It's weird, seeing him in my head and not in the room with us. Instead, my mind conjures an image so pristine that I feel like I'm in the cold, dusty room with him, hand pressed against my abdomen, blue liquid leaking out of it.

He's coughing, but he seems to be over whatever happened to him early. Now, he's focused on cursing me out in every language that he knows even though I didn't even say his name.

And I swear on Primus, I will take your fleshy bones and snap them into nothingness, he says again. At this point, I'm over the threats--especially since I know he's not actually here.

Everyone is giving me odd looks, but I can't say anything. I won't say anything. How could I claim to know the one creature that could help us without seeming like a complete lunatic?

"Eleanor, is everything well?" Ratchet asks.

Ratchet? By the Allspark, I have not seen him in a what feels like vorns. What the slag is he doing in that horrible form?

I nod. My wrists dig into the cuffs. "Why do you ask?"

"Well. . ." He trails off, pursing his lips. "I am really unsure of how to describe this, but-"

"Your eye--" Ironhide interrupts, pointing to his own, "--it's glowing, like it did in the room."

"Glowing?" I ask, stomach dropping. Automatically, my hands reach for my eyes, but I haven't seen my reflection since before I was taken. I don't what I look like, haven't for over a month. "Wh-What are you talking about?"

"Here, it is better to show you." Ratchet sighs, pulling a small, handheld mirror from who knows where and walking over to me slowly, as though he were sneaking up on a deer. "Do not be frightened, okay. It is normal for the body to look different after one has not seen it in so long. You will be different, Eleanor. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"But you are still human."

He hands me the mirror. I take it with shaky hands. It's a bit hard to hold it with my hands currently bound, but I hold it up to my face, and what I see almost makes me drop it, a sob escaping my throat before I can do anything to stop it.

I am almost aghast, almost disgusted by what I see. I knew I had scars--I was okay with that. My scars were a part of me, and though I didn't love them, I lived with them. But everything else. . .

My skin, once tan and flawless, is now pale--a pale so white it looks like my skin is translucent. Papery. Ugly. So, so ugly.

There are more scars. More scars. I touch them, run my hand over them, skin touching tears touching tissue. The mirror lays in front of me. My crying face is not pretty, but then again, I'm not pretty because I don't look human. Not in the way it matters. Not in the way I want it to matter.

The worst part are my eyes. Eyes that I used to love more than anything, the only part of my body that I was truly happy with is another piece of torture that will haunt me forever.

My right one--it's. . . How do I even explain it? It's not glowing, not really, but there is a blue tint to it. Not like ocean blue or the pretty sapphire that makes you think of stormy skies and dark caves on the shores, but light blue. Light like Ron's--like Ironhide's and Ratchet's and Optimus's.

My left one is a milky green, and it is the only one crying tears. Why is it the only one crying tears? Why isn't my right one working? It's glossy, but no liquid falls.

"Why won't I cry?" I ask everyone. No one. The world. Starscream and Barricade. My hand reaches for it, claws it. "Why can't I cry?"

Not them. Not them. They don't cry. Starscream made sure I knew it. Their eyes don't get moist. They don't feel remorse or sorrow the way that we do. They do not cry.

Cry, dammit, I claw and claw, but it never sheds a tear, and I am so, so ugly and I look so alien and it's all wrong, it's supposed to be green and soon it'll be red, red, red--

"Eleanor."

I didn't hear her come in, but I feel her arms on me. Warm. So warm, like the sun kissing a winter's day. Her hand on my skin, my pale skin that looks like the snow. That feels like titanium and tissue paper all at once. She pushes the mirror away, and scoots me over, and she says some more words, and everything in me hurts bad, so bad that I can't even breathe and not even Cliffjumper is saying anything because he can't because I'm a monster. I can't even cry--not really, and I'll be like Theo soon and it won't matter and--

"Mom, they ruined me," I say repeatedly. Ruined, destroyed. Ugly. Broken. Fix her. Please. "Mommy, they ruined me."

A kiss on the forehead. It feels like a promise, like a torch in a dark night, lighting the way. Her arms are around me and she rocks us back and forth.

"You are so beautiful, my daughter," she whispers against my head. "So, so beautiful. My greatest masterpiece."

You will be so strong, Starscream once said with a wicked grin. My greatest weapon.

They both sound like wicked lies and sweet truths wrapped in one. I do not know which to believe, but my skin shivers and for a moment, her hands almost feel like claws.

✦

Later, Mom tells me she sent the men away. She says it was for privacy reasons, and I am grateful, but I can't help but feel ashamed when they come back, Dad looking like a kicked puppy as he gives me a timid hug. Ratchet's lips are still pursed, and Optimus manages professionalism.

Ron--Ironhide--doesn't return.

That's okay, I tell myself. It's fine. I didn't want to see him anyway. Didn't want to hear any more lies that he had to feed me.

(The disappointment I feel means nothing, even as time drags by and he never comes through the door.)

"Well, that could have been handled better." Dad claps his hands together a few moments later.

"I did not think her reaction would be so. . . lively," Ratchet replies. "My deepest apologies, Eleanor. I had merely been curious about the--" he gestures to his eyes "--state of your physicality."

