Author's Note:

DUDE. Daft Punk's song "Father and Son" freaking inspires everything about Nightflier and Dreadwing.

Being around his father was just awkward.

It wasn't just what he had done. It was the fact that Nightflier didn't know what his father was thinking. Sure, everyday Nightstalker made sure to talk to the alienated air commander, but it was mostly just stuff about Bumblebee, or when that became too stressing, stuff about Ratchet or Cliffjumper. Never about him. Never about himself. Never about her. It was like they had a silent truce on what things they could talk about, and the family wasn't one. Her secrets were hers; his secrets were his; Nightflier's oppression was his own.

It bothered him. Nightflier didn't know what to do, but he knew he couldn't forgive him. Could he? No, no he couldn't. He knew what growing up hungry was like. Nearly starving into shutdown. Missing his parents. Crying—but no, he couldn't cry, not when Nightstalker was and she looked to him for strength. He couldn't cry, no, he had to bottle it up and pretend to be something he wasn't. He knew how many times he had gotten beat when he stole credits or energon and was caught. How shunned they had been for being street urchins.

It just made it hard for him to keep his grudge. He didn't know why. Dreadwing hadn't said anything to him and he hadn't even LOOKED at him. It was just something palpable in the air that felt so sober that it stifled him. It made him uncomfortable. It made his energon tanks curl. Guilt? No, he didn't feel guilty. Apprehensive, maybe? Nightflier wasn't sure.

In all, he just couldn't take it.

Ratchet was deep in some formula Nightflier had failed to ask about yet, all the bots had been sent out on energon scouting missions by Ultra Magnus, Ultra Magnus himself was probably out on one too if that accounted for his absence, and Dreadwing was no option. Heaving himself up to his peds, Nightflier's movements immediately brought Ratchet's hawk-like gaze to him.

"Where are you going?"

Nightflier shrugged a shoulder, almost wincing at the pain that brought. "Nowhere," he said a bit more glumly than he should have. "If you haven't noticed, I'm missing the most important limbs to get somewhere." Stopping and closing his optics, Nightflier vented and calmed his wired emotions. "Sorry," he apologized offhandedly. "I'm just going for a walk. I don't know. Stretch my legs. You wanted me to get moving, right? Well, I'm moving."

Ratchet peered at him critically before giving him an irritated click. "Fine. Don't go far."

Nightflier had to bite back a sour, "Not that I could," and instead just made his way across the base. He stopped. He circled it slowly once, looking at it all, and he duly noted that even the humans were gone. Maybe with their families? He sighed to himself. They would have taken his mind off things. Certainly Miko. She was a bundle of excited, cheerful fire that he could use right now.

Instead, Nightflier glanced back at Ratchet who was once again buried deep in the formula and to his father who still didn't look at him but merely kept his drifting gaze on the far wall.

I need some sunlight.

The need was kneejerk. He had been cooped up in these walls for too long. He wanted out. Period. There was no more thought than that, so Nightflier slipped out of the slightly ajar door, a feat made easy since his wings weren't there. He felt the satin bed sheet Mrs. Darby had provided swish against him slightly as he walked.

Immediately, the sun blasted him. Bright. Blinding. Warm. Shuttering his optics, he leaned slightly against the wall of the new base and cycled a breath to roll the tension off his shoulders. He turned his face up to the sun, welcoming its heat and love since it seemed to be the only thing willing to embrace him.

The openness of the outdoors helped immediately. Though his spark ached something fierce for the sky, Nightflier shook off the oppression clouding his mind and walked aimlessly around, not really certain of where he was going.

Somehow, his life had fallen apart. Here he was, expected to be Prime, and he didn't know the first thing about BEING a Prime. He was supposed to be happy to have his father back, but he couldn't forgive him for grievances of long ago. He was supposed to rejoice because his sister was alive, and she refused to reunite them with their bond. He missed the Protectobots, and First Aid was too far away to talk to over their stretched bond, only enough to know the fact that they were both still alive.

So wrapped up in his woes, Nightflier didn't watch where he was stepping, and outside of one of the barracks his foot hit the front end of a land rover and he threw his hands out to catch himself. The landing jarred him, and he hissed in pain as agony bloomed over his irritated wound. Gritting his dentures, Nightflier pushed himself back up to a sitting position just in time to hear,

"WHOA . . . Holy shit—I mean . . . Dude, are you all right?"

"You kidding me? Look at that thing! Guys! Come look at this!"

"We're not seriously supposed to see them."

"Is that still in effect? I thought after that issue with the big bad robot fortress we might be in the clear to see them . . ."

