It was barely time for breakfast, but Sam and I had been awake for more than 24 hours. I was wired-tired, but I could already feel I was headed toward a crash.

Fortunately, Sarah swooped to our rescue. She took one look at me and Sam in the main hangar and started steering us toward the break room. "Let's get you something to eat and then head out to the cabins so you can sleep."

"Beatrice needs us," I weakly protested.

"Yes, she does," Sarah agreed. "That's why you need to take care of your own basic needs like food and sleep. Did you even get a wink last night?"

"No," Sam admitted as he sank to sitting at a break room table and rested his forehead against the surface. "Couldn't look away."

"After a triple shift, your stomach doesn't know what meal is next," Will said. "Something like eggs and toast is a good idea."

"That sounds…unexpectedly appealing," I said, and Sam lifted his head to look at me in surprise.

"You okay with that, too?" Sarah asked him.

Without taking his eyes off me, Sam answered, "Sure."

My dear husband was making way too much out of my appetite not being sound asleep yet.

Will stepped out, I assumed to make breakfast arrangements, and it occurred to me that a one-star general really shouldn't be playing waiter for us. Sarah accepted the apple 'Trice offered and started asking her how she was doing this morning.

Sam was still staring at me.

I wasn't about to go into a deep dive on our feelings in front of anyone else, so I reached out and clasped his hand where it rested on the table. Sam's eyebrows rose in surprise when I went to that vulnerable space where he could again sense me, my feelings, and I could feel it myself as his surprise faded into gratitude with a healthy dollop of concern.

I was fragile, but whatever was keeping me together at the moment held. His concern deepened, and I slipped my hand away from his. I felt like I should give him an encouraging smile, but with how tired I was, I doubted I could manage anything convincing.

Will returned and spoke quietly with 'Trice, since Sam and I were clearly too exhausted for coherent conversation. I think I actually did smile for an astrosecond when I realized she was telling them a story about Metal World using Sam's inflections and everything. Like father, like daughter. My forehead was on my arm, which was on the table, so Sam missed my smile. I was too tired to actually care.

If only Daemon… but I shied away from that thought, from the mental image of so much debris, the cold of ash and space, the mangled Decepticon remains.

Our food arrived, delivered by a grunt, and my stomach, at least, woke up enough to grumble. Will's advice had been sound – the eggs and toast hit the spot on an instinctual level. Any higher functioning than that just stayed asleep.

"Momma," 'Trice said in a reproving tone as she slid into a chair between me and Sam. "If it doesn't have fruits or vegetables, it's a snack, not a meal."

And now 'Trice was acting "like mother, like daughter," turning my own words against me. Then she placed two apples on the table – one each next to Sam's and my plates.

Sam paused mid-bite, watching my reaction.

Hope genuinely was horrible sometimes, but there was a reason I'd held on to it so long. I gave my daughter my best smile. "You know, 'Trice, maybe we should try to find some other fruit for breakfast. I don't want us to get tired of apples."

"That's right! Gotta save them for Daemon!" She hopped down, ran over to dig through the basket of snacks on the counter, and returned with two boxes of raisins. "There!"

I kissed the top of her head, and my heart only felt heavy. No tears.

I'd finally cried myself out.

Opening the box, I woodenly said, "Thank you, sweetie."

…

I woke up weary. Never a good sign, that. My eyelids were heavy, and when I tried to open them, my eyes rolled back in my head. Stupid sleeping meds.

A gentle hand rested on my cheek – Sam, wondering if I was okay.

It was weird how quickly these exchanges over the almost-bond were becoming normal, as long as we kept it short and Sam didn't try to creep in. I mentally leaned into that touch, letting him feel how exhausted I still was, and he quickly pulled back.

Aloud, he asked, "Penny for your thoughts?"

My voice was rough when I answered, "You don't want to hear it."

"Well, now I really do."

