatted to see. She blinked.

Jack just grinned, having had too much fun to care. "Hey Vince?" he mock jabbed at the other human. "Did you want FRIES with that?" It sent both him and Smokescreen into riotous laughter that rebounded off the halls of the silo.

"So let me get this straight," Arcee finally said. "You taught Smokescreen everything he NEVER needed to know about fast food?"

Jack spread his hands. "He passed driver's ed! Work hard; play hard."

"Yeah," Smokescreen chimed in. "No humans were harmed in the makings of these photos—honest!"

Nightstalker huffed out a tired sigh and flopped flat on her back on the medical berth. She sorely hoped Smokescreen wasn't going to ruin Jack's sense of responsibility. It would be a poor thing to see Jack acting a fool when he had such promise. Hopefully the impressments would work the other way around—

"Oh! Nights! I almost forgot!"

Nightstalker blinked, moving to sit up again when Smokescreen came up with something in his hands. A tiny something. In his fingers. He held out the pot with its pretty flowers, white lilies, red roses, orange mums, and violets and an assortment of other flowers. By Cybertronian sizes, it was tiny, but by human sizes, it was big. Cliffjumper suddenly looked up, all attention focused on Smokescreen and the bouquet.

"It's a berth-warming gift!" Smokescreen said cheerfully, handing it to her. "Humans give flowers when one they care about's been stuck in the hospital, so I thought I'd extend the same favor!" Nightstalker took the flowers in both hands, looking up bewilderedly at Smokescreen. "It was Jack's money, but hey, I don't have the local currency." Then, he leaned forward suddenly, whispering with the grandest secret, "Hey, just between you and me? The first step's always the hardest." With that, he gave a rakish smile and a wink before chucking her chin affectionately and moving off.

Cliffjumper's optics trailed him the whole way, assessing his competition.

Nightstalker stared down at the smiling bouquet full of bright splashes of colorful flowers that she knew Jack had to have spent a good fortune on. She knew prices of flower arrangements weren't cheap. It melted her hurting spark to a mush, and one of her fingers reached up to stroke at one of the delicate petals.

"Thank you," she murmured. No one heard her, the boys already having moved on to another video game tournament, but that was all right with her. She was sure they understood. They wouldn't have done it otherwise.

The day passed in a blur to Nightstalker. She adored over her flowers quietly to herself, refused Ratchet again as she didn't want to take the chance of starting her physical therapy and failing horribly as she expected to and ruining her good mood. Yeah, that was it. It was a good mood. The happy flowers perked her up, and she liked it. Primus, she couldn't believe the wonderful feeling of being so mellow.

Indeed, she passed her day preoccupied with the flowers, counting the petals, memorizing the look of them, contemplating how much Jack paid for them and how much each part of the plants would be paid for with each dollar. She briefly considered who had come up with the idea to get her something to cheer her up, but then decided she didn't care. It didn't really matter, after all. Besides, she highly suspected it had been a joint decision.

And so it came to be that she was lying that night restlessly awake while Ratchet dozed in a recharge next to her. She gazed at the flowers in the dim of night, wondering—what had she ever done with her life? As she raked it up in her mind, it followed as such:

She had lived as happily as she could with her mother and Fli-Ni even with the strife of their fathers until both deserted for the war and her mother died. Then, she spent her sparkling years holding on to her youngling brother's servo as urchins in the street, kicked by people who bowed their heads and didn't give privy to the sufferings at their feet. Then, Kaon was domineered by the Decepticons, and her brother died, and she was left all alone—taken in by the Decepticons. Given torture skills by a mentor who wasn't particularly merciful in the ways she had done it—Nightstalker didn't think she'd ever forget when Airachnid took her as a youngling and victimized her both to torture tactics and her poison. Nightstalker was sure she still had the burn marks seared into her back.

