~~Nesting~~

By Ayngel

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, or make any money from this story.

*Content Warnings*: This fic contains mechsex, of sticky, plug and play and spark varieties. It contains mechpreg, and is all about replication among Transformers, sparklings, parenthood and the trials and tribulations of youngling-rearing. Please don't read if you have an aversion to any of these things. *Warnings* this chapter: Fluff, angst and some intense replication/reproduction P&P sex in this chapter, and oral sex.

Contuinuity: G1 Season 3

Characters: This chapter - Hook, Scrapper, Long Haul and Scavenger

Summary: A few more words, but then Scrapper has an epiphany and he and Hook get it together again - with more success!

Chapter 9

As he charged along the rattling corridors, Hook's panic grew. Glances into compartments showed them filled with many beings, but not even any Cybertronians – let alone a Constructicon.

He forged on, charging through a narrow passage that ran between rows of swaying seats. He scanned every one, ignoring the indignant glances, the openly hostile stares. Still no Scrapper.

Were it not for the situation, an odd satisfaction may well have been creeping in – because that smart aft Rodimus besieged by squadrons of bugs was a most appealing notion. But if what the three has said was right, then that would somehow mean Onslaught was in control, his superiority a viable possibility – and Hook was darned if he was ever going to admit that.

No – and it was a silly idea anyway. Look at all the trouble Megatron had had with the Insecticons on Earth? Intriguing as they were, you couldn't trust the fraggers as far as you could throw them. He had to get Scrapper. Had to warn him. Had to tell him that…

That what? Well – that Onslaught was dangerous for a start. But also that - he supposed - they would stay on Delta Pavonus; because of the maniac was off fighting wars then Delta would be safe for them to…

Yes, to raise their creation. Because they were going to have that; weren't they? Of course they were! Hook might have said what he said but – well – any fool could have told you that was only in the heat of the moment. It was obvious!

If only he could just find his mate…

Hook passed through another two equally Scrapper-less carriages; then reached the restaurant car. It was empty but for one solitary attendant, who was cleaning glasses behind the bar. He was - Hook noted with relief - a Cybertronian neutral. "Did you see a green Construction mech come through here?" he asked.

"Yeah…guy went through that way a short while ago. But…" the attendant looked Hook up and down. "Hey – why don't you join me in a high grade? Don't get many of our types on this rattlebox. On the house?"

"I'll pass…" Hook ignored the a bottle of pink liquid – obviously a fine choice – and the rueful look on the mech's face; much as his ego should have usually responded most positively to such attention. Throwing open the door, he strode on through to the next car.

…

Scrapper was not far away. He had made his way past the crowded compartments and restaurant car and through another door, until he came to where the carriages joined, a piece of floor between tall luggage racks that shook from side to side with the movements of the train.

The rain hammered harder than ever, a cacophony of watery bullets on the metal roof. Scrapper felt the train slowing, no doubt a result of the worsening weather. He let the door close behind him and leaned against the wall, staring at the rain-streaked window as an emptiness spread slowly through his systems.

Why did things with Hook have to be like this? The trouble was, Scrapper knew why. It was - he now conceded - something more profound than a mere jealousy over each others' lovers. It rose up like a looming dark shadow that surrounded their existence: the never truly resolvable conflict between Scrapper, leader of the Constructicons and Hook, head of Devastator.

Had their entire gestalt not been created with a delicate balance; had not part of the decision to have six and not five members been so as to allow for two leaders? And had not part of Hook's job been to keep those two roles ever at slight odds, both functional – but neither ever truly superior?

This really was a mistake, Scrapper thought miserably. We've never needed other mechs and ex-lovers to cause problems.

Scrapper's fist clenched in frustration. Why had he not seen this before? Why had Hook not seen it? No wonder they had failed. The way it was could not fail to produce a result exactly as it was - passionate one moment and at loggerheads the next. Surely replication was not just difficult. It was impossible.

A tear made its way down Scrapper's cheek. If only he'd accepted the real problem after the first time, instead of allowing everything that had happened since to fill him with false hopes. His spark pulsed, dull and painful, so much worse than before.

His pelvis ached, and he rested a hand on his abdomen – above the place where his replication chamber was so diligently preparing in readiness. He stared into the night. "I'm so sorry" he muttered to the being that would never come to be.