"No you don't," I grumbled as I rolled onto my side facing him, but there was no fire in it. I knew where this would've gone, and I was just too fragging tired. "What time is it?"

"Just after eleven o'clock."

With my eyelids still stubbornly heavy, I asked, "AM or PM?"

"PM."

I grunted noncommittally. We'd slept the entire day away.

"Mikaela…" His palm rested on my cheek again, and he carefully held back to his side of the imaginary line that stood between us. "Please…open to me."

Grief welled up in me again, flowing right up to the threshold of that doorway between us, but I blocked it enough to keep my feelings in check. Instead, in the waking world I moved his hand higher up my face, so that his thumb brushed the tears pooling at the corner of my eye.

He gathered me close, and together we wept in each others' arms until the drugs got the better of me again and sleep reclaimed me.

…

I woke up before Sam. In the quiet of early morning, I listened to the waves washing the shore and to his soft snoring. He wasn't in a bond dream, then. Good, I thought. He was mine more than he was theirs, and he needed his sleep, too.

The fierce protectiveness I was feeling toward Sam surprised me. I had been such a storm of emotion, but I'd only felt ready to do battle against Decepticons for Daemon and 'Trice. Not Sam. Dr. Sarkisian would probably say it was a positive sign I felt that way about him, too.

Maybe grief was softening me up – pounding me flat, soaking me in salt-tears, stretching my soul. Mostly I just felt scraped raw by the last…however many days. I wanted to never get out of bed again.

Sooner or later I would have to, though. Sooner or later, 'Trice would want breakfast. Lennox or Black would need to talk to Sam. Arcee and Optimus would want to explore what exactly was going on with me. I'd have to face Judy and Ron again.

Sooner or later, life would move on with another great, big hole in it, and somehow, I was going to have to find a way to move with it.

I may as well try to move Diego Garcia.

I'd been here before with my mom. I knew intellectually that I'd survive this and there would be something like a life waiting in the future somewhere. It was impossible to see now.

Tears welled in my eyes again, and I was so incredibly tired of crying.

I was a mess, I admitted to myself, and I was going to be a mess for years to come. The difference this time was 'Trice. Thinking of her made my broken heart swell as love and a desperate need to protect her welled up in me. For her, I'd find a way to do this. For her, I would take control of the things I could and power through the pain of living another day without Daemon.

But, blessedly, not for a few more minutes.

…

Dr. Sarkisian had an opening on her calendar that morning, and I took it. I deliberately didn't look at Sam when I told him I had the appointment, because I wasn't doing it for him. My own reactions – my own heart and mind – were some of the few things in my control. By Primus, I was going to control them.

As I settled into the recliner in her office, she extended a glass of water to me. I accepted and sipped at it.

"It's been a couple of eventful days for you," she gently began.

"I'm not here to talk about that." Part of my goal in making this appointment was to get through it without breaking down like I had before. "I'm here to clarify something I said last time."

"You don't owe me any clarifications or explanations," Dr. Sarkisian answered.

"Maybe, but I owe it to Judy to set the record straight." I paused and looked down at the cup in my hands, carefully controlling my feelings before I continued. "Judy has never walked out on me or Sam or the kids. She's been the best mother-in-law in the world and a terrific grandma. But the dementia is taking her away from us."

"Another loss," Sarkesian quietly agreed.

"Yes. And while my dad didn't physically walk out on me either, he was never the dad I needed him to be. Especially when I needed him to be both father and mother."

She nodded, watching me closely, but didn't comment.

I took a deep breath, but it wasn't as hard to hold back these tears. These were old hurts, and I knew how to handle them. "People who should provide the kind of relationship I could build my life on are turning out to be weak and eroding foundations. Even building my life around my children is turning out to be quicksand."

"I can definitely see where you're coming from."

"And then there's the Autobots. I mean, Bumblebee, RaFly, Optimus…they're family at this point. RaFly has been a part of my life as long as my dad, if you cut out the time he was in prison. Optimus and 'Bee have been family for even longer…" I frowned morosely and took another sip of water.