And so, life persisted by Nightstalker torturing mechs and femmes, a grand total of 263 over her couple millennia and countless interfaces with Megatron, each more kinky than the last (though thankfully she never gave into having a threesome with him and Soundwave, a particular daydream that Megatron had seemed fond of).

And it was then Nightstalker realized how . . . utterly pointless her life had been. She had done the most meaningful things as an Autobot, albeit negative and positive things, but she hadn't just gone through the motions.

And then, Megatron had successfully snatched away what hopes she might have had for the future. Raped. His touch still crawled over her person and still impaled her port every time she even had the briefest mention of the subject. Her spark still quivered. She still jumped at the wrong kind of touch. It bothered her to be so dependent.

"Do you like it, you filthy whore! Scream! I'm sure Cliffjumper would love the show!"

Nightstalker winced into herself as his voice suddenly raked across her mind, the darkness pressing in tight around her. Her breathing shallowed. She didn't like it. He could keep his filthy hands off her! Don't TOUCH me!

"I hope you enjoy this as much as I do."

Nightstalker jerked, feeling that spike jab into her. Instinctively, she bucked away, panic rolling across her processor. Breathing sharply to control the fear, Nightstalker felt tears bead in her optics. Her jaw clenched.

You aren't here. You aren't even touching me! Stop messing with my processor! Stop it! Stop it!

His dark laughter echoed in her mind, non-stop, mocking her for thinking this time was going to be any different than the last. She clenched her jaw tightly, stifling her cries so she wouldn't wake Ratchet who was in dire need of a recharge.

"I'm going to frag you until I overload. Now tell me, do you like it, Nightstalker? THIS is rape, you pathetic glitch!"

Nightstalker bit her lip so hard it bled, yanking away from her phantom rapist, feeling his claws raking down her wings, tearing into her interfacing paneling. She shuddered, falling from the berth she writhed so much. It was a wonder Ratchet didn't wake up at the sound—a tantamount to his exhaustion. Tears sped down her cheeks.

You don't control me. Don't touch me! DON'T TOUCH ME! You're not overlord of my mind! Get out! Leave me alone!

Smokescreen's words haunted her: don't let him walk all over you, and come back better and stronger. Wheeljack: Buck up and toughen up. And Fowler—

Wait, what did Fowler say?

"How does it feel, slut? Do you like it!"

A tiny, pathetic noise keened from between her tightly clenched teeth. Nightstalker jerked, hot and phantom pains slicing across her body. Her knees turned inward as she trembled on the floor of the silo, wings fanning a mile a minute.

No. No, that's not what he said. What did he say? Just wanted to make sure I was doing all right. What else, what else?

Panic scorched through her systems, wanting to lock her into a battle mode as she slashed out when she thought she saw a glint of Megatron's optics gleaming through the darkness at her.

"This little wench is going to wish I had never let her live a day after Kaon."

Nightstalker took a ragged gasp, crawling away from Ratchet so she wouldn't wake him. These were her demons, not his. He could only chase them away, not defeat them. Pain sawed through her lower extremities, crushing in until the pressure made her want to crack, sparking all the way into her fingertips. Every fiber of her body howled in pain, locked in the bloodied rape Megatron had meted out on her.

Get out of my head, you wretched glitch! I hate you! I've always hated you! Get out! Leave me alone! You won't win, by Primus, I won't let you win again . . . That's IT! Her jaw clenched; her hands fisted. She ended up scooting further away from Ratchet, seething in fury at Megatron and writhing so hard that her paint was beginning to scrape off. She jerked, hitting the computers as she sought to push herself upright.

THAT'S IT! Get out! You've ruled over me enough! You've taken enough from me, and I'm not going to let you take any more! Get the frag off my back! I won't let you take anything else from me, my life is MINE! You can stay the frag out of it, got it? Frag off! This is it, and I'm not—

She paused, quivering with ire as her rapidly processing mind suddenly registered her own words. This is it. Oh. THAT'S what Fowler had said! The song! Out of all the fragging things he could have said and he gives her a song? He had to think it must be important. Or wait—his wife suggested it, he had passed along the word. Suddenly wondering about this song, Nightstalker looked up at the computer she was situated beneath.