"You know, I don't know if they ever really cleared that up . . ."

Nightflier blinked widely as a couple humans quickly became a group of humans. The military soldiers, he slowly registered as he quickly became the center of attention, points and whispers and every explicative sworn in undertones. His optics shuttered again as he counted all nine men and women, and finally, he realized his vocalizer was still intact.

"Um . . . Hello."

All chatter stopped for a moment before it came back in full, excited force as elbows were thrown, whispers and excited laughter. Nightflier blinked. Was he really worth this much excitement? "Um," he tried again, and the instant he spoke every human fell silent, "If you're not supposed to see me, I'll leave. I mean, I don't want to cause any trouble . . ."

"They never said you guys were intelligent," someone suddenly piped up.

There came a laugh at the front, and Nightflier's optics turned down at him. It felt weird, looking down on someone. He had been the short one all his life, constantly looking up at others. "Sorry," the man apologized. "We don't mean to stare, it's just the first time we've seen one of you guys."

Nightflier's brows went up. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Though, I've gotta admit, you look weird. What's up with . . ." and he gestured indefinitely from his waist to his neck.

Remembering he was still clad in only half his armor, unable to wear the upper half because of his wounds, Nightflier laughed a rich and handsome sound that filled the air. "What, did you think I was just a robot?" he asked. There was a pause, and then nods along with a general murmur. Nightflier felt his brows arch. Were they all this ignorant of Cybertronians? Then again, he couldn't say much. He had little to no interaction with humans. It was probably a prime time to recertify that mistake.

He nodded his helm to them all. "My name is Nightflier, Fli-Ni for short. Well, actually, with my new title, it's supposed to be Nightfall Prime, but I'd prefer Nightflier when I'm just around you guys."

The first one grinned, moustache curling. "All right then. Nightflier. My name's Fernando 'D.O.A.' Martinez. Pleased to meet ya."

Nightflier smirked ruefully at the given nickname "Dead On Arrival" and the next quickly introduced himself as, "James 'Clothesline' McQueen. At your service."

"Casey 'Casino' Duff," another said, rolling a pair of dice between her fingers.

"Unfortunately, I'm known as Shawn 'Angel' White, due to being a medic who apparently wears too much white."

"Igor Popov, affectionately known as 'Iggy Pop'."

"Bob 'Prophet' Bailey."

"Carter 'Double Down' Jenkins."

"Bobbie 'Boobie' Marks."

"Ryan 'Timber' Davis."

Nightflier quickly put each person in his databanks, determined to remember every one of them. It was easy since his processor easily created files, and he wondered if he would ever take them off guard. Nine new files nestled in his mind entitled with names and filled with the basics of each person, their appearance and apparent descent, whether Spanish, British, Russian, or "full-blooded American." Iggy Pop was clearly the only one that was Russian-born-American, and there were only two women amongst a dozen men. Casey had a shrewd look in her eyes, and Nightflier immediately knew not to engage her in any dice games with that look. She probably could swindle everything these men owned and get away with it with a nickname like "Casino." Poor "Boobie" had clearly earned her nickname from her generously endowed chest.

"Well, we're completely sentient like you guys are," Nightflier told the eagerly awaiting people. "As for why I look funny, hm . . . Well, I suppose it's not too different how you guys wear clothing over your skin. We wear our armor over our protoform." He extended his arm down. "I'm SOMEWHAT squishy."

"Protoform," the sawdust brown topped male asked, and Nightflier pegged him as Timber. He took his turn to poke and squeeze his forearm. "So it's like your skin?"

"You got it."

"Huh." He made a sound under his breath. He quirked a brow up, squinting past a glint of sunlight. "So how much ARE you guys like us?"

Nightflier's brow cinched as he thought about it. He sat down fully since he had started conversation with, apparently, nine new friends. "You know, I don't actually know," he mused. "I guess we're a lot alike. Shaped the same, act the same, dress the same . . . I suppose not that much different. I'm just metal."

"How about your sex life?"

That garnered several laughs and several swears as well as punches to Boobie who just grinned unabashedly, short blond hair pulled back in a mini ponytail. Nightflier felt the heat of embarrassment singe his cheeks, but he couldn't help but grin a little. It had been too long since he'd been able to wind down like this. Just have a normal conversation. He hadn't really talked about stuff like this since, well, the Protectobots. And that included his sex life.

"Basically the same," he said with a quick usage of the internet that he almost regretted. "Though, I'm afraid I'm not the best in that area. I'm basically underused and ignorant."