Just then, there was a noise behind him, and Scrapper turned to see the door crash open. Through it came Hook.

The crane's face was a picture of anguish and worry. For a moment, Scrapper's spark lifted in an illogical optimism. If Hook could maybe just – apologise – again…

But Scrapper was disappointed. Hook caught his arm. "Scrapper!" he exclaimed urgently. "You have to stay close to me. It's Onslaught – he's dangerous. He's – he's - in league with the Insecticons!"

….

Scrapper simply stared at him – seconds before anger swept through. The concoction of some story to divert attention from the subject of a conflict! Oh yes - was this not a typical Hook tactic? Perhaps it also was part of the 'balance' – but whatever the case, it had always been darned annoying. For a moment, he considered just leaving - but there was only one carriage after this and it was first class - doubtless full of felines. Hook would be sure to follow…

Two angry construction mechs charging through those elegant surroundings? Being thrown off the train would hardly help their situation. Nevertheless, Scrapper shook off Hook's hand. "Is that all you have to say?" he demanded furiously of his team mate.

"Isn't it enough? We need to be safe somewhere, Scrapper. We have to – do something about it, Scrapper. And I'm sure you must realize…" he drew himself up dramatically. "We can no longer be friends with the Combaticons!"

Incredible. Apart from the utter ridiculousness of this, Hook was talking as though everything was just as it had been earlier! "Why do we have to be 'safe?' It's not as though we're making a creation or something," Scrapper said bitterly.

"Of course we are! I just -" Hook turned away. Then back again. "I didn't really mean that what I said. You know that, Scrapper!"

Against his wishes, Scrapper's spark warmed, a traitor to his inner resolve. But he was incensed afresh. "Oh I do, do I?" he snapped.

"Scrapper – I think…"

"No! I'll tell you what I think, Hook." Scrapper shouted. "And you think about it, because this is now it always is, isn't it? You're an aft. Then, you change your tune – and hey presto, you cook up some pit with which to exonerate yourself. I wouldn't have minded you coming after me and being sorry, but no - you have to go make up some story…"

"It is not some story!" Hook yelled – "I heard it with my own audios! Scrapper - listen…" he made to move closer again.

"No!" Scrapper backed off. He pointed a finger at Hook. "You're just trying to make things go your way without having to address what we were arguing about. And it's despicable, Hook – using Onslaught like that. I've never heard anything so ridiculous in my life!"

"I knew it!" Hook exploded. "I knew you'd take his side!" He swung around, hands in the air, his crane hook clanking loudly against his chassis.

"Everything all right here?" The door had opened a crack, and the intrigued face of the attendant had appeared. "We're fine!" Hook snapped.

"Hey – all right!" The mech looked mildly amused. The door closed.

"Look - I'm not taking anyone's side I'm just trying to be rational!" Scrapper lowered his voice. He felt suddenly emotional again (darn it, why did that have to happen right now?) "And I'm also trying to come to terms with the fact that one moment we're madly in love and about to have a creation and the next it's all off…and that there's probably nothing we can do about it!" he blurted out.

Hook sighed. "Look - I already said it wasn't off. But you can't expect me to just stand placidly by while you defend that - that - maniac!"

Scrapper offlined his optics. He thought hard, every impulse telling him to explode in Onslaught's defence again, but resisting; so much wanting things to be different this time. What was the best way to tell Hook about what he had just realized? That this was to do with their own inner workings – and not with anybody else. Because surely Hook could understand that - maybe he, alone, could make a few adjustments, could even do something about it?

But when he onlined his optics again, the crane still looked furious. "And now, you don't want it anyway, do you!" he snapped. "Or not with me. Far from being worried about the mech, you're seeing the great Combaticon commander is some kind of savior! I have no doubt…"

"This has nothing to do with Onslaught!" Scrapper yelled, sick of this subject, certain every passenger in the train by now was too.

They glared at each other, yet Scrapper's former thoughts returned. We may be programmed for conflict. But have not the Constructicons and Devastator still co-existed all this time? Maybe we can work this out…

And despite the hostility, there again in the mech before him was the thing Scrapper had seen before – an unmistakable need, a desperate vulnerability. He does want this, Scrapper thought - knew. And he didn't mean to say what he said. It is this other thing…

Despite the hopelessness this raised again in Scrapper's mind, something stood out - a tactic that in fact had worked in the past. Assert yourself as Constructicon leader. But let Hook's views count too – that way it can be a joint effort. And he won't feel Devastator has to dominate.