She swallowed. After starting at the feat like it was a mountain she needed to climb, Nightstalker pulled her legs in, tucking her feet under her.

Hey, just between you and me? The first step's always the hardest.

Nightstalker clenched her jaw so tight her throat jumped, and using the inspiration of Smokescreen's flirty words and the meager strength of her arms, she grasped the edge of the computer and heaved as hard as she could, managing to lurch up and into the side of it. With a gasp and a grit of her teeth, Nightstalker locked her knees before they could buckle and straightened herself, standing up at the computer controls.

She puffed a moment, trying to get used to the fact that she had just done something monumental without someone else as a crutch. She had stood—all on her own. After pausing to soak in that realization, Nightstalker's claws tapped the keys of the computer, pulling up the song Fowler had briefly mentioned. Keeping it turned extremely low so she wouldn't disturb Ratchet, she let it play, a smooth R&B beat playing out:

Check it out, ya'll
(There've been times in my life)
I'm tired and I wanna give up
(I've been wondering why)
Why is the world gettin' so crazy?
(Still, somehow I believe)
I've come too far to die now
(I always survive)
If you're a survivor, get up!
Let's get it!

Nightstalker jumped when the song suddenly picked up with a heavy soul, gospel beat, bass pumping and a chorus of women kicking in to sing around the man. Nightstalker instinctively darted a glance to Ratchet to make sure he didn't wake up, but her attention quickly became riveted to the words:

Gonna cry now, go ahead and get it out of my system
Know I'm hurt now, but soon I gotta get back to livin'
Can't be here next year, givin' you these same tears
Hope you enjoyed it, 'cause it's the last time you'll take a piece of me

It start right now, I don't know how I'm gonna get thru it
I'm broke right now, I pray somehow 'cause I can't do it
Can't keep livin' like this, there's gotta be more than this
Jesus, I'm ready, I'm ready for what you have for me

Nightstalker blinked at the words, the inspirational rhythm rocking quietly as she absorbed it, immediately paralleling it to Megatron. And, the only thing she could think was—

It was so RIGHT.

(Are you gonna wait for a sign?)
Are you ready for your miracle
God's people it's time to (stand up and fight)
Let's get it, let's get it
This is it!
You can't mess with my mind anymore
This is it!
I'm smarter, see I've been here before
This is it!
It's a new day, I'm not afraid anymore
This is it!
Yes, I believe, if you believe, help me say
This is it!

Ha . . . This is it. Was it really? Could she really throw him off her back? As the doubt crept back in so did the phantom pains. She stiffened. Of course she could do this! She was standing on her own!

I look back now, I look at how you tried to break me
To take my life, my peace of mind and drive me crazy
My self esteem, my dreams, my destiny
So, God allowed it, because He knew He had big plans for me (Hallelujah!)

It's your grace, I know today it's how I made it (Thank You, Jesus)
When I thought that it was over (Lord, have mercy)

As the chorus played again, Nightstalker straightened her shoulders with faint bravado, a sudden urge to fight back taking her as the music played quietly to her. That was right. Megatron DIDN'T own her. Never again. She wouldn't allow it. She felt rather silly taking such inspiration from a song, but the music was powerful.

Everybody that's been holdin' you down, look at 'em and tell 'em
This is it!
I feel my help coming on right now, ya'll
You think that maybe it's over (You're life ain't over)
Not unless you want it to be
(Are you gonna wait for a sign?) your miracle
(stand up and fight)

Thinking of Megatron, Nightstalker whispered to herself, to him, "This is it." She had to make a choice. Now. She couldn't wallow around in self-pity anymore, if she wanted something done, she was going to have to do it. It was make it or break it time. And, considering that she'd already been broken to a million pieces, inside and out, the only thing left to do was make it.