I stared at the cup in my hand for a long moment before she gently prompted, "But?"

"But when my son was kidnapped by Decepticons, Prowl took over and chose the Autobots' collective finish over Daemon's life. And they let him – all of them. Not one of them…" I paused again and shook my head, shook off the grief that was beginning to choke me. After a hard swallow and a deep breath, I added, "And I'm not stupid. I get the logic of it all, but slag it, this isn't supposed to be a logical thing!"

Dr. Sarkisian's professionally-neutral mask slipped, and she gave me a sympathetic half-smile. I vaguely remembered her personal history and realized she totally understood the irrationality of families, too.

I set the cup of water on the floor, put my elbows on my knees, and rested my head in my hands. Once again Dr. Sarkisian patiently waited as I battled the grief, beating it back, taming this beast of a broken heart. It took several deep breaths, but I finally lifted my head to look at her again.

"Not your first rodeo," she quietly said.

"Not by a long shot," I informed her, feeling something like resolve well up in me. It was less brittle, more steely, and full of a ferocity that threatened to consume me if I wasn't careful. But I'd ride this tiger for as long as I could…which would be a lot longer if I wasn't here.

I cleared my throat. "Anyway, that's what I came here to say."

"Before you go," she quickly added, "have you had any time to think about my question last time?"

My brow furrowed as I tried to remember what she was talking about.

"You had said that Ratchet's med bay bore the brunt of your wrath because it was the place where you made things right, and your life is very much not right at the moment. I asked what you wanted to do with this newfound knowledge."

"And I said I wanted to think about it," I remembered.

"You don't need to have an answer today, or ever, really."

"No, you're right. It's time to start…" There was no 'picking up the pieces' from this. I gave her a rueful half-smile. "Time to start figuring out how I'm going to find the will to get out of bed each morning."

She nodded in agreement. "Have you ever watched someone go through the grieving process, Mikaela?"

The question caught me by surprise. "No, not really."

"So no one's ever showed you how."

I thought of Annabelle – traumatized but tough Annabelle – and how she'd come to me in my grief to offer me understanding instead of sympathy. So had Will, I remembered, when I met him while jogging on the beach. "Just the Lennoxes. And only glimpses, really."

"I know your relationship with the Autobots is strained right now, to say the least, but they have learned from us how to move forward through grief…"

"I need to fix that rift, too," I blurted out.

She paused, studying me for a moment.

"Sorry, didn't mean to speak over you," I said, "but it's true. Because they're going to be part of whatever going forward looks like for me. Sam's…" I trailed off, uncertain how much she knew.

"Sam is a Prime," she supplied.

Meeting her gaze, I said, "Yes. And so am I."

That broke through her professional mask and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You have a bond with them?"

I guess I needn't have worried about her knowing about Sam's and Optimus' bond. "No, not really. Or at least it's not a full blown bond yet. But Ratchet thinks I have that potential. So does Optimus, for that matter. So yeah, it's really not optional to work through all this."

Again she nodded slowly, like she was gathering her thoughts. "Understand, the grieving process can't be forced or rushed. I'm here to equip you with the tools you need to effectively manage your grief along this journey, but there are no timelines. There's no 'should be' or 'supposed to be' for any stage of grief. Sometimes they overlap. Sometimes it'll feel like it's two steps forward and one step back. It's kind of like giving birth in that way. It can be a bit unpredictable, and the only way out is through."

My sigh tried to become a sob as I remembered my miscarriages, as well as Daemon, but I caught it in time.

"And…I'm going to be honest with you, Mikaela. Your mom, your history with her, is probably going to be a complicating factor. I would be very surprised if you didn't process some of that along the way." She must have seen how crushed I was feeling under all this weight because she added, "But you can get through this. I've seen it happen many times, and I have confidence in what I've seen of you so far."