That comment earned hearty laughter as well as a, "Poor baby!" exclaimed from Boobie. She also took the time to wink at him and tell him, "If you ever need to know anything, I can teach you everything there is to know." Nightflier blinked. At his apparently short-circuited expression, Boobie had to laugh again until tears sparked in her eyes.

"Aw, c'mon, man," and Double Down grinned at him. "Surely there are some girl robots out there for you."

A surprised look crossed Nightflier's face. "Well, yeah, I mean sure, of course there are femmes out there. I've had one or two, but they've never really left an impression . . ."

"When was the last time?" Double Down asked.

Nightflier considered the question for a moment before he finally thought—screw it. "Last time I can remember was when I got overcharged, or in your human vernacular—WASTED."

That brought a great round of laughter that Nightflier had to share in, thinking of that particular time the Protectobots had gotten him wasted. He couldn't even remember the femme, though he thought she had been yellow . . .

Angel finally arched a brow at him. "C'mon now. Surely there's a girl you've got your eyes on." When Nightflier could do nothing but blush hotly, that garnered another round of laughter at his expense. "All right, fess up! Who's the pretty lady?"

Nightflier only blushed more, and finally, he dropped his head and admitted, "Well, if there's only two femmes in our unit and one's my sister . . ."

An appreciative murmur. "We can see you guys come in," Iggy Pop told him. He jerked a thumb. "It's easy to tell which vehicles aren't military standard. Which one is she?"

"The blue motorcycle," Nightflier said.

Timber immediately punched D.O.A. "I told you that was a sexy machine!"

"Hey, wait a minute!" Casino pushed her way to the front. Short and spiky brown hair decorated the top of her head. "What do you transform into?"

Nightflier smiled wryly. "A jet."

"Nice! Can we see it? I mean, see you transform." Casino grinned. "I can't even imagine how that works."

General agreement rippled through the group of curious soldiers, once again astounding Nightflier with their eagerness to learn, but his smile finally flickered from his face. "Actually, I can't. I—Well, I was wounded."

Casino's smile dimmed too. "Aw, that's too bad. What happened?"

Nightflier shook his head, shifting uncomfortably. "Actually . . . wounded is putting it a bit lightly. It's more like . . . I was dismembered?" He looked down. "My um . . . My wings would have been on my back. I actually just came out because I really needed some fresh air. And sunshine."

"Aw, geez!" she swore lightly. "I'm sorry to hear about that!"

Nightflier was about to respond when he was suddenly bombarded by condolences.

"Chin up, kid, I'm sorry to hear it, but I'm sure you'll be able to tough it out."

"I'm sorry; man, I can't imagine something like that."

"Comes in our line of work. Don't let it get you down, I'm sure you'll be able to handle yourself."

As well as an almost unheard mutter of, "So THAT'S what the sheet was about . . ."

Nightflier blushed brightly with a bit of embarrassment, and he finally had to wave them off, saying, "It—It's all right, really . . . Thanks, you guys."

"No problem," and Clothesline lifted his fist, bald head gleaming in the sunlight. When Nightflier just blinked at the gesture, he grinned and said, "It's a fist bump."

"Oh! Um . . . So, like this?" and Nightflier uncertainly gave his first fist bump, making him laugh.

"Yeah! Just like that."

Finally, Nightflier had to smile at this group of humans, lips tilting up and optics softening against his will. "You guys? Thanks. I needed someone I could talk to."

D.O.A.'s brow lifted. "What, you can't talk to your friends in there?"

He nervously shrugged his shoulder in response. "I guess, but . . . I'm just the new guy and I'm supposed to be their leader and all . . ."

A shocked look crossed his face, so much so that his whiskers could have fallen off. "Seriously? You're the commander?"

Nightflier nodded uncomfortably. "Yeah. That's why I can't really talk to them in there. Not to mention I'm emotionally bagged down with family drama too, so I can't rightly just talk to my family either. So it's really nice, being able to talk to you guys. And girls," and he nodded towards Casino when she gave him a look.

"Well, anytime you want a chat," D.O.A. said, and he tipped his cap his way, "we'll all be around this place. Just give one of us a shout. I'm used to being a sounding board, but you might want to watch Timber here," and he grinned. "He's liable to be a bit of a dolt when it comes to emotional things."

"Hey, I'm not that bad!"

The forgotten Prophet immediately grabbed him in a headlock, giving him a noogie that made the man shout and punch him in his gut to make him let go. The scuffle was stopped as quick as it started, and Nightflier just felt his lips pull.

