Cliffjumper shifted, sneaking a glance over at Nightstalker. Her face was currently screwed up in pain as Ratchet helped her work her legs, and he could faintly hear her cursing from where he stood.

He shifted uncomfortably. After a moment of looking at the floor, he looked up at Optimus's back. He took a very steady vent, trying to bolster his own courage. It was silly to be worried, but it was almost a taboo subject he would be breaching . . . He glanced back to Nightstalker whose hand was now digging into Ratchet's forearm.

Taking another deep breath, Cliffjumper walked up to Optimus and stood quietly, respectively to the side as he waited for the Prime to acknowledge. After a moment, the Prime finished his line of thought and turned towards Cliffjumper.

Cliffjumper inclined his body to him. "Optimus."

Optimus nodded, coming to full attention as Cliffjumper seemed to be much more professional than his usual. "What is it, Cliffjumper?"

He shifted. "Well, um . . . I have a request."

Optimus gave a regal nod. "What is it you wish?"

Cliffjumper dropped his head and passed a hand over his optics. "Um . . ." He vented tightly, rubbing his forehead. "If it's not too much trouble . . . I'd like to ask for a pole for Nightstalker."

The Prime didn't respond for a moment, as if he hadn't heard him right, and finally repeated, "A pole?"

A touch of heat scratched Cliffjumper's throat. "W-Well . . . Y-Yeah. A dancing pole. I mean—I know it's pole dancing, don't get me wrong," and he immediately launched into a nervous spill, "but it's not as derogatory as you're thinking it is, it really isn't—I mean! Well, when I saw—maybe it was, but it's really not. What I saw wasn't just a show, she has a part of her spark in that, it was like after she flew. You know what she looked like after she flew! She was like a totally different femme. That's what it was like when she was dancing on that pole, she changed; she wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before, and since she obviously can't transform and fly to get rid of her stress, I thought the pole would be a good idea. Besides, she needs to gain her strength and this would . . . give her some . . . initiative . . ."

Cliffjumper stuttered to a halt, blushing furiously for having to explain this to the Prime but also for the heat he gathered up just by remembering the scene. He tried to push it out of his mind—it created an insatiable heat to remember the graceful flex of her body, the strength and passion she had thrown into the dance in Megatron's private quarters, and the sultry part of her lips whenever she ground her hips against the pole. Sometimes, when he was alone, all he could think about was what he had seen. What he had heard. What he had felt. The arch of her frame. The heat of fire raging inside him and the urge to take Nightstalker for himself.

He shivered minutely to himself, warming at the mere thought of it—it wasn't right to think like that. Not after she had been raped. It was wrong, and he refused to become Megatron and make her his victim. It sickened him whenever his mind wanted to slip off in the direction of an indulging fantasy.

With a shaky breath, Cliffjumper passed a hand over his optics and looked away, controlling his trembling. "Please, Optimus," he finally rasped, voice rough with passion. He cleared it as quietly as he could, muttering, "I just . . . think it would be good for her . . ."

Sensing the mech's discomfort, Optimus reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Cliffjumper stiffened a moment, but then his tension drained. "Do not trouble yourself," Optimus said quietly. "I will contact Agent Fowler and see what he can do to help in regards to Nightstalker's rehabilitation."

Cliffjumper's shoulders slumped. Whether in relief or defeat, Optimus would never know.

"Thanks."

"I can't believe you took inspiration from that stupid song."

"I can't believe you're mocking me about what got me back up on my feet."

"I also can't believe that you threatened me with your whips. I'm not that bad, am I?"

"Getting worse by the minute, and if you don't stop harassing me, I'll make you believe in my whips."

"Aw, shucks, you wouldn't hurt little ol' me! Besides, you're still too weak to really hurt me."

"I wouldn't have to. I can get Ratchet on your annoying little aft in half a nanoclick and you'll be wishing you had shut up when I told you to."

"Ouch. All right, all right, I'm going."

Smokescreen trotted off to avoid the deadly wrath of Ratchet-the-Hatchet while Nightstalker hobbled on, this time using Bulkhead's hands as leeway. A completely different atmosphere had taken the base—with everyone on the road to recovery, the heavy haze that had covered them seemed to lift, and things looked up considerably. More smiles. More jokes. More laughter. And Nightstalker could stand to be touched by people, thank the dear Primus above.

Bulkhead chuckled above her. "You handle him like a pro."

"Annoying like my brother."