I gave her a dubious look and she answered, "Ratchet doesn't let just anybody trash his med bay."

True, I mentally admitted.

"He has both training and experience in human-created talk therapy and grief counseling. I'm not going to rip off your mask, Mikaela. If you're ever ready to step out from behind it, I'm happy to help you, but I respect that's a bright line for you. If you're more comfortable with Ratchet or anyone else, for that matter, then go that route. But the only way out is through, and the journey is more pleasant with a companion or two."

I remembered Ratchet turning off the laser scalpel and his holoform wrestling the blowtorch from my hands. But he'd also stoically taken me emptying a drawer of socket wrenches and screwdrivers in his direction. And that look on his face then…he knew. Like Annabelle and Will Lennox, he knew what it was like to rage at the universe while absolutely certain it wouldn't do any good. He knew what it was like to be unable to hold it back any longer, too.

I stood and moved to leave, quietly saying, "Thanks."

"One last thing," she said, and I paused with my hand on the door. "You don't have to report back to me about it, but self-care often takes planning. Think on that a bit, too."

…

It hurt to shift my focus. It felt wrong. A part of me couldn't do it and mentally I kept fretting about Daemon, about what his final fate was. But I forced myself to stride into the med bay with my chin out and my back straight. Ratchet was at Optimus' repair berth while Evac and Arcee continued their work on Mirage. Before I could chicken out, I announced, "I'm here to fix what I broke."

Ratchet froze and then turned. After sizing me up for a moment (in which I weirdly felt more inclined to crumple or run than to squirm) he said, "Good. Fixing things is your primary function."

I'd never heard that phrase applied to a human before. I also unexpectedly felt seen. In Ratchet's optics, my primary function wasn't popping out babies. It wasn't running into battle. It was fixing that which was broken.

"I took care of the most critical damage," he said, turning his attention back to Optimus. As he did, he gestured at a human-sized workbench set up on what was essentially an Autobot side table, "But I left the rest at your repair station. I figured you'd be back when you were ready, and you'd need to get your hands dirty."

I blinked back tears again, still stupidly overly-emotional, as I climbed the stairs to the workbench. I shouldn't be surprised – Dr. Sarkisian did say he'd had training – but this went beyond that. This almost-casual acknowledgement that I was known and understood was more than I felt I deserved.

There were several items on the table in need of repair, but my gaze was drawn to the broken laser scalpel. A replacement lens was sitting next to it waiting for me to make this one thing, at least, right. With steady hands, I got to work.

"Once you get all that fixed up," Ratchet casually said, "you can help me or Evac. I figure we'll have Optimus ready for us to reinstall his weapons in three or four days."

…

Two days later, I was in Dr. Sarkisian's office again. The repairs Ratchet held in reserve for me were simple things, and I'd quickly gotten back to the real work of repairing the mechs. Yesterday (my first day back in the med bay as a healer) I'd helped with Mirage, but I'd also spent the morning doing some of the interior work on Optimus' injuries, under Ratchet's direction since it was fiddly stuff. I was honestly surprised it didn't leave me bitter.

It did, however, leave me braver.

To Dr. Sarkisian, I said, "I never knew my maternal grandmother. I don't even know her name – just that she was devoutly Catholic. I don't know who I am. That's why I mask like I do. I don't know, so I make up that public face and I turn her into whatever I need to survive." It felt almost like a confession, like this was a deep, dark secret I was admitting.

A ghost of a smile flickered across her face before Dr. Sarkisian's own professional mask fell back into place. "Can I pose two questions for you, Mikaela? You don't have to give me an answer to them, but I'd like you to consider them."

"Okay."

"Who do you hope you really are? And who are you afraid you really are?"

"You're not pulling any punches today, are you."

"I'm not sure how much longer I'll have you here," she earnestly said, "so I've got to make hay while the sun shines."

"Couldn't we Zoom or whatever?"