For Raf. For Bumblebee. For Smokescreen, Ratchet, Optimus, everyone. They all cared, and she couldn't let them down. Not now. Not after all they had done for her.

This is it ya'll, this is it ya'll
You've been waitin' and debating , here it is, ya'll
All your stuff from your past, shake it off ya'll
Though they said you wouldn't last, who you is ya'll?
Want your dreams back? Let's get it!
Your peace of mind back? Let's get it!
Want your family back? Let's get it!
Are you ready? Let's get it! (This is it!)
I speak against everything that comes to destroy the purpose in your life
This is it!
Worrying about your finances, your future, when you can't even sleep at night
This is it!
I speak against depression and fear, every attack from the enemy
This is it!
This is your day, the Lord made it baby! God has set you free!
This is it!

Nightstalker began to groove to the music, bobbing her head a little with the switch of banging rhythms in the rap. The stuff from her past? Nightstalker felt herself roll her shoulders, mentally letting Megatron's hands shake away. He thought he was a whore—not anymore. She wouldn't let him violate her like that anymore. Her dreams? She would do whatever it took for them. Her peace of mind? She sure as hell was going to get a restful night of sleep. Her family? Tears sparked in her optics, and she hit the computer three times with the words: This is it. She'd prove Dreadwing wrong. She might not be worthy of his love, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let him go without a fight. Not Knockout either. And Bumblebee? Could she trust him to make a fraternal bond with her? She was willing to make the gamble at the moment with adrenaline starting to rush in her systems.

You can't mess with my mind anymore
This is it!
I'm smarter, see I've been here before
This is it!
It's a new day, I'm not afraid anymore
This is it!
I wanna hear ya'll sing this with your boy!
Every body say:
This is it!

You can't mess with my mind anymore
This is it!
I'm smarter, see I've been here before
This is it!
It's a new day, I'm not afraid anymore
This is it!
Yes, I believe, if you believe, help me say
This is it!

The song ended. Nightstalker stood, wings slowly fluttering as recognition dawned across her features.

This WAS it. Time to get a move on, get to work. She was going to get her life back in gear, back under HER control, not Megatron's. She only wished she had realized this sooner, but could only attest that there was no backing down now. She started the song again, ready to fix it. She would make everything right again. She could do it—she KNEW she could, even if she had to crawl to make it.

And, when the softer start of the song dropped the beat into a heavy gospel track, Nightstalker shamelessly took the volume—

And cranked it.

Cranked it MIKO loud.

Gonna cry now, go ahead and get it out of my system
Know I'm hurt now, but soon I gotta get back to livin'
Can't be here next year, givin' you these same tears
Hope you enjoyed it, 'cause it's the last time you'll take a piece of me

Ratchet woke instantly with a shout on the other side of the silo, but Nightstalker barely heard him, sucked into the music:

Gonna cry now, go ahead and get it out of my system—she already had. She hurt now, yes, but she was going to live by her rules. She wouldn't cry for Megatron anymore—the last time she would give in.

It start right now, I don't know how I'm gonna get thru it
I'm broke right now, I pray somehow 'cause I can't do it
Can't keep livin' like this, there's gotta be more than this
Jesus, I'm ready, I'm ready for what you have for me

It started right now. Nightstalker didn't know what to do, but she knew she was standing. And that was more than she had done for weeks. Broken, but pieced together by her friends—her family. She was ready to move on. Ratchet called her name, trying to find her, and Nightstalker knew his search would be short.

(Are you gonna wait for a sign?)
Are you ready for your miracle
God's people it's time to (stand up and fight)
Let's get it, let's get it
This is it!

No. She wasn't going to wait for some sign, she took her miracle as even living at all through the miracle of Ratchet's hands and wisdom. Stand up and fight. Her shoulders squared.

"This is it."

She couldn't even hear her words over the music, but she had said them. She wasn't giving in now.

You can't mess with my mind anymore
This is it!

