Author's Note:
Oh my, sorry it took me so long! Real life happened somewhere, and I just couldn't make time to get this chapter done. Well, it's longer this time, and quite interesting as well! So, I hope you guys and gals enjoy and review! :)
It took Bulkhead's knowledge to tell Nightflier that control rods were for construction—the Decepticons were looking to build something.
Of what, Nightflier couldn't determine. No one else could either, but it bothered him over the days as he tried to help Ultra Magnus become acclimated with his new hand. Everyone was generally helpful, trying to help type up reports since it would take the SIC much longer with only one hand to type with. Nightstalker even became even more of a faithful assistant to Ratchet, making sure his lab was clean, documenting regular checkups so the CMO didn't have to, saving him time and effort on menial things so he could focus his processing power on the Synthen formula and begin his task on creating Ultra Magnus a functional hand.
"Prime."
But THAT was a name Nightflier couldn't seem to get used to. Agent Fowler seemed hell-bent on calling him mostly only that, but otherwise, they got along professionally, if his euphemisms confused Nightflier from time to time. In light of Optimus's passing, Nightflier even had to meet General Bryce, an interesting and short conversation in which he wasn't sure if Bryce gave him the benefit of the doubt of if he simply thought he wasn't good enough. Nightflier wasn't sure, but he did suspect that the general was waiting to see how he would perform.
"It's Cons again. In progress."
Nightflier wrinkled his nose. It was always Cons. But hey, at least they were in the middle of their heist and so they could possibly stop them, right? Nightflier glanced to Ratchet.
"Coordinates received, Agent Fowler," he reported before locking them in and opening the ground bridge.
Ultra Magnus immediately took charge for this assault. "Let's roll!"
"Nyep-ep!" Ratchet's hand on his chassis stopped him short. "Your ability to ROLL remains predicated upon further exploration of your manual dexterity."
For such a smaller bot, when Ratchet put his servos on his hips and gave you that look of his, no one dared to move. Ultra Magnus lifted his hand, and Nightflier felt his spark pang as the SIC struggled to move the clawed hand correctly.
"I'm afraid Ratchet's authority beats mine in medical situations," Nightflier said to Ultra Magnus.
The bigger mech sighed. "Understood."
Nightflier nodded and gestured. "Let's move out, guys." He started to lead the assault when he saw amongst everyone, Nightstalker. He frowned. "Ah, not you, Nights."
She narrowed her optics and came stomping right up to him. "And what for?" she all but snapped. "I'm not weak, I can fight just fine—"
"No no no," Nightflier hurried to say, trying to shush her so she wouldn't make a scene. His big blue optics flicked up to Ultra Magnus retreating away, and he lowered his voice so the SIC wouldn't hear. "Look, you know Ratchet's got a big work load right now, so I want you to help Ultra Magnus with his therapy. Can you do that for me?" When she still gave him a judgmental look, he tacked on with his best puppy dog eyes, "PLEASE?"
Nightstalker glared a moment longer before huffing, "Fine. But that doesn't mean I have to like it."
He gave her a quick hug before she could get away. "Thanks, Nights. I owe you one. And I promise, you'll be with us next time."
"Sure, sure . . ."
Catching sight of his father, Nightflier's wings perked up in surprise at the severe look he was given. He frowned right back.
Ultra Magnus needs help with his therapy, and Ratchet can't be there to hold his hand the entire way. Nightstalker is good for the job.
All he received back from his father was an uncannily poking jibe:
Keep telling yourself that.
With a slight huff, Nightflier turned back to the front, ordering, "Move out!"
Transforming and leading the charge, Nightflier zoomed out, tailed by his father and the Autobots' slower alt modes following—Cliffjumper, of all people, leading the ground troops, true to his gung-ho nature. Aha! And there, dead ahead, were the Vehicon perpetrators with a heavy bin clutched in their hands. Only a measly four? This was going to be easier than—
Nightflier almost swore when a ground bridge opened mere feet from them. Nightflier started to burn thrusters as the Vehicons open fired, but a sharp warning from his father's spark sent him reeling around.
From the rear!
Banking sharply around, Nightflier just caught sight of his father getting tailed by Laserbeak. If Laserbeak had Dreadwing in his sights, then Nightflier knew exactly who was tailing him. Ha! He wanted to dogfight? He just messed with the wrong mech!
He lost a little altitude he about-faced the mech so quickly, but he counted on that ground bridge to stay open just long enough. If Soundwave was holding it open for the Vehicons to get that tech through, he wouldn't be able to open one for himself. Nightflier already counted the tech as lost to the Decepticons—but by golly he wasn't going down without a fight!
Open firing on the elusive Decepticon, Nightflier doggedly pursued his enemy, taking pride in a field of combat where he excelled—aerial battle. The former gladiator was skilled with his peds planted firmly on the ground, but had never fought in the air much—he left such trivialities as that to Laserbeak. Therefore, when Nightflier's stun gun hit him dead in his rear engine, the young Prime could only gape as the stun blast sent the communications officer careening in a nauseating downwards spiral. Furthermore—even IF Soundwave had regained consciousness from the stun blast—he crash landed in a mess of power lines that made SURE he was unconscious.