"That's okay," I say, face burning in more than one way. Mom's hands are holding mine and it feels grounding, having her with me, but shame strikes through me as I remember what I did. In front of everyone. "I'm, er, sorry that you guys saw that. Whatever that was." A laugh, nervous and wobbly, escapes. "I'm not like unstable, I swear. It was just--"

"A lot?" Ratchet raises a brow. "I can understand that, and perhaps we should not have tried to attempt it while wounds remain fresh, but your eye. . . That is concerning. Does it hurt?"

I touch it again. After a moment, I shake my head. "No. Why?"

Ratchet touches his thumb and index finger to his chin. He hums. "Well, this is enlightening. Earlier, you were in agony from the pain. I had thought perhaps that was a common denominator. Your eye and pain."

There's nothing I can say to that. Earlier, I wanted the memories out of me so bad that I felt like they forced their way to the surface then out without my permission. I don't know why it would be glowing now or why it even glowed in the first place.

"Is it because of the Energon, maybe?" I ask, biting my lip.

"I would like to make that hypothesis, but without testing, I will not be able to form a conclusion," he says, frowning.

Don't need one, 'Doc, Cliffjumper says in my head. Femme's a Echo.

An Echo? I frown. What the hell is an Echo? And most importantly, what the hell are you doing in my mind?

In my head, I see Cliffjumper let out a puff of air--a mimic of a chuckle. The leaking from his abdomen has stopped. There's an almost rueful tilt to what I assume his lips are.

Wrong again, fleshbag. Can't get in your head. Only works if you do it. Point in case, you're an Echo.

I don't know what that is.

I want to run a hand through my hair. I have known this creature for all of one night and I crave the sweet bliss of amnesia. Ratchet grunts as he glances over me, lips pursing again.

"Your eye, Eleanor," he states.

I bring a hand up to it. The mirror laying in front of me tells me that, yes, it is glowing once again. I sigh, pinching the corner of it.

"I really don't know, Ratchet," I say. "I don't know what's causing it. Truly."

I do have a guess, though. It's giant and red and is probably a fire truck. And it's currently laughing at me.

Not a fraggin' fire truck, you foolish-he cuts himself off before snapping, Would you please tell Ratchet what you are? For the love of the Allspark, it will save us so much trouble.

I shake my head because no. I do not trust this Cliffjumper even though both Ironhide and Ratchet spoke about him as though he was going to help their case. Sure, he knows about the anatomy, but what if he knows about it because he's evil? Because he was going to do the same thing that Starscream and Barricade did?

"Well, let's go back to before. When you came into the hangar earlier, it was faintly glowing. And you said that you had seen something." Ratchet comes over to the edge of the bed, bringing out his little flashlight and shining it through my eyes. "Tell me about that."

"I thought I saw something outside," I explain, swallowing, following the beam with my eyes until he clicks it off. "But I think it was just the lack of sleep and the paranoia fooling me. You know, seeing something that's not there? Stuff like that."

It's true. I saw something that wasn't here, but I think that it's somewhere. Somewhere on this world.

Starscream knows where it's at.

And I want to find out, before anyone else does.

✦

Cliffjumper doesn't shut up.

Ever.

It's like there's a switch in his mind turned on that controls his line of thought and it hasn't been turned off since he's found me.

Once again, he repeats like I'll believe him, you found me. Not the other way around. If it were my way--

We wouldn't be here right now, I roll my eyes, leaning back on my bed. Outside, it's dark and the room reflects what I assume is a frigid night, a cool draft falling over the room. The television plays softly in the background, and Mom and Dad are asleep in the chairs despite my protests and I'm taking to a Cybertronian. In my head. For no reason.

No, Cliffjumper denies because apparently there's no secrecy between us. No line where he can't see my thoughts. It's just an open line between us like a pool full of fish intermingling with one another. There obviously is a reason. We just need to figure out what it is, foolish femme.

And have you had any luck with that?

Silence. But I can feel his frustration. He doesn't like the situation any more than I do.

After Ratchet left with Optimus--after Galloway made sure I was still handcuffed before leaving the base--Cliffjumper started talking more. Bringing ideas to my head. Asking questions. Wondering who I am. Why I know the other Cybertronians.

In turn, I asked him where he was since I've concluded that he's not dead and not a figment of my imagination.

I still desire offlining, he says, and I see him rolling his eyes. I do not wish to be connected to such an Earthling.

As if this is fun for me, I reply, sighing. If we just knew why. Or if you told me where you were-

I'm positive that you'll figure out where I am especially when I have not fraggin' idea!

I quell my anger, though my stomach turns in knots. Finding out where he is might lead me to Theo, which will also lead me to Starscream--but that doesn't matter. If I'm right and Starscream did take him as the vision earlier portrayed then I just have to deduce likely places he might be and narrow it down.

Oh, I'm certain that task will be easy for someone of your intelligence, he snarks.

Yeah, and escaping will be a breeze for someone with a giant hole in their stomach.

The memory you saw of me was cycles ago, young girl. Starscream had bested me. It is a wonder I still live until this day, considering he received what he wanted and vanished without a trace.

