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The testing takes forever. Ratchet won't let Galloway near me until he's done with everything. It's both a blessing and a curse; a blessing because I don't have to be around Galloway, and a curse because it takes an eternity. The first thing he does is stick some needle in me, extracting six tubes of blood out of me, the color burning such an ugly purple that it makes Ratchet sigh.

Next, he moves me to a cylindrical bed in a brightly lit room, guiding me gently onto the cot. He assures me that it'll only be for a moment, but the machine hovers over me as it turns, circling. It's dizzying so I keep my eyes closed. I'm reminded, for a moment, of the examinations on my body, of the way they turned me over and forced a machine to look over me. My teeth grind together. I don't stop shaking for fifteen minutes, and that's when he takes an X-ray of my full body, starting with my chest and moving down to my wrists and legs.

It's nothing new, but the familiarity of them does nothing to ease the panic rising in me. The last time I had X-rays done on me, the doctors were trying to figure out exactly what happened to me that prevented my legs from walking. The only difference now is I'm standing instead of laying down on something.

Ratchet takes the X-rays, pushing me up against the grid, the coolness of it giving me chills. He works through it quickly, precisely, telling me when to hold my breath, when to release it. They're simple. Easy. It's not so hard.

But my legs still shake. My stomach still churns. I have to take stuttering breaths to ward off the oncoming terror. I can almost feel the cool shackles on my arms--can almost feel them weighing on my ankles.

"Are you alright?" Ratchet asks as he positions my legs correctly for the next X-ray.

"Yes." I nod. The word comes out in a breath, and I want to push his hands off me, but they disappear before my hands can move on their own. I release another breath; Ratchet says something else and then it's over. It's all completed. He'll have results soon.

Dad's sitting on the ground outside when I push myself out of the lab. I wring my hands in my hospital gown, going over to him. He wraps an arm around my shoulder. To the right, Galloway stalks up, eyes harried and footsteps quick.

"I said an hour!" he exclaims, looking small against Optimus Prime's giant stature. "It has been well over three!"

"Change of plans," Ron says blankly, kicking himself off the wall. "We aren't taking orders from the humans anymore."

Galloway's men approach, and they stand behind Galloway, hands readied on their guns. I track the movements, listen to the way they're breathing, slow and measured. Ready to strike at any time.

"What do you mean 'change of plans?'" Galloway glares at Ron-Ironhide, my mind supplies angrily. "I don't think you understand who's in charge here, do you?"

Optimus raises a hand. "What Ron means to explain--"

"I meant what I had said," Ron states easily, voice dark and threatening. Optimus sighs from beside him. "You are not educated in Cybertronian matters, therefore your say on the topic has become useless." He looms over Galloway, his eyes piercing. His posture reminds me of a thunderstorm, terrifying and dizzying all at once. Something flutters in my chest. I have to look away.

"And you think that you'll have more luck figuring out how they messed her up?" Galloway glares at me, angry and unhinged, almost. He's breathing heavily. Someone lays a hand on his arm. "She's a threat to national security. She needs to be detained before she can hurt anyone! You saw what she did!"

Detained. I almost wish. I don't like this confrontation, nor the way that all of these men seem prepared to fight each other should the chance arise. I wish Mom were here, wish I was holed up in my hospital room. I wish that stupid apparition would have never appeared before me.

"With adrenaline in one's body, anything is possible," Ron explains slowly as though he is talking to a child. "That is basic human anatomy. Or are you not so educated that you cannot decipher that from alien technology?"

Galloway's face turns an epic shade of red, changing from a bright crimson to an alarming fuchsia. My mouth parts as I stare at the scene. His mouth opens and closes more than once, stuttering words coming out of it. He doesn't complete his sentence.

"You dare speak to me like that?" he asks, moments later, when his voice has returned to him.

Ron--Ironhide doesn't hesitate. He nods. "Yes. I do. Eleanor has not been a threat since being rescued. She has been healing under the care of Ratchet, and you have disturbed that peace for her because of your 'concerns.' Her problems are caused by our people, let us figure out how to fix her."