"So Fli-Ni was cute like Bumblebee, and annoying and fidgety like Smokescreen."

Nightstalker smiled down at her peds as she struggled to walk. "Yeah . . . But don't get me wrong, he was as serious as he was silly." She paused then. "Oh, scrap . . ."

"What?"

Nightstalker swallowed, stopping as she looked down at her peds. "I guess he got his free spirit from mom . . ."

Bulkhead's confused voice grew concerned. "Nights?"

Nightstalker gave a heavy vent and sat back down on the medical berth that had all but gained the imprint of her body from sleeping there for so long. "Bulkhead, can you get everyone over here a minute?"

Bulkhead paused, looking over. "Everyone? Including Optimus?"

Nightstalker knew he was very busy decoding the Iacon database, but she nodded. "Yeah. Even him. You all should know. I'm not keeping secrets anymore."

Sensing her discomfort, Bulkhead chucked her chin supportively before he headed off, big voice booming that Nightstalker needed to talk to them all. Nightstalker's wings fluttered nervously. She looked for Cliffjumper, but the red mech avoided her optics, instead looking to the side as he hid slightly behind Bulkhead.

Ratchet stepped forward, to her side so not all of them would be looking at her at once. "What is it, Nightstalker?"

"Yeah," Miko chimed in with a slight frown puckering her brow. "What's up?"

Nightstalker took a deep breath before sighing, fanning her wings. She focused on her toes. "A long time ago, back when I had, um, attacked Optimus over Fli-Ni, I promised him that I wouldn't keep secrets anymore, that I would be honest with him," she finally started in. She felt everyone shift their attention briefly to the commander before they all focused back on her. "And . . . If I'm going to be honest with Optimus, I'm going to be honest with you all. So . . . I've got some things I need to tell you."

Okay, so far so good. Bumblebee gestured slightly in encouragement, optics riveted to her. Nightstalker took a steadying cycle. "So, um . . . I went back to the Decepticons because I needed some answers about my family, and Dreadwing knew my mother."

*He did?* Bumblebee interrupted. *How?*

Nightstalker fluttered her wings. "I met him the night Starscream spared Arcee, and he thought for a second that I was her." She paused. "So yeah. I went back because of that, but I also went back because I felt like I owed Megatron my life because he let me survive Kaon." She gave a derisive snort. "Of course, now I know he's nothing but a good for nothing aft, but I had this misguided conception that I owed my life to him and I guessed that he could do whatever he wanted to me, and that's probably the real reason I let him frag me all my life." It hurt to admit she had been so stupid, but it also felt good to have it off her chest. June had been right about her needed to say these things aloud to someone.

Nightstalker gave a shrug of her shoulder. "In reality, the one I owe my life to is Knockout." A start through all of the Autobots. Nightstalker continued without pause, "He was the 'Con that found me, the one that pleaded my case of being useful when I really wasn't and somehow got Megatron to believe him, and the medic that repaired me and took care of me. And he . . ." She looked down, unwilling to look at Bumblebee when she said this. "He's my half brother."

Complete silence blanketed the medical area. Finally, Arcee broke the silence first, saying, "You mean he's your brother?"

Nightstalker shook her helm. "No. Half brother. The bond was never completed, and I don't think Knockout ever had intentions of completing it. I can't say it was accidental. He knew exactly what he was doing. But he never really wanted to be fully bonded with me."

A soft little whir from Bumblebee touched her audio receptors. *So . . . Knockout. I . . . wasn't expecting that* Nightstalker gave a weak laugh. Neither had she. She couldn't bear to see the look on his face now that he had learned that the femme he wanted to become siblings with was siblings with his rival.

Jack leaned against the railing. "You said Knockout never intended to complete the bond, but it wasn't accidental. If he didn't really want it, why did he do it?"

Nightstalker opened her mouth to respond, realized she didn't have the answer, and she closed her mouth. Why, indeed? Did he really care for her? Did he have ulterior motives for her? Was he just afraid that Megatron would punish him for letting her die when he planned for her to be a torturer? Or maybe, it was just a knee-jerk moment where he had done whatever it took to keep her alive before thinking about it?
She sighed. "I don't know. He cares about me, I could swear he does, but . . . When I—when Megatron raped me, I tried calling to him for help and he just slammed the door on me no matter how much I begged." She stopped and scrubbed her fists over her optics before she managed to take a tight breath and say, "So I don't know anymore why. He says he didn't regret it, but . . ."