In my head, I see Starscream looming over Cliffjumper as though I were there with him, Starscream's crimson eyes gleaming as he connected something to Cliffjumper. Wires. For. . . extraction.

Project Echo.

The words are written in Cybertronian symbols, but before I can read anymore Cliffjumper slams a wall up on his head, and I grab my own, wincing. There is no apology, and I bite my lip to ground myself.

Why are you hiding the truth? Don't I need to know it more than anyone?

A laugh, the first one I've heard from him, escapes Cliffjumper's mouth. He laughs and laughs until he coughs up Energon, and I feel slightly uncomfortable getting a front row to that.

You might know Ratchet and Prime and Ironhide, but I do not trust a human, especially when it does not trust me.

Anger is the first emotion. Understanding is the next. I know he is referring to my dismissal earlier, when I didn't tell Ratchet what he told me. But I explained, I told him I didn't want them to have any more reason to suspect me of something sinister and if I knew who Cliffjumper was without ever meeting him then I was guilty in their eyes because, after all, Cliffjumper is supposed to be dead.

Rub it in, will you?

Sorry. I'm not. Not really. But everyone does think you're dead. If I said that you weren't, they'd certainly send me off with Galloway.

Prime is smarter than that. Especially when you're more protected with the 'bots than the humans. Cliffjumper nods and in my head, I see Prime in a different light, one that's not shrouded with shadows and anger, but with respect and vigor as he regards Cliffjumper on a place that's always dark but somehow shines brighter than the sun does on the Earth. He would trust you, slagger.

Don't curse at me, asshole, I snap, but I bite my lip anyway. I can't--there's too much at stake. I was just taken by crazy alien robots called. . . Decepticons? Cliffjumper nods again. There's no way I can trust someone who lied about who they really were with information like this, considering how long they did lie.

Humans and their trust. Cliffjumper grunts and leans his head back against the wall, the only thing allowing me to see his outline being his eyes. I roll my eyes at the comment, but don't answer. He says, Just tell Ratchet at least. Has he not been a good doctor, despite everything?

He sounds sure of it, like he knows my answer before I say it. I guess he does because the automatic thought is yes, Ratchet has been a good doctor, and Cliffjumper can see it like he'd see anything else. I know telling Ratchet would help in the long run, but there are too many what-ifs, too many doubts that he will betray me and then I'll be another lab rat.

If you tell Ratchet, I'll let you see the files.

. . . I hate you.

He's smug, for good reason, but I push it away, even if I'm already standing, reaching for Dad's giant hoodie to put over my body, despite the cold not bothering me the way it used to. My arms won't go through the sleeves because of the handcuffs, but it's still nice to be in it rather than just in my hospital gown.

The stitches on my stomach twitch with each step, and opening the door is harder than it needs to be, but Mom and Dad don't stir, even after I close it quietly behind me.

Unlike before, the hallways are empty, void of anyone. Lights shine brightly down on me, making me squint as I sneak down the corridor. My footsteps are silent, and Cliffjumper is almost bouncing off the walls in my mind, and I'm still tired from earlier, but my body still doesn't want sleep, so I might as well get it over with. I might as well walk to wherever it is the Cybertronians reside and explain everything to Ratchet in hopes that he might spare me. Or figure out why this is happening. Maybe even end it.

The walk is long, and my breathing is a bit labored when I reach the hangar-the one I was in before, where I can hear metal clinking around, indicating that someone-something-is in there moving around.

There is a hole where the door used to be, and I am grateful for it because my hands are covered by the hoodie, even though a thread of guilt winds its way through me because I did that. The crater is still in the way, pieces of sediment brushed into a pile underneath it like they were too lazy to finish the job. Or maybe they knew I was coming and wanted me to see the destruction I caused.

Whatever. I walk forwards, letting my ears guide me to the sound of metal on metal, a burnt aroma wafting through the air as I timidly step deeper into the room.

Despite the earlier chaos that I witnessed coming into the room earlier, padding in here now feels like I'm on a different plane, the room silent except for the murmuring and clanking of tools together. When I glance up, perplexed at the lack of life, I stop dead in my tracks, suddenly nauseated.

Fifteen feet in front of me stands Ron--Ironhide, whoever--in his Cybertronian form, a mass of black and silver, speaking with the other Cybertronian from earlier, the one that Cliffjumper thought about until his thoughts molded with mine and I couldn't tell which ones were mine and which his. Which emotions were his and which were mine?

The longing that I feel must belong to him because it hits me when I see her again, so strong that I want to cry for Cliffjumper, who is silent in my head. I don't know if its surprise or sorrow that keeps him quiet, but I crave his words now more than ever.

If only so I could have something to keep myself tethered when both of their eyes turn towards me, and Ironhide, who's got a scar on his face, on his eye, where it's dimmer than his left-where it's dented and worn and it looks like it hurts and my hands tremble because I can see Ron's face in Ironhide's face and it's like touching fire all over-says, "Eleanor."

And I wish I was in the dark, dark room with Cliffjumper, far away from whatever poison is running through me.