Oh no. Megatron wasn't allowed in her processor anymore. Banished. Dug up by the roots and cast aside, and she refused to let vile offal like that corrupt her any longer.

"This is it." She said it with more strength than last time, hand fisting and hitting the computer with each word.

I'm smarter, see I've been here before
This is it!

She knew better than to go back to Megatron. He was a pathetic wretch, evil, and she would NEVER let him have her again!

"This is it!" Nightstalker finally lifted her voice up, fist pounding the computer three hard times.

It's a new day, I'm not afraid anymore
This is it!

She wasn't afraid! No! Not with her family here to support her, to protect her, to never let her down like her Decepticon ties had! She was safe here, and protected and loved. She had all she needed.

She shouted, filling up with passion she hadn't felt in weeks. "THIS IS IT!" She hit the computer again to her words, reinforcing them.

Yes, I believe, if you believe, help me say
This is it!

"I believe!" Nightstalker cried out, impassioned tears beading in her optics. "This it it!" she screamed, banging the computer forcefully with each word. "THIS IS IT! THIS IS IT!"

She shook with fervent zeal, and she looked up to see Ratchet looking at her, taking in her standing position. He didn't say anything above the music; she didn't say anything back. Instead, she just gave a silent nod, biting her lip and blinking back the tears as she drew strength from that gaze.

He moved without a word. He first guided her back to the floor with gentle servos, and then, the gentle was over. Nightstalker gritted her teeth as she let him bend her legs, stretching them nearly brutally, but she wanted it. The pain was good—it was weakness, and it was leaving her body.

The song was looping. It rumbled with heavy bass lines through the silo, loud enough to wake all the others. Smokescreen was the first to make it to the entrance of the silo, Bumblebee quick on his heels, and he gave one long, loud howl of triumph, punching Bumblebee's shoulder. Bumblebee teared up at the sight of Ratchet helping Nightstalker stretch her hamstrings, bending her over and holding her steady when she wanted to straighten. With a shrill sound of happiness, Bumblebee threw his arms around the closest thing to hug—which so happened to be Smokescreen. With a laugh, Smokescreen slung an arm around the scout and pumped his other fist up with a hoot.

Optimus was next, swift and quiet on his feet as he looked over the two younger bots' heads. His spark full of turmoil soothed some as he looked at Nightstalker's sudden rejuvenation in the middle of the night, and a smile softly curled his lips.

Arcee came up, pushing her way in front of the mechs to get a good look, and she merely smirked, impressed at Nightstalker and her fortitude. Cliffjumper was next with Bulkhead, and Bulkhead just laughed, shouting, faintly heard above the music, "Atta girl, Nights!"

Cliffjumper just stared. His spark stirred with affection, admiration that she refused to give up. For once, looking at her, his spark didn't pain at the sight of her—she was healing.

In fact, the Autobots didn't move for a few minutes, just watching as Ratchet helped her in the first steps of gaining her strength back. Nightstalker couldn't think past what came next—the pain was too excruciating, but by Primus if she was going to give up now. She had survived the most brutal rape. A little pain like this was easy! She chanted that to herself as she gritted her teeth and let Ratchet push some pressure and force her knee up to her chest and stretch her taunt, weak muscles. She swore; she cried; she screamed. Anything to help with the pain and urged Ratchet to ignore it, she was fine, she wanted to get walking. She begged to be able to walk, and so he guided her legs through the motions, helping her remember how to do it.

The Autobots slowly dispersed. Bulkhead first because he knew she was going to be fine. Arcee next. Smokescreen headed out, quickly bored even though he knew it was exactly what she needed. Bumblebee stayed watching until his optics began to whir shut in exhaustion and only then did he retreat to his berth room.

It left only Optimus and Cliffjumper. Optimus watched Ratchet help Nightstalker stand, taking her hands gently in his and letting her use her arm strength to hold herself up. Her legs moved awkwardly. But, when she finally got the first successful step beneath her, her optics seemed to flare in triumph and she struggled to get her other leg to do the same. The gangly and abnormal walk was painstakingly slow, but Ratchet's mouth would move sometimes with support and he always kept her hands clasped in his in support.