Raf puzzled, pushing up his glasses. "Nightstalker? How do you guys suddenly decide to be siblings?"

"Our sparks," Nightstalker said. Before anyone had time to react, she had stood wobbly, took a step towards the balcony and braced herself. Ratchet's hands hovered close to help, but all the bots in the room but Ratchet turned their heads away when Nightstalker opened up her chassis for the humans.

It was strange for Nightstalker to realize after getting raped she had almost no bounds of modesty anymore. It didn't bother her to be seen, but if she was touched? That was still different. She pointed to her spark, telling them, "This is like my heart. It keeps me alive."

The scratches had healed over, thank Primus, so the kids would never know that Megatron had raped her here—or even that side of its function. She looped her finger around her secondary sloital artery for them to see. "This is my secondary sloital artery. Knockout said it was the one that stabilizes our sparks, lets them beat regularly, kind of like a pacer. It's also the artery that we can unhook and hook to another mech or femme for bonding." She paused, sorting her thoughts as she heard Ratchet give a faint grumble behind her at what she was implying. "It's a trust thing, the basic for bonding. Your spark would be fully connected to another's body, therefore you would rely on one another fully. It's a must for sibling bonds, though there are other links needed, links that Knockout didn't attach. Therefore, my half brother."

"Or half a spark mate," Ratchet muttered under his breath.

Nightstalker heard it and wrinkled her nose at the thought as she closed her spark chamber doors. "Ratchet, just . . . EW. No."

"So why did he even decide to do that?" Arcee finally asked. She crossed her arms and shifted. "I mean . . . If he didn't really want the bond, why would he start it?"

Nightstalker fluttered her wings again. "He did spark surgery on me when I was little, right out of Kaon. He said my secondary sloital artery wasn't functional, and I was dying, so he hooked me to him to buy some time to make me a new one."

Ratchet grumbled wordlessly again, but with the inflection of tone Nightstalker knew it was hopeless jealously. To know the Decepticons had that kind of biomechanics in their stash—albeit long ago, they may still have some—the kind of biomechanics that the Autobots didn't have, the stuff that could fix Bumblebee's vocals and Nightstalker's valve . . . It burned as a low ache in his chassis.

Feeling no need to explain the last point—not that she really could, anyways—Nightstalker added blandly, "Dreadwing is Fli-Ni's dad."

That got another rise. Optimus frowned. "You are sure?"

"He told me so," Nightstalker said. "Pretty much, he bonded with my mom and had Fli-Ni, but when he began to rise in the Decepticon ranks, Mom didn't want to become a target and so she changed Fli-Ni's helm so it wouldn't look like his dad's. Dreadwing couldn't forgive her for that disgrace, apparently severed the bond and left."

Ratchet made another sound in the back of his throat, murmuring so quietly that even Nightstalker almost missed it, "The kind of strength it would take to break a bond by force of will . . ."

Nightstalker tried to forget it the second she heard it. "Anyways, Mom obviously found my dad at some point and bonded with him and had me. But yeah, Dreadwing is Fli-Ni's dad. I . . ." She trailed off, tapping her toes and fluttering her wings nervously. "It makes sense. I always wondered where Fli-Ni got that strange little accent of his . . . Now I know."

It was subtle in Fli-Ni, his accent not as pronounced as Dreadwing's, but it was there. Nightstalker could have slapped herself for not realizing it earlier. "So that's my spill," Nightstalker finally said. "Knockout's my half-brother, Dreadwing's my step-dad, and I let Megatron do whatever he wanted with me because I thought I owed my life to him."

Smokescreen shook his head, saying, "Scrap, you're really dug in deep with the 'Cons, aren't you?" He shook his head. "Family flying around everywhere. You didn't figure out who your dad was? Dreadwing didn't know?"

Nightstalker shook her head. "He didn't know. He didn't even know Fli-Ni had died." She gave a sour laugh. "As for my father, I'm starting to think he can just stay lost. At the rate I'm going, I'm going to look up one day and find out that Soundwave's my dad."

Optimus stepped forward, laying his gentle hand on her shoulder and meeting her optics. "We thank you for your honesty," he said to her. "The things you have just told us are nothing easy to share, and I admire your strength." Nightstalker shifted uncomfortably, not used to that kind of compliment, and Optimus misread her movement and immediately let go, thinking she was still squeamish of touch.

Optimus immediately excused himself to the Iacon database while the others filtered away more slowly, a hug from Bumblebee, a nod from Arcee, annoying light punches from both Smokescreen and Bulkhead. She looked to Cliffjumper, but he still didn't quite look at her as he moved off, calling out to Bulkhead.