Nightflier transformed and landed on the ground next to the shorted-out Soundwave, jaw literally hanging open. What a lucky shot! With a bewildered laugh, Nightflier turned to the others, shouting, "Great Cybertron! I hit him! I got him!" Then, the implications of his own words hit him as he whirled back around, gaping down at the helpless communications officer. "Sweet primal Primus—I GOT HIM." He looked up again, staring at the Autobots that were looking at him.
"We—We're bringing in a prisoner!"
Tailing Ultra Magnus's signature, Nightstalker found him driving unassumingly down the road. Briefly, she wondered where his clawed hand would tuck in at, shook the insensitive thought from her processor, and angled herself down to his alt mode eerily close to the one Optimus had previously held.
She transformed and landed some ways up the ground, giving him plenty of time to slow down. At first, he didn't, and then he chose to stop in front of her, engine grumbling.
"We are in a civilian sector," he said to her. "You should not be transformed. You risk blowing cover. Get back to base, soldier."
"There isn't another car for miles on this road, Sir," Nightstalker informed him as civil as she could to his rather rude remark. "And just for the sake of the record, you inquired once about my rank, correct?"
Ultra Magnus paused. "That is correct."
"And you said that it called for you to treat me with proper etiquette, right?"
"Correct."
"Then, I'm going to ask something hard of you," she told him while crossing his arms. "I need you to overhaul rank between us for the moment and allow me to talk with you face to face. Will that be all right?" He paused, but he didn't deny her request. She jerked a finger off the ground to the canyons that would hide them. "Then let's go."
She heard him give a vent, but he dutifully followed her. They had barely gotten off the road before Nightstalker frowned, stopped, and turned towards him. She held out her left hand.
"Take my hand."
She watched his brows pinch and lips press at her forcible effort to get him to use the claw. The second he opened his mouth, she cut in, "No, I don't want to hear excuses about dexterity. That's what we're trying to fix, right? So take my hand, Commander. That's an order."
Nightstalker made sure she wasn't mean about it, but firm. After all, she had seen many bots go through therapy—Bulkhead, Nightflier, even herself. After a moment, Ultra Magnus responded, and he lifted his dominant servo to her, 3-clawed appendage twitching and whirring as he struggled to get the fingers to function correctly. She ignored it if his new hand bumped hers or knocked her, but eventually, with some griping and thinly veiled swears, he managed to correctly take her hand.
Nightstalker nodded. "Good." She tugged him along, inwardly irritated at her brother to the point of anger for making her babysit, but she also knew his intentions were good . . . this time. She could take care of Ultra Magnus. Sure. But she was about over this sequestering her at base like she was a sparkling. She was ready to prove herself, and if he didn't let her come on the next mission, OOH he was going to get it!
Instead, Nightstalker allowed her mind to settle on the issue at hand—Ultra Magnus. Drawing him out of the direct line of sight—quite the feat since he was so blasted tall—Nightstalker found the densest clump of trees she could and pointed to the ground. "All right, sit down so those tree limbs will stop hitting you in the face." He sat immediately, almost subordinately. "You all right?"
"I'm fine."
She frowned. Kneeling down in front of him, Nightstalker wordlessly asked for his new appendage with a twitch of her fingers. He gave it. They sat in rather awkward silence as Nightstalker began to flex his fingers and stretch them, warming and loosening them to hopefully help with the stiffness.
Ultra Magnus frowned at her. As he always wore that frown. "Might I ask about your sudden interest in my health?"
Nightstalker bit her glossia. Did she lie? Did she tell the truth? "I've gone through therapy as well," she said evasively. "I know what it's like."
"Nightfall asked you to do this, didn't he?"
She paused. Guiltily, she nodded.
The second in command sighed. "To keep you out of the combat zone . . . I am afraid your troubles with him might be because of me."
Nightstalker glanced up, putting just enough pressure on the leading end of the claw, stretching the finger back. "What?"
Ultra Magnus nodded beneath the shade of the trees that late afternoon. "Yes. I . . . told him about Elita One, Optimus Prime's late spark mate. I am afraid I may have scared him into sequestering you to base."
Nightstalker huffed and bent his wrist back. She heard the slightest hitch in his systems and felt the tension, so she knew it hurt. "What has that got to do with Elita One?"
He rubbed his face briefly, trying to relax the taunt wires in his new hand. "Elita One was captured," he said, truncating the story as much as possible. "She was killed, and I am afraid Nightfall will not let you out of the base on behalf of this story that he might lose you."
"Well that's just stupid," Nightstalker muttered. "He can stow his little worries about me because I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
A sound came from Ultra Magnus. Nightstalker almost stopped because it almost sounded like a laugh, but it was close enough to pass for a grunt. "Of that, I am absolutely certain."
They lapsed back into silence again. After a minute or two of Ultra Magnus wincing as she worked his hand, she finally said, "You really shouldn't have told him that. He's gonna be a little sissy about everything now."
"In retrospect, it seemed like a good idea. I had no idea he was going to . . . ground you."
She shrugged, flexing his fingers back, then forth. "It happens. He promised he'd take me on the next mission, so if he doesn't, I've got perfect grounds to paint his aft pink and steal all his armor."