"Sure, I can remember that. Now, with names like you guys and gals have, there has GOT to be some interesting stories up your sleeves, am I right?"

Almost immediately they all glanced at Boobie, and a general chorus of, "Boobie's obvious," lit up his audios. She even lifted her hands in surrender, saying amid the voices, "I know! I'm obvious!" and it took them a minute to quite down for her voice to be heard. "But seriously. I was a sorry case. I was so nervous when I first joined up, I introduced myself as Boobie Marks instead of BOBBIE Marks. Pretty sad."

"No, what was SAD was Clothesline!"

When Timber pointed that out, another general roar went up of laughter, and Timber lunged across the group, looping his arm around the man's neck. Clothesline grinned ruefully as Timber's freckled face hurried to tell the story. "See here? First day of training he was late as a mother! He comes barreling in a full out run to get to his spot and I see him, so I just slam my arm down and WHAM! Oh SHIT he hit the floor so hard!"

Nightflier laughed, grinning as he inwardly winced at how much that clothesline had to have hurt. Clothesline rubbed his neck thoughtfully in remembrance, saying, "Y'know? I'm surprised I don't have some battle scars from that one . . ."

"Now me," Timber continued, and he pushed his way to the front, taking in the limelight like a sponge. "My name is MUCH more impressive. Undercover mission. And my job is to take out the communication's tower. Well, when all else failed, I found the enemy tank. They weren't supposed to have one, but hell with it. Prophet here helped me take it, and I aim that baby at the bottom of the tower and—" He made the standard explosion sound with his mouth, popping his fingers open for effect. "That tower started leaning without all four struts, and it leans and leans—"

"And LEANS, and LEANS," the rest of the group echoed in a stunning chorus that had Nightflier grinning. The classic, this-tale-has-been-told-one-too-many-times sorta thing.

Timber just waved his hand at them to shut them up, continuing, "So it leans and leans and leans, and since I'm seeing it go down, I shout out at the top of my lungs TIIIIMBEEEEEERRRR! And that sucker comes crashing down right on top of the enemy impound! I am brought home as the VIP hero of the day, cheers and parties." He held up his hands for his cheers and parties, garnering an unenthused, mocking, "Whoo-hoo," for the group.

D.O.A. just shook his head at Timber's antics. "You sure that's why you're called Timber?" he asked dubiously. He waggled bushy brows. "I thought it was for that straight-legged, slow-motion fall you do when you're completely wasted and hit the floor."

Appreciative "oooohs" and "ohhhhs" filled the air, as well as indignant shouts from Timber. He was wrestled back by Prophet, and Casino gripped her dice between her index and middle finger, pointing them like a gun in the distance. "Uh-oh. Nightflier, I think that one's for you."

Looking up, Nightflier saw Ultra Magnus's alt form roll up in front of the base doors, three hangars down. His shoulders sagged, and he felt his entire frame deflate.

"Slot."

Almost immediately, through the comm. link, he heard his apparent second in command cut in with a strict, "Exactly what do you think you're doing, sir?"

Before he could stop it, Nightflier came back with a very sarcastic, "Getting some fresh air and making new friends. You might try it one day." He regretted it instantly. He almost winced for his stupidity. What was he, a sparkling again? A petulant sparkling?

The truck didn't move. "They are not supposed to see us, Nightfall. What do you think you're doing? You are breaking protocol and human law."

"Is he talking to you?"

Nightflier looked down at Prophet. "He sure is," he said to them, knowing Ultra Magnus was too far away to hear his voice unless he put it through the comm. "He's using our comm. link to talk because apparently, I'm breaching a code of etiquette."

Angel elbowed Iggy Pop. "Told you we weren't supposed to see them . . ." he muttered.

"Nightfall. Return to base immediately."

Nightflier shrugged a shoulder at them. "Well, we saw each other, so I guess that rule is shot to the Pit. I mean, how long did they really think they could keep us secret? We're huge compared to you . . . And good thing too. We're allies—we need to know each other, and I don't see what the good is in keeping secrets." He had had enough of the secrets with Nightstalker at this point.

"Well put!" D.O.A. praised him with a strong nod of his head his way.

To Ultra Magnus, Nightflier said, "We've been happily having conversation for the past half hour to hour. Why keep secrets from our own allies? Besides, they're the first humans I've actually interacted with."

"Sir, this frivolity is unbecoming of a Prime. You are breaking protocol, and Ratchet is beyond himself with anger. You have been gone too long, and he did not know where to look for you. He wants you back on his medical berth immediately."