Scrapper took a deep intake. "This business about the Insecticons?" he said quietly. "Those three in the carriage – they told you about this - alliance?"

"Yes!" And then Hook was away, talking fast, blurting out what the three had said.

"…and they said they've got ten thousand clones!" he concluded dramatically. "And that it's Onslaught …" his optics flashed afresh at mention of the Combaticon leader - "who is leading the charge!"

Scrapper thought hard again, fighting hard to separate logic from emotion; to find words that would quell the drama – and not set the crane ranting again.

"Hook - those three who were on Earth a few decades ago - Unicorn only took their clones, not them, didn't he? And there's no doubt they have proliferated, is there not?" he said slowly." Hook nodded.

"Galvatron has half Insecticon sub commanders," Scrapper went on cautiously. "If we are considering a break from him, then this may be - a good thing. Provided those three back there are on the right side…."

He looked squarely at Hook. "I think we should talk to Onslaught. At some future time. Then we can decide if we want to be on board with any 'schemes'."

"But…" Hook opened his mouth. Then closed it. Something had worked - for like clouds blowing away after a storm, the indignation seemed to evaporate. "All right," he nodded slowly. "I have to admit that the Decepticon leadership question is one that requires some – evaluation. And if I can have a hand in what goes on – so that Devastator can have a place in the scheme of things…"

For a moment, he looked thoughtful. Then slowly, a crooked wry smile appeared. "But we stay here on Delta in the meantime. Deal?"

Scrapper resisted an urge to hug him with relief. "That was never an issue!" He could have danced.

Hook looked at him. He pursed his lips. "You know - I don't want to argue," he said. "We've done enough of that – over the years. Sort of how we've been really, isn't it? But perhaps we both have to change."

Despite this turn of events, Scrapper did not really want his feelings to return so quickly and with such intensity – after all, there was a lot more discussion to be had on this issue! But a tide of sudden happiness swept through him – and with it, a pressing and desperate desire.

"Me neither," he said, melting like ice on a volcano as suddenly he found himself in the crane's arms, and being deeply and frantically kissed – and kissing back with equal and urgent fervour.

...

Hook was certainly not going to give whatever it was that set them off arguing again so easily to get yet another foothold. Besides, whatever had happened during this latest fracas - it had made the mech he held even more exquisitely desirable than before.

His intakes were soon deep and raspy, his armour glowing hotly as Scrapper's already re-energized field signified the same rekindling in the loader. Frantically Hook smothered him with deep kisses, tasting his mate's urgent arousal and then nipping hotly at neck cords as Scrapper moaned, tilting his head back.

No - this time, Hook wasn't going to wait – no matter what his better judgment said. Something deep within was telling him that for now things had resolved - as though some essential midway testing point had been passed; a window of opportunity - and one not about to be missed. "I want you," he whispered. "Right now…"

Trembling, Scrapper pressed close. Hook's hands wandered as they kissed, sliding feverishly down Scrapper's frame, the thrumming metal sending shivers through to his core. His fingers found the outer seam of Scrapper's panel. Wild sensations shot through him as it sparked at his touch.

"I want you too, but I thought we couldn't rush this…." Scrapper whispered.

"All changed," Hook hissed, kissing him some more. Feverishly, his fingers plucked at the panel. It popped open. Hook's fingers slid in, quickly finding the loose connector, the open port. Energy surged through him. Oh but that port felt so good… Hook's connector was aching to be pulled out and plugged in there….

Scrapper broke from the kiss. His voice came in short, statticy bursts. "What - here - no - along there - first class - if someone comes - Hook - can't stop again…"

"No -" Hook agreed – mightily. He was on fire, the need to take Scrapper, to flood him with data was almost uncontrollable. Meanwhile his own port had begun to burn with need to receive Scrapper, combining with his aching connector into a frenzied agony.

Scrapper was kissing his neck; then the loader's mouth was against his again as hands ran over Hook's panels in a way that made the crane's swim and synapses fritz. Have to… now…

Through a haze of arousal, he saw in his periphery a large steel luggage rack. On the bottom shelf, three holdalls were neatly stacked. The top shelf was empty. Being for first class luggage, the entire rack was of a pleasantly ample size.