Only Ratchet stayed next to her. His hand landed on her shoulder, and because he was so worried, his hand grasped her a little tighter than prudent. "You know . . . If we end up having to kill Knockout . . . the glue holding you together wouldn't be there."

Nightstalker gave a little nod. "I know."

There was a heavy beat of silence, and Ratchet's hand tightened to almost crushing. "Don't break," he rasped. "I won't let you."

Her spark flipped. There was a little too much promise in those words. "Thanks."

He just turned back to his computers. "Don't thank me yet . . ."

"June? Is it wrong for me to . . . just want to overload again, with pleasure, just to erase Megatron's touch?"

Nightstalker wasn't sure when she stopped calling the nurse Ms. Darby and began to call her June, but she could only conclude that it had happened sometime between when she had finally gotten through the entirety of Megatron's rape and now.

"Of course not," June eased her mind easily. She was on her lunch break—the kids were at school, and nearly every bot out scouting energon. Optimus and Ratchet were the exceptions, Optimus pinned to the computer and puzzling at the Iacon database and Ratchet working somewhere in the back out of respect to the femme's privacy. "It's perfectly natural, and actually, many women have the same thought at some point."

Nightstalker shifted on the berth next to the nurse. "Really?" She paused. A faint hope, so faint it hurt, bloomed in her chassis. "Does it work?"

June paused, contemplating the thought. "Honestly, Nightstalker, I think it varies between women. Not many have the determination to go through having sex again because they're still so scarred by the rape. Many can't even fathom letting another man touch them. I've only known one woman to actually go through with it."

Nightstalker clenched her fists as she looked down on the small human. "Did it work for her?" she asked quietly again.

"To an extent." When Nightstalker gave her a blank look, June elaborated. "You see, she had a best friend, and with mutual consent, they had sex. Now, afterwards she said it was most likely the best thing she had ever done because she felt so much better afterwards. She became stronger, more determined, and more confident. However . . . She fell in love a few years later, and she found she was scared to let her loved one touch her."

Nightstalker blinked owlishly down at June, trying to wrap her processor around that concept. "Really?" She paused. "Did she ever get comfortable enough to do it?"

June nodded, picking absently at her food. "Oh yes, she did. She's living happily now with her son, two daughters and her husband."

Nightstalker's brows pinched. "So . . . How did she do it?"

The nurse shook her head. "She never said. All I know now is that she's happy." June paused a moment, setting her fork aside and looking up at the femme before her. "Honestly, Nightstalker, I think it would take a great deal of trust. After all, you would be allowing him to touch you, not just physically, but to touch your heart again. If you're going to do this, just please, make sure it's with a mech that can cherish you for who you are."

Nightstalker nodded her promise, biting her lip as the nurse excused herself so she could head back to work.

Her processor was alive and abuzz with this new information. She wanted to do it. With June's consent and greater knowledge of the subject, she felt more comfortable and that she wasn't going to be making some dreadful mistake.

The easy part was choosing to do it. An easier part would be reaching an overload. The hard part?

Who in PIT was she going to get to overload her?

Bumblebee never even made it to the list, and Smokescreen and Wheeljack were both scratched off just as quick. The two mechs had her best interests in mind, that seemed certain, but she didn't know them well enough. She didn't trust them enough. Her mind drifted to Bulkhead. She was sure he would be gentle, but she couldn't honestly imagine the gentle giant doing such a thing, even if to help her. He would fall into a stuttering, blushing mess.

That quickly left her dwindling options to Optimus, Ratchet, and Cliffjumper.

Her spark squeezed uncomfortably at the thought of Cliffjumper. Sure, there had been an attraction at first, but . . . Her wings fanned slowly as she brooded to herself. No. Pit no, she couldn't do that with him, her insides flipped at the mere thought of it. Besides, he had watched her get raped. There was no way he would agree to touch her filthy hide after that.

But, Ratchet or Optimus? She sighed in distress, alone at the medical berths. She was sure Ratchet would help her if she asked, but . . . she just felt so bad for asking so much of the medic. It wasn't fair of her to ask. Still, she was certain his hands would be as gentle as they always were, and he would know in that special way of his when he pushed her too far and what spots to avoid so she wouldn't have a relapse of fear. Ratchet was tucked away as a wild card, an emergency backup that she would only use if she absolutely needed him.