It was then Optimus looked over at his company, Cliffjumper. And his optics widened a fraction. Cliffjumper's optics were riveted on the sight of them, passionate and yearning. It took Optimus half a nanoclick to deduce it:

He loved her.

Sure, they had clearly established that he was infatuated her with the huff Arcee had shown them all, but he hadn't truly thought it had been something as deep as love. But it explained it all. His constant queries to Ratchet about her health, his drive to get stronger so he could protect her, and maybe even why he couldn't bring himself to speak to her—

After all, Optimus couldn't fathom how the mech could tell the femme he loved that he was let and watched her get raped within an inch of her life.

Eventually, even Optimus retreated back to his berth room in need of a recharge, brooding on the impact of change Megatron's rape had left on Nightstalker and Cliffjumper. Only Cliffjumper remained, watching his loved one with swelling pride and relief.

Ratchet eventually deemed enough was enough. Nightstalker pleaded to go to the berth as the last stretch, and the gospel music rolled thunderously about them. Wordlessly, Ratchet allowed it as she struggled to keep her legs moving. He contacted her comm. link so he could speak with her with the music on so loud.

:Why now?:

Nightstalker's answer was slow in coming. :A combination of reasons, really. Smokescreen and Wheeljack's words hit me really hard.:

:Why? What did they say different?:

:That they wouldn't let Megatron get away with it.: Nightstalker let that sink in a moment. :I don't know. Everyone coddled me like I was going to break at any second.:

:You were.:

:Regardless. They were the first to treat me like a femme and not a rape victim.: Nightstalker paused, grumbling snappishly under her breath when her foot didn't want to place right. :For some reason, I needed that and the promise of revenge more than anything else. I think I just wanted to be treated normally. I didn't want to be treated like a rape victim. It was like a constant reminder of what happened.:

Ratchet's shoulders slumped. :I'm sorry.:

:That's your job, don't apologize. No one needs to. I was being moody—:

:With good reason.:

:—and I should have just realized you guys were trying to help. I appreciate that now.: She paused. :You most of all.:

There was a short silence as Nightstalker's weight shifted from left to right as she brought her leg forward haltingly, pain and exhaustion driving her nuts.

:Me?:

:Yeah. You were always there. Even when you were exhausted and needed rest you helped me with anything and everything, and when I petulantly demanded you fix my wrists you did so without complaint even though it stretched your systems thin, you lose your recharge when I wake you up screaming but you still comfort me, and you're always there when I need you the most.: Nightstalker paused. She focused on shuffling another foot forward, only a couple more strides from the berth. Her hands tightened on his. :So thanks. I . . . wouldn't be here without you.:

They both paused then. The music boomed around them, a stark comparison to the tender bond forming between them. After a moment, Ratchet scooped her up and carried her the last few steps to the berth, pinging back, :Thank you. But it's my job.:

Nightstalker stared up at him when he tried to downplay it. :Don't talk like that. You did more than needed. We both know that.:

Ratchet merely walked over to the computer, turned the music down and shut if off before he returned to his berth. He sank down without a word, avoiding her gaze.

Nightstalker swallowed slightly, looking over at him with emotion brimming up. "Ratchet," she whispered softly into the too-quiet silence, "thank you. I mean that. From the bottom of my spark."

He finally looked at her, a concealed emotion floating just behind the shield of his optics. Unabashed devotion flooded from his optics. "It was my pleasure," he finally rasped back.

A beat of silence in which their optics held, and Nightstalker was the first to look away shyly. She lied back on her berth for her recharge with a fluttering spark that suddenly felt warmer than it should with a sense of protection and faithfulness. She resisted an almost uncontrollable urge to go cuddle up by his side to that welcoming chassis.

Instead, she tried to quell the fluttering unrest of her spark and get the rest she so needed.