She blinked in surprise. "Yeah, probably, now that you mention it."

That was more reassuring than I expected. Nodding, I said, "I can tell you the answer to the second one, because I've always feared that's what I really am: a criminal and the daughter of criminals. The bastard. The outcast. The one beneath everyone else." With a furtive glance at her, I added, "The screw-up. The worthless one."

"Worthless?" she repeated, surprised.

"Not worth coming home to," I clarified, and her eyes widened in understanding. I added, "I know it was my fault he was in jail, but my dad didn't come home for ten years, either. And now Daemon…" I gave her a sad half-smile. "It's kind of beginning to feel like a curse, you know?"

"I could see why it would feel that way," she said. "What about the other question? Do you know the answer to that one, too?"

I paused, considering that. "I hope I'm the strong one. The one people can rely on."

"That's the mask," she pointed out. "Is that who you also hope is under it?"

I felt the answer and flinched – we were cracking open that shell today. But in the short time I'd known her, I already trusted Sarkisian more than I did some people I'd known for years. Gathering my courage, I answered, "Underneath… underneath is a four-year-old girl who just wants her mom to come home, who wants her family whole again."

She solemnly nodded before saying, "For the record, that's progress. And it makes sense that you work so hard to protect that little girl. Especially now…"

…

Over the next several days I somehow found it in me to wake up, to hug 'Trice good morning without falling apart, to wander through a day that was either numbingly dull or painfully sharp.

On the tenth day after the explosion, we didn't retreat to the cabins after dark like usual. Instead, we all waited in the main hangar. 'Trice dozed off in Trailbreaker's makeshift bed while Sam and I stood hand-in-hand and leaning against his altmode. It was close on to midnight when Tracks and Sideswipe touched down and strode into the hangar to make their report.

Tracks approached Prowl, but Sideswipe stepped over to me and Sam.

Crouching down onto one knee, he quietly said, "I…um, I'm sorry we don't have good news for you."

"Don't apologize," I interrupted, knowing I wouldn't be able to hold it together if he did that. "I'm just – we both are – grateful you went. That you took the risk and looked for him."

"I should have gone earlier. I should have followed them from the start."

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "Yeah, you probably should have. But that was Prowl's call to make, not yours."

He shook his helm. "I've never had a creation of my own, but I know what it's like to lose part of myself. We failed you, Warrior Goddess."

Like Ratchet and the Lennoxes, Sideswipe knew. This empathy from the most unexpected of places completely wrecked my composure. I pulled my hand away from Sam's to cover my face as the tears freely flowed again. Would I ever stop crying?

Even more surprising were the careful metal hands that scooped me up and held me against Sideswipe's warm chassis. I'd never imagined him capable of that kind of gentleness.

And then I realized my tear-stained cheek was against his glossy finish, and I lifted my head, trying to wipe the surface clean.

"I don't mind the salt," he said, "not this time."

…

I was up with the sun again, this time with a nightmare I only half-remembered. I'd dreamed I was Sideswipe and that I'd gone to look for Daemon – and I found him. I pushed the mental images of his broken body away from my mind, focusing on the people still here and with me.

Sam was so still beside me that I felt a flash of worry that I'd lost him, too. I tentatively touched his hand, reaching out over the bond sense. He startled awake but immediately clasped my hand and pulled me close. He clung to me over the kinda-bond until he seemed to realize what he was doing and pulled back.

In a whisper, I said, "Let's go outside so we don't wake up 'Trice."

He nodded in agreement and we quickly dressed. For several minutes, we walked hand-in-hand along the beach as I struggled to find a way to bring up what I needed to say. Finally I settled on, "Dr. Sarkisian's good. I'll give her that."

"Yes, she is," Sam agreed.