To that, Nightflier felt his hackles rear up. He was NOT a sparkling to be coddled. Wounded or not, he still had what little was left of his tattered pride. Straightening his back, satin sheet rippling with the movement, Nightflier shouted for them all to hear, "I am HURT! I am not DEAD!"

Casino tutted her tongue, shaking her head. "Ooh, should I even ASK what he said?"

"My second in command here," he said, jerking his thumb to the impatiently awaiting truck, "is telling me that my chief medical officer is DEMANDING that I come back to his medical berth—" Because, as short a time as he had known Ratchet and the tone of voice Ultra Magnus was speaking in, he KNEW that they were doing anything but asking nicely. The only reason it sounded so professional was because it was Ultra Magnus. "I am perfectly well enough to get around, or so he clearly forgets. He acts like I'm going to break apart at the drop of a hat."

Ultra Magnus's voice became flat and hard, so close to ordering him that he almost growled across the comm. link. "Nightfall, please do not make this any more difficult than it already is. Come back to the base immediately, sir. Prime or not, you are still young and headstrong."

Nightflier winced back and gritted his dentures, glaring in the general direction of the truck. "Well, if he thinks insulting me is going to get him anywhere . . ."

"Shit, what'd he say?" Timber asked eagerly.

Nightflier rolled his optics, looking back down at his nine new friends. "He called me young and headstrong." He snorted. "I haven't even DONE anything yet, and I'm—" He stopped midsentence, flinching when bright lights flicked, glinting loudly in his peripheral vision. He turned, optics widening at Ultra Magnus as he exploded, "Did he just FLASH his headlights at me?"

The impatient display irked him even more, but the second he finished his sentence, Timber was howling with laughter. On the tail of him went several more humans, and Nightflier turned his attention back down, saying defensively, "What?"

Boobie giggled madly, tears sparking in her eyes. "Honey, flashing your headlights has more than just one meaning here on Earth," she told him.

Blinking in confusion, Nightflier's answer came from Prophet who cleared his throat, saying with as straight a face as he could, "Flashing your headlights also means, typically in a girl's situation, that they've lifted up their shirt and bra and shown you their tits, nips and all."

Against his will, Nightflier immediately got an image of Ultra Magnus popping off his chassis plates to flash his chest at him, and he was torn between wanting to burn his optics out or post the image for everyone to see. Overall—

He LAUGHED.

Without warning, Nightflier suddenly found himself laughing, rich and deep laughter that drew from his gut so much that it hurt and throbbed through his back. But he couldn't stop it, and he couldn't stop the tears that sparked in his optics.

Apparently, even Ultra Magnus could hear their laughter, because he didn't press Nightflier again, just glared and waited for them to calm down so he could get a coherent word out of him. When the laughter slowly died down, Nightflier snickered, shaking his head and wiping his optics.

"By the Celestial Spires, I needed that."

"Nightflier . . ."

"Easy, sir, I'm coming."

Smiling, Nightflier extended his hand down to his human friends. "Thank you guys a lot for talking to me."

"Sure, no problem! We were on break anyway!"

Immediately, he was come to with nine little handshakes, and he stood, waving to them all as he walked away and to his apparent doom.

"Ratchet."

He blinked, snapping out of his stupor as he turned towards Nightstalker. "Yes? What is it?"

Nightstalker glanced around the room once more. Dreadwing was on the far side, so he couldn't hear if they whispered. Nightflier was out walking when she had returned from her energon scouting, and none of the others had come back yet. She had logged her findings into the computer, per Ultra Magnus's instructions, but now . . . She had to try . . .

She bit her lip. "Ratchet, let me contact Knockout."

His fingers paused in their tapping. He looked back to her. "I'm . . . sorry?"

She dipped her helm. "Um . . . You said that Nightflier's wounds were beyond you . . . especially since he was a seeker. Well, Knockout's a Decepticon medic, and he's sure to have a lot more experience with seekers . . ."

Ratchet stared at her, and she could see the cogs turning the back of his processor as he debated the pros and cons of her proposition. Finally, he heaved a sigh, pinching his brow. "Nightstalker, what could possibly move him into helping us repair our Prime?"

"For one, he doesn't have to know he's Prime," Nightstalker stated. "Two . . . He owes me." After that stunt he pulled during the rape? He owed her for betraying her like that. If he didn't want to support her then, then he could provide this one last favor. She didn't care how she had to blackmail him.

Ratchet vented slowly, the entire situation clearly hurting his processor. Eventually, he made a defeated sound and muttered, "This is going to break protocol . . . Nightstalker, half brother or not, I wouldn't hold my breath on this."