That left Optimus. Nightstalker's mind grinded to a halt. Optimus. She could see him all too willingly agreeing. He might be large, intimidating even, but his spark was soft, his touch soft, and he was compassionate to a fault. She was sure he wouldn't hurt her . . . right? An uncomfortable feeling squirmed in her stomach. But after he had kissed her that one time . . . so full of uncontrolled passion . . . Her wings fluttered nervously. Was that really a good idea? Who was to say he wouldn't lose himself in that lust and take her as violently as Megatron had?

She shivered. No. She didn't believe Optimus could be like that.

But her processor ran in circles. She flipped back and forth between all the mechs available (save for Bumblebee) and even let her mind wander to Arcee, but eventually resolved that she wouldn't be comfortable with a femme. With a sigh, Nightstalker picked up the cane Bulkhead had fashioned for her (compliments of his function as a prior construction worker) she hefted herself up and began to hobble to the back to find Ratchet.

She needed some advice. Pit she needed it. She couldn't make a decision and she was worrying herself thin just thinking about it.

But, as she continued to limp weakly down the halls, she became more and more worried. Did she really want this? Was it just a move of being desperate? She had all reasons to be desperate to erase Megatron's touch. Could she really do it? What if she had a breakdown in the middle of it? Or worse, what if he didn't STOP? Oh Primus, she couldn't take being raped again—!

Before she could stop and turn around and go back and forget she even had the thought, Ratchet was walking down the hall to her. His optics popped, not expecting her to try to go so far on her own and he hurried forward.

"Nightstalker, what is it?"

Bracing her full weight on the cane, she debated quietly to herself. Fli-Ni always did say you missed 100% of the things you don't try. So she ought to try, right? There was nothing to lose, if the little bit of dignity she had scraped up.

She took a breath. "Ratchet . . . I want to . . . I want to overwrite what Megatron did to me."

Ratchet hesitated. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I want someone to interface with me." There was a pause. She dropped her head. "I just . . . want your opinion. I mean . . . Who could I go to?"

"Nightstalker . . ." Ratchet hesitated at the sight of his fragile patient, and he finally vented after considering the options. "If you would like to . . . overwrite what Megatron did to you . . . Perhaps you should look to Optimus."

Nightstalker looked up with wide optics. "Optimus?" she repeated dumbly. Even if she had expected something along the lines of that, she couldn't really believe it.

Ratchet nodded. "He . . ." He stopped and rearranged his thoughts. "It's no secret he desires you," Ratchet said. "That pent up desire is just taxing his mind and body with a strain he does not need. And if you both are in need of sexual release, it seems fitting that it should be each other. Beyond that, Optimus blames himself for what happened to you. It would be a good therapy for him to realize that just because he lusts for you like Megatron did, his lust won't hurt you."

Nightstalker trembled a moment at the thought before looking up with innocent optics at Ratchet. "He won't hurt me?" she asked softly.

Ratchet felt his spark slowly break. "Of course he won't," Ratchet said firmly. "He would never, no matter what." When Nightstalker gave a small nod, Ratchet added, "I think it would be good for you both. You could finally resolve this mess and put it behind you."

Nightstalker nodded again, crossing her arms. "Thanks, Ratchet," she said quietly.

It was about what she had thought. Still, Ratchet noted her uncomfortable stance that had nothing to do with her pain of standing. He shifted, frowning. "Nightstalker? What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Can I—" She licked her lips nervously, wings fluttering. "Can I have a moment alone with him?"

Ratchet nodded easily, saying, "I'm sure I can find something to occupy myself with." In saying so, he gave her one last worried look before disappearing back down the hall.

Nightstalker took a steadying breath and limped back to the main room of the silo. Optimus still hadn't moved from his stance at the computer, optics roving restlessly with endless amounts of information scrolling before his optics. Nightstalker fluttered her wings and moved forward, and she cleared her throat.

"Uh . . . Optimus . . . ?"

Optimus paused in his work at the sound of Nightstalker's small voice. Turning around to face her in the main room of the silo, Optimus saw her standing cowardly, shoulders hunched and leaning heavily on her cane before him.

He directed his full attention to her. "Yes?" he asked gently. "What is it?"

She stood before him, looking down at the floor. The quiet silo was vacant of no one but the two of them as she finally gathered the courage to ask, "Optimus . . . You wouldn't ever hurt me like Megatron did . . . would you?"