"Up there!" Tearing himself away, Hook shoved Scrapper towards it.

Intakes labouring, Scrapper obliged. Hook pushed his aft, his own hissing vents mingling with Scrapper's as the loader climbed up the swaying contraption to the top. Then Hook clambered after him, weak with lust. Metal squealed as without delay, Hook slid on top of his mate. Components sparked as they brushed, their lips coming together in a deep kiss.

Deep within his chest, Hook's spark glowed brightly, whilst in lower regions his spike pressurized hard – having Scrapper in every way rose up in fantastic possibility, a tantalizing temptation, rich with the promise of total satiation, of unexplored possibilities and mutually wished for outcomes.

Proudly, Hook firmly pushed all but cabling urges away, diverting every ounce of his attention to their ports and connectors. He found at last a sense of control - and with that, a welcome power. The crane nearly wept with relief. This time, the process would not be jeopardized.

Scrapper was shaking, his hands clutching randomly at Hook as his components sparked. Hook's connector throbbed; he wanted to plug in - badly - but this time he did heed the cautions in his processor: not too fast...

"Relax and let me do it…" he whispered, loving this new found mastery as he began to slide down Scrapper, keeping his hand on the loader's open panel. He planted kisses slowly as he went, nipping here, flicking a seam with his glossa there, relishing the noises Scrapper made, the hot wafts of ozone scented air as Scrapper squirmed with need.

When he got to Scrapper's open panel, Hook hesitated, taking in the sight. Relishing what he saw, he allowed his charge to build. Then he ran his forefingers around the outer seam as his lips and glossa explored the components.

Scrapper jerked, crying out and clutching at Hook's helm. Gently, Hook paused and took hold of Scrapper's hands. "Try and keep still," he whispered, looking into the needy red optics. Entwining their fingers, he gently squeezed. Venting rapidly, Scrapper made muffled sounds. He nodded.

Hook returned his attentions to the port, now open to maximum aperture. The taste was exquisite - like liquid mercury; the scent of his mate had never been more exotic. Hook let out a deep sigh of need. His glossa roved to the throbbing connector. Slowly, he mouthed at the cable; then eased it out with his denta. He let it drop, sparking on top Scrapper's hip.

"Need you…" Scrapper was moving again. He writhed, as though he struggling with an unseen foe. Hook moved slowly back up his twitching form, letting go of Scrapper's hands and pausing half way. Scrapper's optics burned as he whimpered with desire.

"Shhh…" Hook rested a hand on Scrapper's abdomen, remembering with a sharp thrill the changes beneath the armour.

The mech beneath him stilled again, although he still made little noises and trembled. Slowly, Hook drew out his own connector. He savoured the feel of it, liking much that it pounded in his palm; then charge surged through him – and then he could not wait. With a deep intake, he eased it into Scrapper's port.

He was aware that the loader arched and screamed as it went in – and was vaguely relieved that the train seemed to go across a particularly noisy phase at that very moment. For the sudden release of raw data that bombarded the connection took Hook by surprise. He heard his own cry and hardly recognized it; for it was a primeval sound, wild and filled with new need - the urgent desire to procreate.

Scrapper's optics rolled back and he whimpered, arching up again. Hook tensed. More data spilled out, and Hook knew – he knew – that it was rich in detail, infused with his strength, his intelligence, his superior coding. A blueprint of the being that was to come, it forged its way straight to Scrapper's replication receptors.

Swooning with relief that it was actually happening, Hook offlined his own optics, moved beyond his imagining at the depth to which he wanted it to happen. Then charge gathered again and he began to move, sliding on Scrapper, thrusting rythmically in time as wave after wave of data swept into his lover.

"Oh Hook…" he heard Scrapper whimper. "You feel – brilliant…"

"Good…" Hook needed to see his face. He got up on his hands, moving in time with the data flow, marveling in his own power, at the beauty of Scrapper's features, the bright crimson optics that danced so radiantly – and most of all the adoration within them. "Scrapper this is heaven," he murmured, the relief of finally getting it right almost engulfing him again.

And the need to know what was going on inside the loader drew him like a magnet. "Plug in to me. Must …" he whispered, balancing on one hand and feeling between them, until his fingers found Scrapper's sparking connector. He plugged it into his port, going rigid again as data now assaulted him, lighting a fiery trail of synapses to his core and making him cry out at the sheer ecstasy of the sensation.