Ultra Magnus arched a brow at her. She merely smirked and shook her head. "He knows what he's dealing with. Maybe. He'll think twice about pulling the wool over my optics again if he tries it . . ."
Again, a quiet settled over them. This time, Nightstalker put him through a series of simple exercises for him to gain full functionality of the new hand: touching the fingers together; rotations; everything considering his manual dexterity to holding hands, shaking hands, holding things. As she did so, completely alone with him, she sighed.
"Ultra Magnus? Thanks."
His brows cinched. "What have I done?"
Nightstalker shook her head, sighing softly. "Absolutely nothing."
There was a pause. "I don't understand."
Her lips curved up momentarily at his words. That was one way to confuse the SIC, wasn't it? She looked up at him, biting her lip. How to say this so she wouldn't come off as strange? There probably wasn't a way . . . "You're the first mech not to care about my looks. I mean—you don't, well . . . desire me. You just don't care. You don't want my body, and it's . . . I really need someone like that in my life."
Ultra Magnus blinked at her, indeed still confused and trying to understand why this was so important to her. Using his improving dexterity, his clawed hand grabbed hers, and he frowned hard at her. "Nightstalker, there are plenty of mechs in our unit who do not lust for you."
She gave a weak laugh, dropping her helm as she actually thought about it. Of course Bulkhead didn't look at her like that. Bumblebee sure didn't, and Ratchet would sooner go blind for the rest of his life. Even Wheeljack, with all his pandering and appraisal of her looks, wasn't lewd. He respected her.
"Okay, maybe you're right," she admitted with a little shake of her head. "I just . . . I guess after Optimus, I just thought everyone looked at me like that . . ."
Ultra Magnus physically stilled across from her. "Optimus?"
Nightstalker stopped too. Looking up quickly at him, her orange optics popped as she realized—no. He HADN'T known about her and Optimus . . . Oh. Oh oh oh no no no!
She jumped to her peds, bringing herself optic level with the sitting commander as she stuttered out, "Wait—no, I mean, not like that—we didn't—he—I—it was my fault! I mean—"
Ultra Magnus waved a hand, cutting her off. His blue optics drilled into her. "You mean to tell me you went from fraternizing with Megatron to fraternizing with Optimus?"
Her lips trembled. Silver wings began to sink guiltily. "I—" She felt like she was getting crushed beneath the weight of judgment in his optics. She rubbed her arms, as if trying to rub away the fingerprints Megatron had left behind on her body and seared into her memory banks. "I—I—"
Ultra Magnus frowned, standing and drawing up to his full height as he stared aloofly down at her. "It is one thing to seep yourself in sin, but it's another to drag down someone as chaste as Optimus."
"I—I'm sorry," she stammered out, as if it was her fault. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! I didn't mean—"
He frowned down at her, and he gave a small gesture. "Dressing in indecent armor is not the way to not mean to do something. You've had ample time to change the design since you've come into the Autobot fold, yet you have done nothing."
Nightstalker felt her wingtips dip to the ground. He was right, wasn't he? She had seen how it affected Optimus, and she hadn't done a thing. But, she had kept it because Cliffjumper had liked it . . . hadn't she? Or was she trying to antagonize the others? Primus, she even DRESSED like a whore, didn't she!
"I'm sorry," she rasped in shame, curling into herself, trying to fade from existence. "I'm sorry, it was my fault, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to . . . I didn't mean . . ."
"Why do you think Megatron raped you? Even when you knew better, you went crawling right back to him! You basically threw yourself at him, offered him to do it! Primus, makes me think a part of you actually wanted it."
She winced back, dropping her helm to hide the tears beading up in her optics as she dutifully took his tongue lashing. "I'm sorry," she whispered, spark withering in its chassis. "It's my fault, I won't do it again . . ."
"It's a wonder Cliffjumper wants you after that . . ." His lips slanted down as he stared in a mixture of disgust and pity at her. "You should have known better than to go running back to him! You should have—" He swore again under his breath. Venting, he pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead in exasperation before touching his audio. "Ratchet, we're ready for a ground bridge."
Nightstalker shook.
This conversation was over.
Since when was Soundwave so cheeky?
. . .
Had he ALWAYS been that cheeky?
Smiley-face glyphs, audio-splitting dubstep, BREAKING HIS VOW OF SILENCE?
Nightflier scrubbed his face tiredly. And on top of that, attacking with sound waves to disarm them before taking his precious time to crash his own drives. So, they were basically back to square one, but hey, maybe Megatron would like to ransom for Soundwave? His . . . offline shell, at least. But hey, he could be brought back online through an outside party, and Nightflier would have opted to bring him back online, but what for? he wouldn't know ANYTHING of use since he wiped all his drives. He'd have to jack into the Decepticon mainframe again to relearn everything he had previously known.
But Nightflier was certain he'd get a call soon. Soundwave was too valuable for Megatron NOT to want to have back. The eyes and ears of the Decepticons was a prized asset.
In need of good news, Nightflier was relieved to see Ultra Magnus and Nightstalker returning. They parted ways almost immediately, and Nightflier hurried over to Nightstalker, picking her up in a great big hug.
"Thank you SO much, Nights! You're a life saver."
She shrugged him off, walking away even before he heard her mutter, "Yeah, whatever."