Optimus felt his spark bleed at her timid question. He knelt down so his height wouldn't intimidate her, saying softly, "Nightstalker, I would NEVER do what Megatron did. I would sooner tear out my own optics than hurt you."

She released a tight breath, and her tense wings drooped. "Thanks," she whispered. "I—I needed to hear that."

When she failed to say anything more though stayed as if going to say something, Optimus prodded gently with, "Nightstalker? What is it?"

After a moment more, she lifted her head and looked him in the optics. "Optimus," she said seriously, "I don't want my last time to be with Megatron, after what he did to me . . . I want to overwrite that. I—Will you interface with me?"

Optimus's optics popped. She . . . His spark thundered in his chassis, and immediately desire began to chase through his systems again, aroused at the mere thought of interfacing with her.

Still, as he looked at her cowering so in front of him, still scared, still lusty, still trusting, he felt his spark seize in pain. Primus, he couldn't . . . She was so breakable it broke his spark into shattered pieces.

What are you waiting for? he felt Orion demand restlessly. She's offering herself to you! Take her! This is what we wanted, isn't it? Take her, by Primus, teach her that interfacing doesn't have to be like that!

Optimus slowly shook his head to himself. No. I will not.

Orion sputtered helplessly. But—the Matrix can come later, she—

Look at her! This is—do not tell me you can look into those optics and take her body when her spark is somewhere else.

Orion fell silent at that accusation, and Optimus's optics fell away from Nightstalker's painfully desperate optics. He trembled, so ashamed and so full of compassion that his spark hurt.

I will not take her. So what if I am alone for the duration of my life, I do not care. But this . . . I could not live with myself if I took her now.

But she . . . I thought . . .

Optimus shook his head at himself again. No. You thought many things, but this is wrong, and I will not do it.

Reaching out, Optimus brought Nightstalker into a hug, holding her shaking body close. When her hands tried to touch him, he grabbed them, pushing them away. "No, Nightstalker," he said softly.

He felt her body seize. She began to cry softly, so frustrated she didn't know what to do. "Why?" she finally wept pathetically.

His breaking spark slowly burned a hole through his chassis. "It is not my place," he said quietly, reaching a hand to hold behind her tiny helm. His arms tightened on her, and he felt lubricant burning his optics.

It is not my place. It never was, and never will be. But . . . I understand that. I have hurt her enough. This time, I will make it right.

"Nightstalker," he murmured, "I am sorry I could not be the mech you needed me to be. A proper father figure." He shook his head and pressed a slow breath from his vents.

His words seemed like a cold comfort to her. She only cried harder. "But—what am I supposed to DO? I can't—I can't live with his touch being the only thing I can remember!"

Optimus held her, contemplating her words. Reaching up and kneading the place he had seen Bumblebee do, her shuddering cries slowed to system hiccups as she finally calmed down again.

He paused. "Nightstalker, if you want someone to overwrite Megatron's cruelty . . . I think you should look to . . . Cliffjumper."

She froze. "C-Cliffjumper?"

Optimus nodded. Letting her go so he could look her in the optics, he said quietly, "I think that is exactly the kind of therapy both you and Cliffjumper need. You need someone to teach you that interfacing isn't what you had with Megatron. And, Cliffjumper . . ." Optimus shook his head. "Cliffjumper is horrified at what happened. He blames himself for not being able to help you. If he could overwrite the feeling of what Megatron did to you . . . I think that would finally convince him he could do right by you."

Nightstalker quivered, armor clattering audibly she shook so hard. "B—But . . . What if—What if—But . . ."

Optimus took her twitching hands. "Nightstalker? What is it? Cliffjumper would never hurt you, I promise. There's no need to be afraid. What are you afraid of?"

"I—I—" She struggled for her words, shaking and shaking as hot tears seeped down her cheeks. "Optimus, I—I'm scared! I—I don't know why, or what, what it is, I just—I'm just scared. I'm scared . . ."

His powerful arms enveloped her protectively again, and he rested his chin on the top of her helm. "Nightstalker . . . I promise you, I won't let Megatron touch you ever again. We all hold that same promise in our sparks. And Cliffjumper . . . He is probably afraid to touch you because he thinks you would be afraid of him touching you." The thought was actually quite funny, and it helped quell Nightstalker's crying as she tried to fight it again. Optimus used a thumb to wipe away her tears. "Nightstalker, I promise you can put your faith in Cliffjumper."

Her lips quivered; her jaw tightened. "I can?"