Fix her.

I'm not broken. There's a giant hole in my chest. Scars litter my face, and I just went through one of the most gut-wrenching experiences of my life, but I'm not broken. I don't need to be fixed. I am not a weapon that needs repairs.

"Careful with your words, bot," Galloway snaps. "One wrong move, and I'll have you exiled."

"Do it, fleshbag," Ironhide retorts. "Then who is going to fight Starscream when he inevitably returns for Eleanor? Who's going to help you then?"

Galloway glares at Ironhide's human form for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes scanning over Ironhide's face before he grunts out in defeat. He cannot say anything to Ironhide's bluff because he is correct; without the Cybertronians here, there will be no one to protect me if (when) Starscream returns to finish what he started.

"She is to be cuffed," Galloway says, relenting. "That is a condition that I cannot go back on. I cannot risk the lives of people here because of your personal attachment to one measly female."

"She is injured," Ron-please, I beg, his name is Ironhide-snaps. "What damage could she possibly--"

"It's fine," I murmur. It doesn't feel fine, but it gets Ron--Ironhide--to focus his attention on me, his eyes open with concern as he grunts. The action almost makes me grin, despite myself. So achingly familiar. I step away from Dad's arms, holding my hands out. "He's right, Ro--Iron. . ." I shake my head, frowning. "If it's to ease his mind, I might as well. It's better than being detained."

"Which is what should happen," Galloway mumbles. A man steps forward, pressing the cuffs on so tightly that it makes me wince. "You have not been amiable this entire time."

"You haven't given me a reason to be," I say, shrugging. I glance at the guy who placed the handcuffs on me. "Do these not get looser?"

"Protocol," he replies shortly.

I snort. "Of course." I flex my hands apart quickly, testing the restraints. Solid and unyielding. Stronger than before.

"I have been nice," Galloway says suddenly, eyes narrowed.

"Yelling at me to tell you what I don't know is not exactly pleasant."

"I have to look out for the country. I can't spare your feelings."

I frown at him. "I never said you had to. Patience goes a long way, though." I weave myself around them, heading in the direction Ratchet told me to go when he let me out of the lab.

"I don't have time to be patient when you're a threat."

Galloway trails after me, as expected. My pace is quicker than his, so he struggles to keep up with me. Optimus doesn't follow us, but Dad and Ron--Ironhide!--follow behind Galloway's men, talking swiftly and angrily to one another.

"Very well," I say easily. Surprise shoots through me at the disregard with which I am handling the situation. On any other occasion, I would be shaking in the face of authority, but something about Galloway's beady eyes and balding head amuses me rather than intimidates me. His irritation makes me grin. "We're going to my room, if you didn't already know that."

"You should be in a cell," Galloway mutters.

"Then put me in one," I snap back, wrists flexing underneath the cuffs. "Do it. You want to protect the country, put me in prison. Run your tests on me. Experiment on me. Kill me, if that's what'll let you sleep at night--"

"Eleanor--!" Dad cries, offended.

There's an ache in my chest, and a throbbing in my head, and I want to be dead. I don't want to be here. Ratchet took test after test. My body was exposed and stared at like it was an anomaly and it felt like being on that metal slab, in the dark, dark room, surrounded by nothing and everything. Too much and too little. Strapped and stranded. No escape. Only torture and silence then torture again and then--

"You are testing my patience, girl," Galloway snaps as we reach my hospital room. "Enough of your immaturity."

A laugh catches in my throat. Or it's a sob. Immaturity? For what? Wishing death upon myself? Wishing that I could free myself from the pain and memories that haunt me? From the experience that I had to go through not once but twice?

Immature. Sure.

I walk into the room, allowing Dad and Ironhide to enter as well. Galloway tries to come in, but I say, "I'm not too comfortable with you lurking," in the softest voice I can manage. "I don't really--I'm still--" And then tears prick my eyes. "I trusted someone once. . . A-And. . ."