Nightflier blinked as she walked off sullenly, and he sighed. Was she really THAT mad at him? He glanced over to where Ultra Magnus was moving off, and he hurried over to his commander. Trying to remain nonchalant, he asked, "So, how are you doing?"
The SIC turned his attention to his Prime, saying, "Better, Sir, thanks to the therapy your sister gave me. Your concern is appreciated."
Nightflier felt the heat of embarrassment color his cheeks red. "Slot. Well, she wasn't really supposed to tell you that . . ."
Ultra Magnus shook his head. "I already knew, Sir. It was glaringly apparent."
Nightflier winced, feeling a little more energon flood to his face. "Well, ah . . . Can't blame a mech for trying, right? Aw, c'mon, don't make fun of my concern!"
"No," Ultra Magnus said a little softer. "I appreciate it, really." Then, he frowned and vented sharply. "Nightfall, I must ask you to speak with your sister."
Nightflier blinked in surprise. "Huh?"
Ultra Magnus just shook his head. "She'll know what she needs to talk to you about."
He shifted positions awkwardly. "All right. Well, I—" He started to turn around, and he blinked, optics searching for his sister. "Where is she?"
"I haven't the faintest idea, Nightfall."
He sighed and rubbed his brow. "It's all right. I'll find her."
Heading off—and having to explain to Cliffjumper that he needed to find Nightstalker, yeah, sure, they'd talk later—he finally managed to weasel his way out of the silo without every other person grabbing him and wanting to speak with him. Waltzing around, searching for his sister, Nightflier found her—
Holy scrap. She was crying.
Hurrying over to her, he found that Boobie and Casino were with her, and he thanked the good Primus above that he had such great friends. "Nights? Nights, what's wrong?"
He knelt down in a hurry, touching her shoulder, but she just curled up tighter to herself. Boobie looked up at Nightflier. "She came out of the hangar crying, so Casino and I had to corner her. She won't say what's wrong yet, so we're just letting her cry it out first."
Nightflier sighed in defeat, pulling her close and bunching her up in his arms even though she fought some. "You guys are life savers," he admitted to the two humans with them.
Casino smiled softly, saying, "Well, we girls have got to stick together, right?"
With the help of Casino and Boobie, Nightflier was slowly able to calm his sister down to little system hiccups. Though he had to bite his glossia for a minute or two longer so her shuddering would stop, he tried to allow her time to compose herself.
"Easy, Nights . . . What's wrong?"
Nightstalker bit her lip. She knew what was wrong. She was a whore. She knew it, but no one else believed her, and if she said so, they'd just tell her she was wrong. So she did the only thing she could do.
She lied.
"I'm fine," she bluffed weakly, trying to push him away. "There's no problem."
He tightened his arm around her so she couldn't escape. "Oh, don't you try to pull that with me."
Boobie patted her leg. "Now c'mon, honey. You can't say there's nothing wrong when you're crying."
"Unless you have the Cybertronian equivalent of a period," Casino chimed in with a small joke. "Then you can cry all you want."
Her helm thunked against his shoulder, and she hid her face in his neck, unwilling to let them look at her. "Guys, it's nothing, really."
"Now quit giving me that," Nightflier chastised her gently again. He nudged her chin, but didn't force her head up. "Now fess up. What's bothering you? I'm a big brother! I'm supposed to take care of you."
Nightstalker dipped her wings and shook her head. "It's nothing . . . but, um . . . Do you think we have enough resources to, I don't know, let me change my look?"
Nightflier blinked, optics whirring wide open. "Huh? Well, yeah, sure . . . Don't like the way you look?" When she squirmed uncomfortably in his lap, Nightflier quickly backtracked with, "I mean, there's nothing wrong with that. Just feeling a change, eh?"
She nodded, trying her best to bluff her way through this. "Yeah, I just . . . want something different."
"All right, hold on, I'm calling bullshit." Casino restlessly rolled her dice in her fingers, and she frowned up at Nightstalker who was trying to sink through the ground. "I don't believe you. What's really bothering you?"
"I think I second that," Boobie said. "If you're gonna lie, girl, then lie convincingly."
When Nightstalker didn't say anything, Nightflier frowned. "Ultra Magnus sent me out here to talk to you. He realized something was wrong too. C'mon, Nights, you can tell me, I promise."
She shrank even more. Looking down, Nightstalker mumbled almost inaudibly, "I dress like a whore."
"No you don't!" Boobie snapped so suddenly that Nightstalker's wings tipped up in such a hurry they almost knocked Casino over. "That's not true! Who told you that? Ooh, I will rip them a new one!"
Nightflier just gaped. What?
While his processor chugged along slowly, trying to wrap his mind around that thought, Casino chimed in, "Nightstalker, you're perfectly beautiful. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
"But you're all wrong!" Nightstalker burst, throwing out her hands. "I DO. Optimus—when Optimus was alive, he . . . I egged him on! I knew he liked what I showed, but I didn't do anything to help, and . . ."
Nightflier's rapidly percolating mind finally made his jaw work. "Wait. You mean you . . . with Optimus?"
"No!" she exclaimed, flushing hotly and crossing her arms. "I'm not a . . . I . . . Almost . . . But it was my fault. I teased him. He couldn't help it."