I watched the water wash over our feet, obscuring and partially burying them with each step. Everything changes. Nothing stays the same. That was the way it was supposed to be. "I'm stuck, Sam. I'm stuck because my mom walked out on me and now I've lost Daemon, too. I never really went through the stages of grieving with her. I don't know how to grieve because everything our society does expects there to be a funeral or a memorial or something and I…I need a body to bury."

I felt his grief almost like an electric shock through my hand, and with a little effort, I was able to wall him out again. Pushing on, I continued, "Even if it's just a hair of his head. I need something. Some kind of closure." Looking up into his stricken gaze, I said, "Will you ask Optimus to look? When he's up to it?"

His own grief softened as he drifted to a stop. Closing his eyes, he leaned closer to kiss my forehead. "I've already asked him," he whispered. "He'll look, as soon as he's able."

Taking a deep breath, I turned and we started walking back toward the cabin. "And…we should have breakfast with Ron and Judy."

Sam had kept them away from me, since Judy's lapses in memory tended to result in her saying things that just plain hurt too much. Ron had very graciously kept her occupied all this time, treating it like a tropical getaway. But it was time to face them.

"She'll ask about Daemon," Sam pointed out.

"Not if 'Trice has breakfast with the Lennoxes," I answered. "We'll ask if they're enjoying their island retreat and let her gush for half an hour."

"You don't have to. You know Mom won't even remember later, and she's a wrecking ball right now."

I steadily met his gaze. "Has there ever been a time she wasn't? Besides, you've been my rock, and we both should spend some time with them – for your sake. I know you lean on them, and I need you to remain strong."

In a softer voice, he said, "I don't want you to be even more hurt."

I snorted in grim amusement. "Too late. This is going to be our life now, Sam. The time we have left with your folks is limited. We can spare the hour and the mental energy for a meal with them."

And it went about like I expected. Judy asked when we arrived on the island, and when Sam said that we'd arrived there first, she waved him off. "I don't think so."

We let it go, and Sam asked, "Are you enjoying the beaches?"

"Oh yes!" Judy said and launched into a detailed description of everything they'd done, from swimming and sunbathing to a luau that I knew for a fact never happened. It hurt to be losing her, but at the same time, she was happy, and I could be happy for her.

The only cloud over the meal was a fleeting worry that I might one day forget Daemon. Would that be better or worse? I honestly wasn't sure, and I hoped I'd never find out.

We both got a text that Annabelle and 'Trice were on their way, and Sam made an excuse for me to leave, saying I was needed in the med bay. I was coward enough to retreat before my daughter arrived to spend some time with her grandparents.

Optimus was finally repaired enough that we could reconnect his weapons, and that mech was antsy. I'd never thought of the Prime as twitchy (not since that stupid virus, anyway), but he and Ratchet were snarking and quipping and downright snapping at each other sometimes. He really did not make a good patient, but Ratchet handled him expertly.

As much as there was still a part of me that was frustrated with Optimus, it felt good to be back in the med bay getting my hands grubby. Ratchet's wisdom resonated today: my primary function was repairing whatever was broken.

The hours flew by, and it wasn't until we were done that I realized it was pushing 2 pm. Sam and 'Trice picked me up from the med bay for a late lunch, and as we crossed the Autobot hangar toward the break room, Prowl's doorwings suddenly stiffened.

"I wonder what's up with him?" I absently said as we strolled on. I'd only ever seen him glitch that one time with Beatrice, so I was curious. There wasn't anything going on in the hangar that I would expect to set him off, though. It was almost depressingly quiet.

"It's Prowl, so…" Sam answered with a shrug and the kind of half-smile that counted as happiness these days.

As we walked into the break room, it seemed like everyone's phones started ringing: mine, Sam's, Will's, Sarah's, Annabelle's.

"Okay?" Sam said as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Oblivious, 'Trice darted toward the chocolate-covered granola bars.

When I pulled out my phone, it was Prowl calling. Perplexed, I answered and was dumped into a conference call. Everyone was shouting something about jazz and then Optimus boomed, "Jazz, report."