Optimus nodded firmly, clasping her hands in his. "Nightstalker . . . Interfacing can be a beautiful thing if done correctly. And, from what I have seen of Cliffjumper's conduct with those who have been broken . . . He has quite the knack for bringing them back even stronger than before."

Nightstalker's optics misted. She wiped the tears on her shoulder. "Like what he did with Arcee?"

Optimus nodded. "Just like that, only . . . possibly more, this time. I've never seen the mech so infatuated with someone in my life."

Nightstalker looked up at Optimus, amazed at what he had said, and finally, she hugged him tightly, throat lumping with gratefulness. "Thank you, Optimus," she whispered.

He bowed his helm into her, a part of himself healing on the inside. "You are welcome, Nightstalker."

I must teach myself to let go. Both of Nightstalker . . . and of Megatronus.

They stayed like that for a stretching moment, wrapped in the other's embrace before of unspoken agreement, they let go. Nightstalker wobbled, resetting her footing, and Optimus's hands reached out to steady her.

"Do you need help in going back to Ratchet?"

Nightstalker shook her head. "No . . . I can make it."

Optimus nodded. He stood. "I wish you luck, Nightstalker."

"Thanks."

And, just like that he turned back to the computer and Nightstalker turned to go back down the halls yet again. It seemed to take twice as long to get back to Ratchet, and her stomach seemed to get sicker and sicker the more time it took. By the time she had finally found Ratchet again, her legs were paining her so much her knees almost knocked and her mood had turned most foul.

"Optimus told me to go to Cliffjumper."

Ratchet looked up from his work with wide optics. "He did?" When Nightstalker nodded, Ratchet frowned, a pensive look stealing over him, but then, recognition seemed to dawn in his optics. "Yes, that . . . Of course! I've been blind . . ."

Nightstalker gave a weak, bitter laugh. "Cliffjumper won't do it."

Ratchet looked up in surprise. "What? He said no?"

Nightstalker snorted and shook her head. "No, I didn't even ask him."

"Then how do you know he's going to say no?"

Nightstalker scowled and dropped her head. "Please. Like he wants to touch me after he's seen what a whore I am."

Ratchet's jaw ticked. "Nightstalker, don't say that."

"It's true!" she snapped. "Besides, he saw what a mess Megatron made of me . . ."

Spark paining, Ratchet knelt down next to her, saying, "Nightstalker, trust me when I say that I believe Cliffjumper will not refuse you."

She set her jaw. "He won't. I know it."

"Nightstalker, you have to give him the chance. He's not going to hurt you."

She frowned again and turned her face away. "What if he does say no?" When Ratchet fell silent without an answer, Nightstalker gave a sour laugh and shook her head, looking down at her peds. "That's what I thought. I'll have hit a dead end. I won't have another mech I'd trust enough to—"

She stopped. Her optics locked on Ratchet's knee. Her optics dragged up to his. He leaned back.

"Nightstalker, no—"

"Please, Ratchet!" she burst, jumping forward. When she did so, she very nearly collapsed, only Ratchet's hands on her forearms catching her. "Please, Ratchet, you're all that I have left to—"

"Nightstalker," he said strictly, "No. You need to talk to Cliffjumper—"

"He's just going to say no!" she burst.

"Nightstalker, I—I can't!" Ratchet finally exploded, nearly horrified at what she was asking of him.

A stricken look crossed her features. It took a second for Ratchet to control his expression, but the damage had already been done. Hot tears beaded up in her optics.

"I told you!" she cried out. She tried to twist away from him, but he refused to let go and let her fall. "I'm disgusting! Just a filthy whore, you all look at me like that—!"

"Nightstalker, no!" Ratchet said more firmly. He took her by her shoulders, shaking her out of her hysterical stupor. Ratchet almost swore to himself, promising himself that if her bi-polar tendencies got any worse than this he would root around in her processor and remove the chip himself. "It's not like that, I swear upon the All Spark, you are NOT a whore."

"Then please!" She suddenly flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around his waist. Ratchet froze as she buried her face into his stomach. "Please Ratchet, I'm begging you, just one interface! I don't care how you do it, just please, I NEED to feel it again—feel it and feel it good, I don't want Megatron's touch to be the last thing I ever felt—please!"

Conflicted, impassioned tears beaded in his optics. With a shaking hand and a sharp hissing vent, Ratchet reached up his hands to his face, holding back pained sobs as he tried to deal with the matter at hand. He wanted so much to give in to her. As she thought, an interface would be easy. Just one quick one, and he wouldn't be obliged to do it again. It really wasn't that big a deal she was asking, but . . .