"The man can ALWAYS help it," Boobie stressed angrily. She jet her jaw. "He can ALWAYS help it. And it doesn't matter how you dress. I don't care if it's how you are now, or if you're the Cybertronian equivalent of Amish, I don't care if you're walking around completely naked, you are not EVER dressing inappropriately if you're comfortable with it. All right? You aren't EVER asking for it, regardless of what you're wearing."
"What she said," Nightflier said. "But wait—What does THIS have to do with—" and he gestured aimlessly towards the main hangar. "What's going on? What . . . brought all this on?"
Nightstalker dipped her head, wings fanning nervously. "Ultra Magnus."
There was a beat of complete silence. "Ultra Magnus?" he asked, and at the same time, Boobie said, "I need a crowbar and the description of which idiot this is. He was the semi, right? When I get through with him—"
"Wait, stop," Nightflier cut in, holding up a hand. He arched a brow. "Nights?"
She flushed hotly, wings fluttering more. "It's not his fault," she tried to defend him quietly. "He's right, I—"
"No, Nights," Nightflier interrupted sternly again. "What. Did. He. Say."
She bit her lip. "That it was my fault. It was because I teased Optimus with how I dressed . . . I forced my sin on him . . . He basically said Cliffjumper shouldn't care about me since I ran right back to Megatron, and the rape was my fault—"
"Stop."
Nightflier dragged in a tense breath, almost unable to control the anger bubbling up like hot lava. For a second, he controlled himself, and then, he asked, "Is that it?"
Nightstalker nodded guiltily. "I was asking for it. Getting raped . . ."
"No you weren't," he immediately said. Gently sitting her down with the girls, he said, "Boobie, Casino, can I trust you to start talking some sense into my sister?"
"Absolutely," Boobie replied.
"Good. Now if you'll please excuse me . . ."
Heading off and leaving his sister in the trusty hands of his friends, Nightflier walked back to the hangar. And he walked all the way to Ultra Magnus and found his SIC painstakingly typing with his one good hand.
"Magnus."
He looked up. "Sir?"
Damn how tall he was to the Pit. Nightflier curled a finger. "Come here."
Ultra Magnus followed Nightflier to the table Ratchet frequently used for his work. Nightflier pointed to the floor directly next to it. "Stand there." While Ultra Magnus seemed a little confused, he did so obligingly, and Nightflier stood up on the table, bringing him nearly optic level with the mech.
"Sir?"
Nightflier pinched his brow. "Hold still."
"Yes, Sir."
Nightflier wound his wrist up, and before Ultra Magnus could register, Nightflier let his fist fly and clocked the mech directly in his jaw. The SIC actually reeled back at the force of the blow that instantly split his lip and knocked his articulators loose.
Only then did Nightflier let him have it.
"The FRAG is wrong with you?" Nightflier's optics spat fire as Ultra Magnus turned to stare in shock at the treatment he was receiving, a hand absently brushing the bleeding energon. "Don't you EVER talk like that to my sister! Don't you EVER say things like that! If you EVER say something as Primus-damned as that, I will rip you in half!" In saying so, before Ultra Magnus could gather his bearings, Nightflier launched another punch his way. Ultra Magnus stood and took it, assuming he was receiving it for some reason though he wasn't sure why.
His split lip busted more, leaving energon trickling down his jaw and from his articulators. Ultra Magnus coughed, and Nightflier completely ignored how every person in the room was staring at them, a riveted audience. "I don't give a flying frag how she dresses! She can dress however the Pit she wants! Slot, she could walk around this base clad in nothing but her protoform, and it is NOT your place to tell her how to dress! Got it?"
Ultra Magnus blinked in shock at him, managing a stunned, "Yes, Sir."
"And another thing!" he shouted, optics dilated tight with rage. "I don't care how wonderful you think Optimus Prime was, if he lusted for Nightstalker, that was his own fragging problem! NOT hers! She is perfect is exactly how the frag she is, and she doesn't have to change ANYTHING to accommodate for him! He should learn to control his own fragging spike instead of pushing himself on her! Got it?"
The second in command nodded dutifully again. "Yes, Sir."
His wings flared wide in his agitation. "And Cybertron below me, if I EVER hear you blame Megatron raping her on her again, I will rip out your glossia and chop off your other hand so they match! Got it?"
"He did WHAT?"
Ultra Magnus turned at the sound of Ratchet's enraged voice, and before he could react, a wrench slammed square in the center of his forehead. The sheer force of it sent him falling back and crashing on the ground, leaving a bleeding dent that would most likely have to receive treatment later.
"You have got to be out of your fragging MIND, Magnus!" the medic roared, that last bit of information being the straw that broke the camel's back. The medic left his work where it was, and he stalked up and grabbed the mech by the sensitive audio receptor and hauled him to his peds. "If you think you had it bad with Nightfall, you are going to wish you hadn't been born when I'M through with you."