Ooooh! Jazz the Autobot, not jazz the music style. But that wasn't possible. He was extinguished…

"Optimus Prime," the mech drawled over my phone. "Seems some property a' yours found its way inta my spark chamber. Thought I'd return it in person. Oh, an' I found a cute lil' squishy of a Prime. Can I keep him?"

DAEMON?! Was he talking about Daemon?! I felt my knees go weak, and Sam kind of caught me on the way down. Sarah and Will were there in a heartbeat, too.

"Daemon!" Sam said, kneeling beside me and putting his phone on speaker. "Are you all right?"

"Sure am!" my son answered, and I started crying just like that time when Ultra Magnus and the others saved the world at the cost of their lives.

Daemon! It was his voice! He was okay! My son was alive! I wasn't sure how everything was going to turn out okay, but impossibly, it had.

Daemon babbled on about Jazz and Mars and seeing Earth through Jazz's… "Windshield?" I echoed, reeling. All I could imagine was Jazz in his alt-mode zipping through outer space.

Jazz explained that he was in his cometary form, which made way more sense, and then like a bucket of cold water, he asked if we had recruited any Seekers.

Was he being followed? I'd kill Dirge and Starscream myself!

But no, the problem, Jazz explained, was that he didn't want to attempt uncontrolled reentry with a human on board.

Before my brain could catch up enough with that idea to have a panic attack about it, Prowl calmly informed him that Optimus would intercept them.

Optimus. Optimus whose flight tech had my welds on it. Optimus who was kin to that frail human and who would make sure Daemon didn't get so much as a bumped elbow upon landing.

Working in the med bay had helped my son!

They talked on, but 'Trice caught my eye. She was sitting at one of the break room tables and had now moved on to a juice box. She was swinging her legs and grinning like she'd planned this whole thing. For all I knew, maybe she had, before Jazz was reignited.

And as if they hadn't all blown my mind enough this afternoon, she said, "I can't wait to see Fancy and Daemon! Then Besty and I can have our tea party, too!"

Will and Sam helped me off the floor and to a chair. "Isn't Jazz the name of the Autobot who died in Mission City?" Sarah asked.

"Yes," Sam answered. "It's the same mech. When Diego Garcia was raided last fall, the Decepticons took his frame, along with a bunch of other parts for a top-secret project we were working on. Daemon must have found him and brought him back."

"Using the Matrix?" Sarah pressed.

"Apparently," Sam said.

Her face lit up, "So we'll have Daemon and the Matrix and Jazz back?"

The recap left me feeling almost high on joy, after the heartbroken grief of the last… two or three weeks, I guess it was now.

Sam grinned from ear to ear. "Exactly."

"Optimus will be taking them to the Restricted Area," Will pointed out. "I expect you'll want to meet them there when they make planetfall."

"Yes," I said, lunging to my feet.

"Bumblebee called dibs on driving us," Sam said.

I gave him a puzzled look, and he clarified, "Little eavesdropper."

Ah. Beatus wanted to be there. I didn't blame him, and RaFly would be okay with it.

By the time we got situated and buckled in, it took us a few minutes to get down to the Restricted Area. Optimus had beat us there and Daemon was sitting in his hand.

A part of me had feared this day from the first time I saw Optimus in his holoform hold my newborn son. Sooner or later Daemon would discover the Autobots. Sooner or later, he would learn of their hopes and be swept away into their war. But in this moment, with the thrill of Daemon's safe return, I felt nothing but gratitude for my husband's brother.

Bumblebee rolled to a stop, and we all jumped out to sprint the last few steps across the sand to Daemon. So many arms, reaching for each other, and all four of us fell into a group hug.

The tropical afternoon sun beat down on us, the heat already teasing beads of sweat to my forehead, but that golden light saturated me with joy until I felt like I was glowing myself.

For the first time since before this nightmare began, I was whole. We were whole.