"I'm not," she said as he hailed the NEMESIS with the standard distress signal, the same kind Starscream had used to contact Ratchet. He let Nightstalker up at the computer, and after a brief hiatus, the video feed played Knockout's cinched brows.

"Hello—"

His words died immediately, and Nightstalker could swear he blanched. "Hello, Knockout," she said evenly.

His throat worked visibly. "Ah, um, I—I'm not really supposed to be—"

"Listen," Nightstalker cut in. He uncomfortable stuttering stopped. "My brother is alive."

Knockout's optics popped. "Wait—you mean that little seeker that fought Megatron—"

"Yes," she interrupted again. "That was him. I guess you know what happened to him, right?"

His lips pressed. "Nightstalker, I'm not supposed to be talking to Autobots—"

"You're talking to your sister," she needled him. He winced at the reminder, but Nightstalker didn't feel the walls he had erected between them come down. "Look, we need your help."

He frowned and crossed his arms, trying to act haughty. "Oh really? MY help? Why would a Decepticon help an Autobot?"

"Because you're my brother." He flinched again. Nightstalker sighed softly, letting her shoulders slump. She let go of her acerbic tone. "Look, Knockout, Nightflier's wings were torn off. Ratchet's a great medic, but he hasn't had the experience with seekers like you have."

He gave a soft scoff. "And what do you expect me to do about that?"

Nightstalker took a deep breath, and she looked him in his optics. "I was hoping you could help reattach his wings."

Knockout gave one harsh, barking laugh. "Reattach seeker wings? You can't reattach their wings once they're ripped off! Sorry, but I'm afraid I can't help you there. The mech's grounded."

"What are you talking about?" Ratchet frowned, coming up behind Nightstalker so he could see him. "He's had a wing reattached before. I saw the evidence. I heard his confession."

It was Knockout's turn to scowl. "What are YOU talking about? No one's reattached seeker wings before! It's impossible!"

"First Aid did it."

The simple acclimation shut the vain Decepticon CMO up. He blinked in shock. "You guys are serious."

Nightstalker nodded. "We wouldn't have called if we weren't."

She watched his brows pucker in thought as his processor clearly began to percolate rapidly. That soft, deep "hmm" came from his vocalizer as he debated this and his mind tried to figure out how in the world First Aid could have done it. "Regardless," he finally said quieter. "I don't know how to reattach seeker wings. So you're out of luck anyways."

"Then at least tell us how to treat him," Nightstalker persisted, biting her bottom lip. "Do you know how we can stop his bleeding?"

"Well, a weld could always work, though that way is a very painful proced—I—Oh what am I even saying!" He interrupted his words with a frown. "What makes you think I can just give you helpful information like that? If Soundwave picks up on this conversation I'm a dead mech! My loyalties are still to the Decepticons, Nightstalker, and I can't help you guys without compromising my position even more!"

"Well you're on the wrong side!" Nightstalker snapped before she could stop herself. Knockout reeled back as if she had slapped him. "Regardless," she mocked him, "you can cough up some information to help make his recovery comfortable after what you did to me."

His gaze finally shuttered, but his throat worked. Guilty. "Look, you weren't supposed to—"

"What, you're trying to blame that betrayal on ME?" she cut in sharply. He recoiled again, shocked by her sudden confidence to stand up for herself. "That's just rich, Knockout. I knew you were pretty low, but I didn't think you were this bad."

"Well maybe I'm just not cut out for that kind of thing," he hissed back. "You need to keep the bond on the down low—if Soundwave hacks into this conversation—"

"Yeah, you're paint's scrapped," she cut in snarkily, half wanting to hate him and half wanting him back so badly. His ignoring her hurt. Blocking her out hurt. "Because that's all you've ever cared for is yourself, right?"

His optics flared white-hot. "You think I only care about myself?" he snapped. "It's because I cared about others that I got hurt! You think I saved your sorry sparkling life because I cared about myself? I cared about YOU when I did that, you ungrateful glitch!"

"I'm not ungrateful," she sneered, "I'm just not the one who turned his back on me when I needed him the most!"

"You think I wanted to endure whatever the scrap you were at that moment?" he exploded. "I never wanted any part of your pain and you suddenly tried to trust it all on me—"

"Do you even know what the Pit happened to me?"

Though his face was twisted up in a leer, he slowly stopped. "You don't know, do you?" she muttered tightly. "Megatron didn't tell you? Didn't gloat to anyone? I'm surprised. His ego's inflated enough to take pride in what he did."