Ultra Magnus winced as Ratchet dragged him off. The medic pointed to Jack as he went, making the young human jump out of his skin. "Jack, call your mother and have her come to the base stat. I'm afraid careful work with Nightstalker's processor has just been undone, and she needs to speak with her as soon as possible. And you!" and he wrenched Ultra Magnus's audio receptor harder, making the SIC cringe harder as Ratchet absolutely dragged the bowing mech out of the base. "You have GOT to be out of your fragging mind! Glitching miss-clock! Do you even KNOW the consequences words like that have, the effect they have on a recovering victim's mind? Nightstalker was JUST coming to grips with this, Magnus, and you fragging undid it all! ALL that therapy! Down the drain! Do you think we treated this LIGHTLY? That is MY little girl you fragged with, and I am NOT going to let it stand . . . !"
They left the vicinity of the hangar, but Ratchet's voice carried for a good while longer. Complete silence ruled the hangar save for Nightflier trying to control his breathing. Glancing across the room to Cliffjumper, he saw the mech's face was as red as his paintjob. His jaw was locked tight. And, to Nightflier's utter astonishment, he couldn't utter a WORD. He was so utterly strangled by fury that he couldn't even manage a word, and Nightflier knew in that one glance that it didn't matter if Ultra Magnus WAS his superior, the SIC was going to get it from the warrior too.
Nightflier jumped when he felt a hand land on his shoulder. He glanced up to his father. "Are you all right?"
For a moment, Nightflier didn't respond, and then, he released a breath, muttering, "Yeah . . . Hitting him felt damn good."
"He deserved it."
There was a beat of silence, and a sharp in take cut the silence. "I need to find Nightstalker," Cliffjumper finally managed, and he turned on his heel and walked out before anyone could get a word in edgewise.
Though a large mech, his ped steps were quiet and steady. He came to stand before where they cuddled.
"Mind if I cut in?"
Cliffjumper glanced up, and Nightstalker's helm looked up to where Dreadwing stood before them, setting sun glinting off his armor. His arms tightened around her, loath to let her go yet after he assured her there was nothing wrong with her and the rape wasn't her fault, and never would it be.
"Do I have to?"
Dreadwing shook his head. "No. But Ratchet has finished dressing down Ultra Magnus, so you might now get your own turn."
There was a pause. "I think I'll take that offer." He glanced down to Nightstalker. "Are you all right? I can leave you with Dreadwing, right?" When she nodded, Cliffjumper helped her stand up before pressing a sweet kiss to her lips. "All right. I'll be back later."
Nightstalker watched Cliffjumper disappear, and then, she glanced up to her company. He made a small gesture with his servo.
"Come. Fly with me."
Nightstalker nodded, and she followed him into the sky, transforming and taking flight. When he didn't say anything, she contacted him through their comm. links, asking, "You wanted to talk with me?"
"Not yet," he replied. "For now, we fly. Just follow me."
Though a little puzzled, Nightstalker followed his instructions. Keeping her optics on his tailfin, Nightstalker followed him where he went. He veered left; she veered left. He veered right; she veered right. He banked around, gaining speed, and so Nightstalker mimicked him, winds beginning to gust against her body. He performed several lazy barrel rolls, so Nightstalker followed suit and—
He suddenly tipped his nose up, twisting around and shooting over her head as he took off in the opposite direction. Twisting and following the Immelmann turn, Nightstalker pressed her thrusters as Dreadwing led her in an acrobatic dance in the skies. Performing inside and outside loops, Nightstalker willingly followed him where and how he chose to twist and turn. Slinky figure 8s cause the wind to caress her wings, and jagged scissors sent her spark pumping as he dove deep to the ground until he pulled up at the last second, nearly skimming the earth with his underbelly. Nightstalker followed, feeling the dust cloud follow her as she shot into the sky with him.
He worked her fairly hard, but not enough to make it hard or stressful. Eventually, they came to a stop, hovering low above the base again. She could see Cliffjumper shouting at Ultra Magnus below. As she caught her breath, she had to ask Dreadwing, "So?"
"Do you feel better?"
Truth be told . . . she DID feel better. She wasn't as tense as she had been before. Her plating was more relaxed, and her energon tanks weren't twisted in so much, and her spark was humming again. She swiveled a little. "Yeah. Yeah, I feel a lot better." Her own personal therapy—she always felt better after flying. She should have known.
There was a pause. "And I, as well . . ."
Nightstalker glanced over, almost unsure she had heard him correctly. "Dreadwing?"
He released a tight vent, and he downplayed the significance of the flight, spark bleeding every time he looked at her, the spitting image of Ampere. "I needed it as well," he told her that evening.
Nightstalker didn't question it, and other than that, he didn't say anything. Unfortunately, they were low enough that they could hear Cliffjumper's voice carrying on the wind as he poured his spark out to Ultra Magnus.
"And I KNOW you didn't understand, but you put your whole damn leg in your mouth! Primus, Ultra Magnus, you don't know the effect your words had on her! She was blaming herself for being brutally RAPED! You made her believe that she was nothing but a worthless whore, and she's not! It was never her fault what Megatron did to her! I've spent nights trying to argue to her what she's worth not just to me, but others, and it was like I was talking to her just weeks after the incident! She could barely look me in my optics, Magnus . . . !"
Nightstalker cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Did you want to talk to me, Dreadwing?"
The jet next to her tipped his wing, moving just a mite closer to her. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right, and give you the chance to relax and wind down after an emotional day."