Galloway's lips pucker like he's sucked on a lemon. A tear leaks down my face, and I sniffle, wiping it away with my arm.

"Oh God," he mutters, wiping a hand down his face. "Ridiculous."

But he takes a step out of the room, and I close it with my elbow, my features cooling immediately.

Dad and Ron--Ironhide, seriously, this is getting old--are looking at me oddly.

"El?" Dad says, watching me closely as I maneuver on the bed. The handcuffs make it slightly difficult, but I manage. "What that really necessary?"

"Hm? I'm sorry?"

"That. . . display? What was that for?"

My eyes widen. "Oh, Galloway? There's nothing grown men hate more than women crying, so I cried. Nothing to it." I shrug, but now I feel smaller. It's easier, picking at Galloway. He puts up a talk but won't fight. Can't. Too scared. Under Dad's and Ironhide's scrutiny, I exhale, relaxing for the first time in a while. "I don't think he needed to take that much blood," I say, picking at the cotton underneath my elbow.

My eyes are swollen and tired, drooping in fatigue. I hadn't realized I was so exhausted. My body is faring no better. It feels like I've been hit by multiple trains simultaneously. I am slouched on against the wall, taking in deep breaths to try and rid myself of the experience I just had.

Dad paces in front of me. "I think he should have taken more. We don't know what the hell is in it. What's making it that purple color."

"He suspects it could be Energon poisoning," Ironhide supplies from his stance by the door. When he sees my dad's concerned gaze, he hurriedly says, "However, that is only a hypothesis. It could be anything. It is probably harmless."

Dad is not convinced. "And that show we just saw? Is that harmless as well?"

"Well, none of us were hurt," Ironhide tries.

"Yeah, but Eleanor had to suffer, and I don't even think she realized she was literally projecting her memories outside of her mind."

My eyes flutter shut. I actually hadn't realized that they could see my memories as well as I could. I didn't think anything about it--only believed that Dad was worried because of my words, not what he saw. I sigh, rubbing at my eyes.

"Do you. . ." Ron starts hesitantly. I crack an eye open; he's addressing me. "Do you have any speculation about the anomalies?"

"Not in particular," I reply slowly, a bit weary of the open expression on his face. My memories of him describe him as closed-minded, a shielded castle that locks its doors anytime someone breaks down a defense of his. His eyes are wide with concern, and despite there being a hard glint in them, he doesn't seem angry at me. It makes my head spin. "There's not much that they included me in. Or, well, not much that I was awake for. Whatever you guys saw was the gist of it. What they did when I was unconscious was up to them."

Dad huffs in frustration. "Have you ever heard of a human with Energon poisoning?"

Ron shakes his head, almost regrettably. "The information we have is not helpful. The last recorded human to succumb to Energon poisoning died within ten kliks. It disintegrated every bone in their body."

"Ten kliks? How long is that?"

"Twelve earthen minutes," I supply before I can stop myself, the information coming as easily to me as basic math. "A short death. At least they didn't suffer. Do you know if it's another case like mine?"

Ron regards me for a moment, eyebrows raised to his forehead. Dad makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat at my comment, but doesn't say anything, running a hand through his head.

"I do not think so," Ron replies, sighing out. "I can only hope it is not, so that your life might be spared."

There is no comment on that. Words are heavy on my tongue, but I won't sully the hope that both he and my dad have. Sparing my life seems almost laughable since it feels like I've died and was resurrected more than once. Since it feels like I'm nothing but a walking corpse with more knowledge than I know what to do with.

Ratchet returns a couple minutes later--I can hear Galloway's indignation from outside--clipboard out and eyes narrowed in concentration. Optimus Prime follows behind him. Something pulls in my stomach, something hot running up my arm. I have to look away. I almost wish he would have stayed away.

Ratchet says, "I've looked over all your labs and x-rays, and I can confirm that there is Energon in your blood."