Knockout's brow darkened. "What are you talking about?"

"You want to know what he did to me?" Nightstalker glared, and she leaned in close to the screen to whisper, so quietly she almost didn't hear herself, "He RAPED me."

She watched his gaze shutter. He blinked blankly back at her. "He what?"

"He raped me!" she hissed quietly, as if someone else would hear. "Within an inch of my life! And you turned your back on me! Right when I needed you the most!"

He was stunned. She could see the cold shock of it pouring across his circuits, the look on his face. He swallowed, and his throat bobbed hard. Nightstalker glared.

"So when I fragging ask for a little help to soothe my brother's pain, you had best chock it up because you owe me after that stunt."

Finally, Knockout dropped his head. After a quiet moment, he finally uttered, "I can't." It was on the tip of her glossia to lash out at him, but he jerked his head towards off screen. "Soundwave's dropped by for a visit." A cold chill settled in her stomach. "Besides, if I'm not mistaken, you're the one that owed me for saving your life back on Kaon." He gave one little shrug of his shoulder. "So let's just call it even and forget all about this bond thing. You don't owe me for Kaon—I don't owe you for that. Besides, it's not like any of my knowledge would have actually made a difference for your brother. Now, I've got some music to face here and a joyful interrogation with Megatron." He paused. His helm dipped, and he looked away, unable to look her in her optics. "I'm sorry."

The link cut dead. Dread curled in Nightstalker's stomach. Barely a second or two after the link cut dead, Ultra Magnus's sharp tone carried across the base.

"Was that unauthorized contact with the Decept—"

Ratchet held up his hand, silencing the commander. He took Nightstalker's shoulder as they waited in foreboding terror. "Nightstalker . . ."

She waited. She was half aware of grabbing Ratchet's hand, but it never happened. He didn't sever the bond. Slowly, her wings began to flutter. He wasn't going to sever the bond? He had spoken with such finality. She had been so certain . . .

She released a tight vent, and her wings drooped with relief. "He's not severing it," she whispered to him.

There was an audible vent of relief from Ratchet. He squeezed her shoulder with reassurance before straightening to face Ultra Magnus. "No, it was not unauthorized contact, I sanctioned the contact per Nightstalker's suggestion. We thought perhaps Knockout could be of use as a Decepticon medic with his experience with seekers and Nightfall's perplexing condition."

Ultra Magnus arched one brow. Military second in command was different from the science and medical side of second in command. "And how were you going to manage to twist the Decepticon's arm to help us?"

"He's my brother," Nightstalker stated flatly to him. "My half brother, that is. I had heavy blackmail and guilt against him, but he managed to pull up a debt I owed him. So whatever information we might have gathered to help us was lost in that nullification."

The commander blinked once down at her. Finally, he inquired, "What is your rank?"

Nightstalker blinked. "I, uh . . . What?"

"Your rank," he repeated, placing his servos on his hips. "It has puzzled me from the moment I met you. You speak and order as if you are of higher rank, yet you come to Ratchet to sanction your idea to contact the Decepticons for help. On top of that, you are the Prime's sister. What rank does that make you?"

A slow blush colored her cheeks. "I, um . . . I don't know. Uh—! Sir!" When he just arched a brow, impatiently waiting for an explanation, Nightstalker finally mustered up, "I don't think I really have a rank. As a Decepticon I was the lead torturer, but with the Autobots, I don't know. Medical skills are not my forte, neither is battle, neither is science, neither is engineering or . . ." and she felt her shoulders slump and her wings droop, "anything other than torture, really. So I'm basically without rank, I guess even lower than Smokescreen who's just the rookie . . . I don't have any skills other than torture, though I'm slowly getting better at fighting."

She paused, looking up at the permanently frowning commander. "As for what being the Prime's sister has to do anything with . . . I don't know. I don't think you should treat me any different because of it."

"Proper etiquette calls for it," Ultra Magnus said.

Nightstalker shrugged. "I don't know, sir. I'm good for quick scouting, not much more yet. And—besides, the concept of ranks is a bit weird for us. We don't really have ranks anymore. We've functioned as such a small group for so long that we just learned to do what needed done and just report to Optimus. Um . . . Yeah," she finished rather lamely, feeling like she had swallowed a flaming rock for bringing up Optimus's name. Agent Fowler was planning a burial for him. Someplace in the Rocky Mountains, far enough from most humans but still majestic. Nightflier had been stressing on what he could possibly say to bolster their courage.