Nightstalker paused, feeling her spark hit the ground at his thoughtfulness. "Thanks," she finally said quietly. "That's all?"
"Yes," he said to her. "I'm sure you've heard from numerous people what you are truly worth to us, so there is no need for me to reinforce how wonderful you really are."
She felt her systems warm and her spark swell with the much needed words. "Thanks for keeping it simple," she murmured back. "I needed that."
Maneuvering herself, Nightstalker positioned herself over Dreadwing and inverted herself, that way, if they had pilots, they could have been looking at each other. She heard the faintest chuckle rise from the depths of his chassis.
"You know, I like your wings," she said suddenly. "They're pretty. I wish I had four sets of wings on my back like you. I bet I could fly twice as fast, twice as far, with twice the tricks."
Her words unwittingly caused his spark to seize at the too-familiar words. He released a tight vent and inched a tiny bit closer to her, almost too close to be prudent as fliers. Her words both cut and mended. "You are so much like your mother," he breathed.
Nightstalker felt her spark flutter. "I . . . I know. You say that a lot."
"She would be proud of you."
If she had been in bipedal mode, she was sure tears would have pricked her optics. She had to clear her vocalizer to answer. "Thank you."
"No . . . Thank you, for being so strong."
Her spark swirled with the amount of emotion that pulled from her. Tipping the nose of her alt mode gently, carefully, she bumped the top of his alt mode with an artificial kiss to show her affection. This time, his chuckled was more prominent and free.
Still, when they settled back into comfortable silence, Cliffjumper's voice echoed up to them again. This time, she could hear his voice thickening with passion.
" . . . and I want you on your FACE when you apologize to her, I want your face on the ground! You don't know what we went through, what SHE went through! Magnus, I was THERE! I was there! And I—I couldn't do anything!" His voice broke as the tears pressed. "I couldn't do anything but watch as he raped her right in front of me, only a few yards away, and it wasn't just her valve, Magnus, he took her spark too! Her SPARK! Oh Primus—that—NO ONE deserves that, Magnus! Not ever!"
Nightstalker shifted, throat lumping at the sheer amount of pain overcoming Cliffjumper's voice. "Nightstalker . . ."
She swallowed, knowing what was coming. "Y-Yeah?"
For a second, Dreadwing couldn't respond. "He . . . He took your . . ."
She felt her plating tensing up again. "Yes," she whispered quietly.
She heard his in cycles hitch beneath her. Then, he veered down sharply, and Nightstalker felt her spark jump as she followed him down. She thought he was heading for Ultra Magnus—to pummel the bot, to do something horrible to him, Nightstalker wasn't sure what—but he transformed and landed heavily at the outside edge of the base. Following suit, Nightstalker landed next to him, stammering, "D-Dreadwing, I—"
Before she could say anything more, he had knelt and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. "He took your spark?" he repeated on a rasp. When Nightstalker nodded, Dreadwing looked down at her chassis, and Nightstalker swore she saw something break in the back of his optics. Immediately she felt herself enveloped in a massive hug, and she felt his shoulders shake suspiciously.
She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. "Dreadwing?"
"No one should have to endure that," she heard him rasp in her audio. His arms tightened protectively around her, and she heard him suck in a sharp breath. "That innocence should have never been stolen."
Nightstalker swallowed, leaning close as her arms were pinned. "Cliffjumper gave it back to me."
If possible, the crushing hug tightened even more. He quaked, but Nightstalker couldn't be sure if he was crying or not because she didn't hear the sobs. She closed her optics, trying to swallow around the thickness in her throat as old wounds began to heal over for a second time.
Footfalls brought someone else into their presence. Squeezed tight against Dreadwing's chassis, Nightstalker couldn't see him, but she heard his voice quiet and humbled. "I need to speak to Nightstalker, if you please."
At first, Dreadwing's arms constricted, unwilling to let her into his presence again. But Nightstalker pressed softly against him to be set free, so he slowly released her. If there had been tears, they were missing now. But he pressed his helm against hers in a last show of affection before his gaze shuttered to the complete opposite as he glared as black as death at the mech, promising to cut the energon out of the mech without any words at all.
Ultra Magnus shifted uncomfortably at the glare, but the instant Nightstalker turned around to him, he fell on his knees and proceeded to press his face to the ground as he plead, "Nightstalker, I am sorry. I truly am. Please, forgive me. I didn't mean what I said."
Filled with conflicting emotions seesawing back and forth from an emotional day, Nightstalker tried, "Ultra Magnus, c'mon, get up off the ground, you don't need to—"
"Yes I do," he interrupted her before she could cushion the rest of his punishment. "Nightstalker, I am SORRY. I did not realize . . . the true extent . . . And I still do not know the full extent of what happened to you . . . but it has been put in a clearer light than before. My words were cruel. Uncalled for. I didn't even allow you to explain. And such a thing is NOT your fault. I'm sorry."
Her spark swelled with compassion. Coming up to him, she grabbed his shoulder, trying to haul him up by his pit. "C'mon, Ultra Magnus. Stop it. I get it, it's fine—"
"No it is NOT, Nightstalker," he interrupted again. He refused to lift his helm from the ground. "Do not try to defend me from my mistakes. I—"
"Well, that's just it," she cut in. "It was just a mistake. And I know you're sorry, there's no need to hold yourself this way. It's fine. I forgive you. Now GET UP before you embarrass me even more."