The surprise doesn't blind me, doesn't ache in the way it should have. I knew this already, could feel it in the way my veins ran slower, didn't need as much circulation. Energon was a word supplied to me by Starscream, a word that I knew the meaning to without caring for it. It was only right that it flowed through me--what was one more piece of them scarring my humanity?

"What?" Dad snaps, green eyes wide with anger. "What do you mean there is Energon in her blood?"

"As I have stated, Colonel Cambridge," Ratchet continues calmly, pulling up an image on the monitor. Dots blot the screen, some red and some violet. There is also a blue pigment in there, bright and octagonal, resting on top of the violet ones like a virus kissing a cell. Ratchet points to the violet cells. "These are her white blood cells." His finger moves towards the sapphire ones. "These are bits of Energon, spread out through her body."

Ron glares at the screen like he can somehow change it through will alone. "How is that possible? Energon does not spread, Ratchet. It's a concentrated matter in every form."

"I am well aware, Ron." Ratchet sends him a sharp look. "Do you forget who the medic is here?"

"Does that even matter?" Dad asks, running a hand through his hair. "My daughter could be dying, and you're worried about this? Tell me what's going on!"

Ratchet sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. I watch as he goes over to Dad, pressing him into a chair. "Getting worked up is only going to make this more difficult for us all. This information is as new to us as it is to you. Until now, no human has ever withstood Energon and lived to tell the tale. What's even more concerning are her scans and X-rays."

Dad's face pales, looking grey and ashen. "What--" He cuts himself, pressing his face into his hands.

"Tell us, Ratchet," Ironhide demands, voice hard. When I glance at him, however, his face is about as stricken as my dad's. I rub my eyes, press hands into the bed, the handcuffs rubbing against my wrists.

"There is. . . I do not even know how to explain this," Ratchet says, looking as tired as I feel. "They have inserted metal in her body. Over her bones. Over everything."

"What?" Dad whispers, and his voice cracks. When he glances up, his eyes are rimmed in red. He inhales shakily, and then presses his hands into his eyes, shaking his head. "What do you mean?"

"I suppose I shall show you this first, so you will not panic too much."

Ratchet clicks on the keyboard and then two pictures of basic DNA strands pop up on the screen. I stare at them through hazy eyes and at first, I can't see the difference, assuming that Ratchet's just shown us two sets of DNAs, but then the left one pops out. The DNA on the right looks normal, everything attached in the helix ladder that's always confused me.

The DNA on the left is the same, but not. There's something flickering on one of them, like a piece of a ladder that's missing. A step gone. Not gone, but holographic in a way.

Ratchet points to it. "See that. That is Eleanor's DNA. And that--" he presses at the other one, "--is a normal, human DNA."

"Eleanor's human," Dad says with a grunt. "I can attest to that."

"Could you not?" I ask, sighing.

Ratchet glowers. "I did not claim otherwise. I am only stating that her DNA is structured differently than a normal human's. As you can see, they are similar, very similar, but there are some molecules that are acting. . . odd."

"Odd?" I question. "How?"

"That I cannot answer. I am going to try and figure more out tonight, but none of us are specialized to deal with human anatomy and Cybertronian anatomy. Together that is."

"What do you mean 'Cybertronian anatomy'?" Dad's voice is hoarse.

"I mean, there is Cybertronian material in your daughter, and I am not well-educated in the matter."

"Well, you need to educate yourself," Dad says. "There's no time like the present."

Optimus Prime shakes his head. "It is not such an easy matter, Colonel Cambridge."

Ironhide nods, though he looks defeated. "Prime speaks the truth. The last known 'bot who had information about human and Cybertronian anatomy and how they coincided was--"

"Cliffjumper," Ratchet finishes solemnly.

What.

Almost as though summoned, I hear the voice from earlier in my head, clear as day.

A groan almost slips past my lips, but I bite them to refrain.

This must be some joke. An absolute joke. There is no way--no way--that the only creature that has knowledge on Cybertronian and human anatomy is in my head.

What, he repeats as though bothered.

Clear as though he were sitting here in this room with me, I can see the one they call Cliffjumper--the one from the visions earlier.


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