As if by the mere thought, Ratchet looked up immediately. "Where's Nightfall?"

It took them a moment to realize he wasn't there. Ratchet mildly swore under his breath. "I told him not to go far!"

"He was walking around outside when I came in," Nightstalker supplied helpfully.

Ultra Magnus frowned. "I'll find him."

Ultra Magnus was speaking to him.

He just couldn't . . . focus.

His optics kept darting over to his father. He knew Ultra Magnus was chewing him out for his apparent disregard of protocol, and yes, perhaps he shouldn't have, but he couldn't help but feel it was a good thing. Those humans needed to know who their allies were. He needed to know exactly who he was fighting for, who he was fighting with, who he was striving to protect. Maybe the world didn't need to know, but their military allies? He wanted them to know. He wanted to keep them as his friends.

But for some reason, he felt sick. Just the sight of his father brooding silently on the berth, forgotten and ostracized by the Autobots. What in the world was he thinking about? It was driving him absolutely mad. Was he thinking about dying? Was he plotting? Was he wallowing in self-pity? Was he trying to think of how to get him back? He just . . . brooded. It unnerved him. Penny for his thoughts—more like riches of untold belief just to find out one little bit of what he was thinking. Perhaps he would never know.

"Nightfall. Nightfall—Nightflier!"

He suddenly snapped out of his stupor, looking guiltily back to Ultra Magnus. He flushed hotly in embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he blurted before he could stop himself. "I just—I'm listening."

Ultra Magnus paused. "Nightfall, it would do you good to take my advice to spark," he stated. "I am hard on you because the Decepticons will be harder, and Megatron, merciless."

Against his will, his optics kept cutting to his father. That sickening feeling rose. It consumed him—guilt. It burned him up.

"Nightfall, are you listening?"

"Yes!" he blurted quickly, even though it was clear he hadn't been. He looked up to Ultra Magnus again, feeling like a child again. "I, uh—" He shuffled his peds unconsciously, and he felt his will thin and break. "I'm sorry, I—I need to—"

He couldn't quite finish his sentence. He hurried across the base to the medical area, spark sputtering in his chest. He had never been good at hiding grudges anyways. And was what he was doing to his father any different than what Nightstalker was doing to him?

Dreadwing looked up when he threw himself down on his knees, arms hugging around himself. "I'm sorry," he burst. His throat worked as he tried to keep a lid on the tears that too often came anymore. "I'm sorry, just please, please, stop ignoring me. I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything I said, please, I just . . . I want my Dad."

His voice broke. Hands reached down, and relief poured through him when Dreadwing merely scooped him up close. Nightflier grabbed him, having had enough of the hurt, the misery, and the pain they put each other through. He didn't care what it meant anymore—just as long as he could fix his family.

His arms wrapped around him, gentle with the reality of his wounds, understanding of the silk sheet that covered up the shame of being grounded. "You're mother was always right," he murmured softly, deep voice vibrating with comfort. "She always told me to have patience with you."

Nightflier began to cry. He reached up around his neck, cuddling close to his father after millennia of being apart, crying like the lost child he was. He wanted his father. He wanted his approval. He wanted him to be proud, but there was nothing to be proud of when he was so broken like this.

Still, yet still his spark chamber opened to him. After brief hesitation, halting with shuddering sobs, Nightflier returned the gesture, bearing himself to his father to fix the broken bond. Begging. Desperate for his comfort.

The second their spark chambers opened, Ratchet shooed the others from the room. Petty thoughts of finishing logging their energon scouting irked him—he tried to quietly shove them away, poking and prodding at Bulkhead and the others as they returned and tried to get in. He left them alone, letting them have their privacy as Nightflier wept with relief and joy and love, the deep voice of his father soothing him and filling him with strength.

However, his optics couldn't help but linger on Nightstalker's hopelessly wistful gaze when she reluctantly left. His spark pained. He wanted so much to change her mind . . . But medic or father's intuition, he knew there was no way he could. She would have to make that decision herself, to let her brother in. She just needed to understand one day about the reality of unconditional love.

Leaving the father and son inside to reunite in private, Ratchet caught Nightstalker before she could slip away. He held her, knowing she was going to be crying.

Author's Note:

I named this chapter after the most important line(s) of the chapter. Though we can see Nightflier's for what it means, it's Knockout's that intrigues me the most. Just what IS he sorry about? That he betrayed her? That she was raped? That he couldn't do anything more? All of that? None of it? The fact that he really IS just thinking about himself?

Knockout's sorry intrigued me the most. Just think about that one.