Reluctantly, the SIC lifted his head, and at her stubborn pulling, sat up. Dreadwing still glared, still kept his arms crossed, but he turned on his heel, letting them have their moment.
Nightstalker's spark softened at the sight of the dried energon on Ultra Magnus's face from where her brother and father had hit him. Reaching up, her thumb brushed some flecks off of his forehead, and he winced at her touch. She sighed, grabbing his broken, new hand and pulling.
"Come here."
His clawed hand closed around hers as he managed to find his peds again, and Nightstalker led him into the hangar. People looked at them as she brought him in, but no one said anything, just stared. Nightstalker brought him into the medical bay, sitting him on the berth before grabbing a cloth and wetting it. Standing on the berth for reach, she dabbed at his split lip.
No one said a word at her ministrations, and she didn't defend them. She let them speak for themselves.
Getting the dent out of the front of his helm was tricky, and painful for him, but she managed to get it out and clean him of his energon. And, to top it all off and to let him know that he was truly forgiven, she sprang a surprise hug on him before he could leave, thoroughly flustering the commander as he brusquely excused himself.
As Nightstalker cleaned up her mess, she sighed to herself, wings dipping tiredly. It had been such an eventful day. As she tucked away the last of the medical instruments she had used, she felt a gentle hand grab her wrist.
Ratchet knelt and turned her towards him. His overshadowed optics flicked up and down her. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
She nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."
He released a guilty gust of air. "I'm sorry. I let myself get wrapped up in the offender instead of taking care of my patient. My daughter."
Her spark warmed at the sound of those words. Her lips tipped up slightly at his remorse. "You're not called Ratchet the Hatchet for nothing," she teased him gently.
He vented heavily, and he collected her close, choosing to knead between her wings to relax her when he felt her tension. They cuddled quietly in the medical bay, and the full impact of the day's feelings began to drain Nightstalker as she leaned against Ratchet. Wings dipping tiredly, Nightstalker felt her throat tighten again. For some reason, water began to bead up in her optics.
"Hey, Ratchet?"
She cleared her voice when it quavered. Ratchet did the same before he answered. "Yes, Nights?"
A shuddering breath left her as she fought back her overwhelmed tears. "I really have a lot of people who love me, don't I?"
His arms tightened to nearly crushing. "Of course you do," he rasped back. He kissed the side of her helm, holding her close. "And you always will. We're your family, Nights. We won't ever let you go."
"And you won't either, will you?"
He gave a small laugh. "Of course not."
She curled up into him, hitching up her legs, and his arm immediately came beneath her to support her. "Good." Balled up and tiny, cradled in the strength of his arms that she craved so much, Nightstalker nuzzled her helm to him. She sighed. "Ratchet?"
"Yes?"
She could almost feel the warmth of his spark behind his chassis doors. "I haven't really said it too often, but . . . I . . . I love you." Her arms tightened around him. She smiled a silly little smile, trying to burrow closer to him. "A whole bunch."
There was a moment, and then, she felt a finger tickle her side. Squealing when that bashful tickle became a full assault, Nightstalker kicked until she was on her back, almost unable to breathe around her laughter, a healing and empowering sound as Ratchet grinned at her.
He nuzzled her helm again as she struggled with her giggles.
"I love you too, Nightstalker."
Author's Note:
Let's appreciate how stupid Fli-Ni was. If he had let Nights come on the mission, this entire epidemic could have been avoided! But, let's also remember this beautiful scene:
.
They stood. After an awkward moment, Nightstalker finally managed, "Yes?" The word cracked nervously from her throat.
Her word loosened his vocals immediately. "Nightstalker—"
"I'm sorry!" she burst, cutting him off. A blush of heat covered her cheeks, and she shook her head. "S-Sorry for practically—I mean, I pretty much just made it worse—egged it on—"
"Nightstalker, stop."
Her mouth gawked like a fish for a second before she closed it. Optimus vented heavily and lifted a servo to pinch his brow.
Finally, he said, "It is not your fault. Nightstalker, I am the one who is sorry. My behavior—was inexcusable. Please, forgive me for overstepping my boundaries."
Nightstalker paused before saying, "Okay, forgiven, but . . . Can you tell me where that came from? I . . . just didn't expect it coming from a mech like you."
She heard something hitch in his systems. He rocked back on his heels with a troubled grumble before admitting so quietly she thought she had imagined it, "You are a beautiful femme."
Nightstalker paused again. Slowly opening and closing her wings, she contemplated his words. "More than beautiful?"
His hands clenched into fists. "Irresistible," he rasped.
Another touch of heat singed her cheeks. Great. Good Primus, she should have realized after that last stunt—Primus, how long had it been that he had been fighting that . . . ?
"Can I help?" When Optimus lifted his head with wide optics, incredulous, she blushed brightly. "N-Not like that!" she stuttered to ease his worry. She waved her hands in a negative. "I—I mean, is it the black? Or should I change my armor? You know, cover up more—"
"Nightstalker," Optimus's pained voice interrupted, "you do not need to change the way you are to accommodate for me."