Then he was above Scrapper, and the loader's hands were pressed on his chest, Scrapper's lovely face alive with need before him. There was no need to take it slow. Hook threw his head back and cried out, not caring who heard or came running to investigate, letting data and energy flow, unable to restrain the now mutual barrage of information, rejoicing in Scrappers own cries.

It was magnificent. It was as though Scrapper could feel every part of Hook, every node and synapse – not as part of Devastator but of his colleague, his mate, his perfect counterpart. He marveled at the perfection of the mechanism, the smooth working of the crane's highly caste systems, the brilliant mind that controlled them – and most of all at that part of Hook that flowed through the connection, that now settled deep inside him.

He opened himself to it all, not caring that he had barely ever felt so unrestrained in his life, had never felt so reliant on his mate for the control he didn't seem to have – for things were happening; new files opening deep in his storage, new pathways blossoming, a network of vines that seemed to intertwined with his spark and core.

Nevertheless, a few weak firewalls appeared. Scrapper was still Constructicon leader – and unique in that identity…

Hook slowed. "Let them open," he whispered. "Need…access…"

His voice had never sounded so exotic, so rich and deep and commanding – and yet so gentle. Scrapper obliged, taking deep intakes as Hook skillfully probed. He looked up to see the crane gazing down at him, red optics glowing in the dim light. "Relax," Hook said. "Just let them all come down. Don't be afraid…"

A surge of deep affection mingled with the data. "I love you, Scrapper," Hook said.

Scrapper melted inside, offlining his optics, surrendering completely, allowing Hook complete access as information streamed with renewed vigour. He focused instead on his storage; organizing, sorting, conveying to his mate that his part in this was being played right as he returned Hook's affection with every spare byte he possessed.

Scrapper found himself mouthing Hook's name, trusting the crane as never before. He's my colleague, he thought. My best friend, and now my co-creator. In some place removed and yet not completely distant he felt the other Constructicons, knew they shared his happiness, were conveying their approval.

And then, when it seemed that it could not get more intense, more absolutely as it should be, Scrapper felt data from his own systems stream also to the new files, mingling with Hook's. A whole new set of pathways sprang into existence as yet more programs came into being, a miasma of wondrously complex synergies that ebbed and flowed between them, finding their place in the files and settling in preparation.

Scrapper's spark surged wildly. Not that – not yet… Something told him this, just as he had known not to dwell on his moistening valve when Hook had first climbed on top of him. Instead, he focused on the files - their files - the new life he and Hook would bring into being; until he lost track of various parts of his body and mumbled incoherent words, feeling only Hook and contentment, as their essences flowed and mingled.

"Deep, Hook, so deep…" Hook barely heard the words. He caught Scrapper's hands and held them, onlining his optics as more data channeled through. Scrapper's optics were dimmed and offline, only trust and love in the beautiful face, the promise of an endless union.

Hook also thought his spark might burst – but he too overrode the emotion, focusing hard on the connections as they deepened, the information flowing faster. And now the data transmission was drawing to an end, the emission pulses slower but gathering in strength as his charge built with sudden vengeance, a gathering compendium – and an overriding urge that Hook now knew he soon must draw to a conclusion.

Excess energy began to thud in time, mighty in its force, sweeping him on. Hook picked up the pace, driving the pulses in hard, the need to be one with Scrapper consuming him. The last vestiges of data trickled through the connection; a deep satisfaction filled him as the completed files closed one by one. Stage two of replication was complete. Hook did not even need to fully access the notification that pinged to this effect.

And now it was all raw energy, thudding, surging as Hook's need grew frantic. He glided fast over Scrapper, their hands clasped hard, the squeal of metal singing in his audios. He felt his connector spark, hard, glorious in its intensity, wanton in Scrapper's port as Scrapper's energy seared back into him.

His energy field flared, wildly "Need - need to finish," he rasped. "Yesss…" he heard Scrapper cry back. Beneath them, the luggage rack shook and groaned; and as though somehow in league, the train moved faster with them; metal graunching in time with its rattlings, a cacophony of robotic passion and outdated technology.

