Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. *pouts*

Death

"You caught my attention a long time ago, youngling. I was impressed by your resilience…among other things."

"Hey Fixer, where're ya? There's…someone…here ta see ya!" a deep, usually calm voice came over the radio.

"Fixer" Drow paused at the call, noting the unspoken warning in her old friend's voice. She carefully held the torch away from her and grabbed the walkie-talkie off her worn belt. "Alright, I'll be right there! Just let me finish this weld!" she called back to her boss from where she was standing over her latest restoration project. At the acknowledging click, the albino clipped the radio back onto her belt and brought the blowtorch back to bear on the heap of scrap that was beginning to resemble a car once more.

Back in the decently-sized office of his junkyard, James Callahan reluctantly turned back to his visitor. "Ya do realize she's not gonna be happy ta see ya, righ'? She was mighty pissed at ya fo' pulling tha' disappearin' act...an' all the shit beforehan', as well. Ah'm mighty pissed at ya, fo' tha' matter. Wha' kinda brother does shit like tha' ta their own twin?"

Soren Drow sneered at the greying veteran, turning his otherwise attractive features into something ugly. "I don't see how that's any of your business, bastard."

"It is ma' business if ya intend ta drag the poor girl inta more shit tha' she'll end up takin' the fall fo' again," Callahan rumbled dangerously, his amber hawk-like eyes glaring at the career criminal.

"Like it's any of your business what I choose to do with my pathetic bitch of a sister."

Callahan twitched.

Fixer strode into Callahan's office, muttering to herself as she attempted to wipe off her dirty pale hands on a rag. Not that it was doing much good, given that the rag, made from an old ripped G1 Ratchet T-shirt of hers, was just as dirty as she was. She sighed, finally giving up on cleaning her hands and looked up. She was greeted with a disaster zone, and the sight of Callahan's massive figure attempting to strangle a slender, dark-haired man on his office floor.

Her eye twitched. "James Marshall Callahan, what the hell do you think you're doing!?" she roared as she chucked the rag at them, startling both of the men. "How many times do I have…to…" she trailed off, staring as Soren slowly stood up, watching her carefully with his piercing blue eyes.

They stared at each other silently, barely noting Callahan eventually moving to slide by Fixer. "Ah'll be righ' ou'side if ya need me. Goo' luck," the redhead muttered into her ear. He cast one last warning glare at Soren before leaving, slamming the door behind him with a loud bang.

Silence reined, the only sound being the evening breeze blowing through the window as it rustled the papers strewn all over the floor.

Soren took a hesitant step forward. "Reina…"

"Fixer."

"W-what?"

Her red eyes glittered dangerously. "My name is Fixer now, BlueJay, not Reina."

His lips thinned as he realized she wouldn't fall for the regretful brother act anymore. "Fine…Fixer. If you're so attached to that stupid name, you can go ahead and keep it."

The albino crossed her arms defensively, glaring at the fraternal twin she hadn't seen in almost twenty years. "Why did you come back? I was managing perfectly fine without you ruining my life all the time."

He ground his teeth together, balling his fists at his sides, before flashing a tight, bright grin. "What, a brother can't come check up on his baby sister?"

"Funny, I don't remember you caring when you tried to sell me to that pimp."

"…That was then, this is now," he ground out, visibly restraining himself from attacking.

Fixer hummed, running an appraising eye over him. His dark red suit and black shirt, while of fine make, had obviously seen better days. It was torn, patched, and dirty, and hung a little too loosely off of the man's frame. She could see the edges of bandages peeking out from his collar and left arm, and he was avoiding putting weight on his right foot as he watched her with a desperate, angry gleam in his cold blue eyes.

"…not so fun taking the fall, is it BlueJay?"

He growled. "My name is Soren…Reina."

She narrowed her eyes. "Fine…Soren. What do you want? And don't try to feed me a line about you caring, I know better than that."

He huffed, crossing his arms as well, only to lower them with a genuine wince of pain. "…I need your help."

"…I have been arrested 17 times, been shot, electrocuted, stabbed, and poisoned more times than I can remember, almost drowned 3 times, and nearly sold as a sex slave because of you…and you expect me to help you?" she whispered menacingly.

Stupidly, the man didn't even pause to consider his response. "That's the only reason you exist, bitch. Don't tell me you've forgotten your place already?"

Fixer snapped.

"And stay out, you fraggin' bastard!"

Callahan wheezed, tears of mirth and joy streaming down his rough, scarred face as Fixer bodily threw the freshly-bruised Soren out of the brightly-lit gate. Her strong, wiry figure chucked his bag out after him, and Callahan collapsed in a fresh fit of laughter as it knocked the bastard back to the ground again. The albino shut the gate roughly and chained it shut as the man scrambled back to his feet in the darkened street, cursing impressively.

"You fucking bitch! How dare you attack me! Apologize right now, you fucking maggot whore!"

Fixer's only reply was a raised finger. She spun and walked away, leaving Soren gaping behind her at her eloquent reply. Callahan was twitching on the ground in silent hysterics now, slowly turning blue from lack of air.

The white-haired woman came to stand over the quivering mountain of a man. "Breathing would help, you know," she said wryly, watching the laughing form of the retired soldier who saved her ass fifteen years ago fondly. "Otherwise, you'll definitely suffo…cate…"

She trailed off, swaying slightly in shock as Callahan jerked and scrambled upright, echoes of the gunshot still ringing out around them in the dark night. She fell, dimly aware of Callahan catching her and yelling something over her head. The world spun, graying around the edges from the pain. Callahan's voice wavered in and out, begging her to stay with him.

"…old on, Fix…n, help is…ay wi'h me, Fi…"

She caught sight of the broad hand cradling her face, covered in something bright red…but what…?

Oh, she thought calmly, that's blood. My blood.

Mustering up the last dregs of her strength, she reached up and weakly grasped the redhead's hand. Fixer smiled softly. "S'ok. S'not you faul'…"

Callahan was crying, she could feel the tears hitting her rapidly numbing face. "…on't go, plea…"

"S'rry…" she mumbled, her eyes drooping. "L've oo…Da…"

Her world went black.

A/N: I will try my best to provide regular weekly updates, but I make no promises. RL hates me.

Additional A/N: How the heck do you indent the beginning of the effing paragraph!? It refuses to work!