His spark wept in agony. He couldn't do it. He could never do it. Not with the way he saw her. And . . . her condition.

"Nightstalker," he finally rasped, "I can't." She broke down into helpless sobs, sinking down to her knees, and Ratchet knelt too, collecting her shaking body into his arms. He pressed her helm to his chassis, trembling as he did so. "I'm sorry, but I can't. Even if it didn't interfere with my own beliefs . . . You can't."

A hiccup stopped her crying and made her look up with morbid confusion. "W . . . what?"

Ratchet's throat tightened as he looked down at her. "N-Nightstalker, you haven't ever let me tell you what was wrong with you." She blinked owlishly at him, his words not quite computing. He took a tense breath. "Nightstalker . . . Megatron's rape did more than you think it did. It . . . did catastrophic damage to your valve, and . . ." He sucked in, letting it out slowly. He looked away, unable to look her in the optics. "Nightstalker . . . Your neural network was ravaged. Utterly. You won't ever be able to feel anything in your valve again."

She deflated. She stared in complete horror, and then, her helm dropped, and she leaned wordlessly against his leg.

"Nightstalker?"

She didn't respond. She leaned slack against his leg, and Ratchet had to leave it that way, letting her lean against him as she sorted out her thoughts. He began to do another inspection on their remaining supplies, but his mind was divided now. He couldn't focus. He would simply have to do it all over again.

He heard a faint click. He knew she was opening her valve, was touching herself. A faint few seconds later, and the click sounded again. A moment later, soft crying.

His spark melted. Unable to take the quiet sounds of her misery any longer, Ratchet bent down and picked her up, letting her legs wrap around his waist and her arms around his neck. He pressed his face into her neck cables, shuddering in a breath to stifle his own tears that wanted to flow.

"I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry, Nightstalker, I'm so sorry . . ."

She wouldn't stop crying. No matter what whimsical things he whispered into her audio receptors, no matter what comforting things he said, it seemed everything Megatron had done to her, her family dilemma, and her inability to handle it all had finally culminated and broke her. Ratchet trembled as he held her.

"Nightstalker," he finally rasped. His thumb stroked soothingly over her shoulder. "Nightstalker, I . . . the real reason I can't bring you to overload . . . I can't because I—every time I look at you I see . . . a little sparkling." Her crying tightened with clear indication that she was trying to fight it back. Ratchet held her tighter. "I—I'm not very good with words when it comes to affectionate things, but, I just want to let you know that—and I may overstep my boundaries, tell me if I do, but I just . . . Every time I look at you, I see you as MY sparkling. My daughter. Because I . . . I love you."

Her sobbing quieted to irregular hiccups, and she lifted her head, tear-stained face blinking openly at him. After her system gave several more hiccups, she finally whispered, "R-Really?"

Ratchet nodded.

Her lips quivered. She pressed them together tighter, but the tears began to roll from her optics again. "Y-You really mean that?" she whispered. "I mean, you really see me . . . like a daughter? You—You love me?"

Unable to speak around the emotion in his throat, Ratchet nodded.

Her body began to seize with unshed tears. She bit her lip hard, trying to see him through the film of wet tears. "I . . . I didn't think . . . after what Megatron did, that—"

"That anyone could love you?" Ratchet cut in suddenly. He took a shaky breath, pressing his helm to hers. "Don't you EVER say that. You are worthy of love, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Nightstalker nodded. She wiped her tears only for them to be replaced with new ones. "Ratchet . . . D-Does that mean . . ." Her spark hurt so much it was so hopeful with dread. She didn't want to be let down, but she had to know, had to hear it for herself . . . "Does that mean I can look at you like a father to me?" she rasped.

Ratchet nodded.

And in that one magic moment, her world was turned upside down.

A father.

Her body seized as she tried to stop the tears.

No—my father.

MY father.

My FATHER.

Around her quivering lips, Nightstalker finally managed a weak, "I love you too!" before her voice broke and she collapsed into tears again. She clung to Ratchet, and he clutched her tightly. Sheer passion brought him to his knees, and he rocked Nightstalker like a sparkling, spark bleeding for her transgressions.

I'll protect you. I'll be there for you. I love you, and I promise I will NEVER abandon you. I will take care of you, support you, and love you more than your biological father ever will.

He will fade; I will replace him.

And you'll never feel that loneliness ever again.

This I promise.