Hook let overload build – harder, faster; increased his speed, felt his and Scrapper's circuits swell with residual fill, knew that they were was not far off…

"Don't stop…" Scrapper wailed. Hook threw his head back, crying out as he reached the peak, nearly, nearly…

Scrapper's audios were alive with white noise, a myriad of colours dancing before his optics as energy assaulted him, thick and fast. Then Hook was exploding into him and Scrapper let go too in a copious shower of sparks and bliss, losing himself in the ecstasy of release. He heard a long, loud cry and knew it was his…

And then all sense of time, of self was lost. His body evaporated, scattered to the universe; and there was only Hook, and exquisite pleasure, and the wonderful sense of completion that spread like a warm tide. Caught in the throws of ecstasy, Scrapper let go; seconds before the sheer force knocked him offline.

The last thing he heard was the blast of the siren that signified the train was coming into the station. We're home… was his last happy thought.

...

Hook very nearly offlined with him – but as wild waves of overload coursed through, he felt the train slowing, the scraping of wheels on rails; they had reached their destination.

He felt his spark burn hotly; knew all that was left now was the final merging of his life force with Scrapper's, knew this was now imperative; and that they could not – must not - remain on the train for the rest of the night. As the ancient locomotive came to a halt, Hook pulled Scrapper out of view - just as the passengers began to emerge, pushing their way along the passage below to the doors that now opened on to the platform.

The motley collection did not even seem to notice the two Constructicons - although Hook noted that the three Insecticons collected the holdalls. The portly one looked up, and nodded politely. Good luck, he clicked.

Hook nodded back, too hazy with post-overload afterglow to do anything other than grin foolishly. As soon as the passage was empty, he sat up. Pulling Scrapper to him, he solemnly hoisted his mate over his shoulder before climbing unsteadily down from the rack.

As Hook stumbled out of the door, he paused, venting heavily, assaulted by the sights and sounds of the station; it danced with lights and colours, a delicious remnant of what he had just experienced.

A mist hung in the air, cool and fresh, clinging to his armour like a rejuvenating veil. Hook took a deep breath, thoroughly content – perhaps for the first time – to be here on Delta Pavonus and away from Cybertron, and Rodimus, and Galvatron, and anyone else who might threaten the tranquility of their existence.

"Hey!" It was a familiar voice; and one which warmed him inwardly, carrying as it did a reassuring note of comfort and solidarity. He heard footsteps, peered into the darker end of the platform, saw through the hazy air two figures hurriedly approaching. Steam rose from their forms. A tail bobbed behind one, as the other followed more slowly. Scavenger and Long Haul.

"Guys!" Hook had never thought he'd be that pleased to see them in his life! He felt only a mild wave of disappointment that Bonecrusher and Mixmaster were not there too.

Behind him, the train let off a hiss, as the last voices of the passengers died away. Hook felt his processor clearing, felt steadier and more assured, all his control returning. Afterglow resonated pleasantly, filling him with the satisfied knowledge that he programming sequence had established, that they were one step closer to the goal.

Holding Scrapper tightly, Hook made his way to meet them, splashing in puddles on the now uncovered section of platform.

But Scavenger stopped in front of him, not looking pleased. He pointed at Scrapper. "What have you done to him?" His voice rang out in the night mountain air.

"Plenty," Hook could not restrain his delighted grin.

Long Haul arrived. He frowned. "Looks like he's done in!" he observed. Hook felt a twinge of impatience. "Scrapper is fine. He's more than fine," he assured them. "Now – if you wouldn't mind, we both need to get home."

The sudden sense of urgency seemed to mingle with the protectiveness he could feel form his team mates; for his spark had started to throb, painfully - a steady pumping rhythm deep in his chest. The need to complete the third and final part of the sequence - was all that mattered now.

"Long Haul, if you please…"

"Always me…" Long Haul was true to form; yet just before he truck transformed he grinned, broadly. "It's happening then?" he asked.

"Yeah…" Hook replied. "We're nearly there."

Scavenger was fussing over Scrapper, checking his hydraulics, stroking his helm as Hook laid the Constructicon leader in Long Haul's tray. As Hook carefully arranged his limbs, Scrapper stirred. "Hook?" he murmured.

But it was Scavenger who caught the hand that reached out. "It's all right , it's only me – but – your co-creator is here too," he said with an almost shy smile.

"Everything's just fine – and we're going to take you home."