The Ties That Bind

She moved carefully through the alley behind a long row of buildings, at least she thought that it was an alley. She really couldn't tell much about it, except that it reeked of the piles of garbage that were heaped in it. Dragging the fingers of her right hand lightly along the brick wall, she made sure that she kept the constantly moving tip of the old fishing pole out in front of her to make sure that she didn't run into anything.

Once again, and not for the hundredth time, or even the hundred thousandth time, she wished that the most horrible day of her life had never happened. Her feet stopped moving almost on their own as she thought about that awful day. It was her eighth birthday, and her mom, dad, and little sister Celeste were celebrating it with her; just the four of them. They'd had a lot of fun and her mom and dad had even done the kinds of things that she knew they didn't really enjoy, but they'd still done it, and had managed to have fun too.

They had watched, smiled, and even clapped in approval when she showed them everything she had learned in her ballet class. Okay, so they'd had to cut a few things out of their budget to send her to the ballet class after school, but she'd worked hard, and practiced even harder. It had been not only her heart's desire, but her dream, and she'd poured everything she had into working towards it. She'd proven to be very good at it, good enough in fact, that neither her parents nor her younger sister had ever once begrudged or complained about the cost.

She could still picture the huge grin on her mother's face when she brought out the cake. It had been in the shape of a graceful ballerina caught in mid twirl. She remembered leaning forward to blow out the eight brightly lit candles on the beautiful cake. She remembered the wonderful, happy smiles on her family's faces. She remembered how those smiles, those candles, and that cake were the last things her eyes would ever see again.

She'd just taken a deep breath and started to blow out the candles, when the whole world exploded. She remembered waking up in a hospital in far more pain than she'd ever felt in her life. Her entire left side and arm felt like it was on fire. Her eyes hurt terribly, and so did a good part of her face for that matter. She remembered calling out for her mother, her father, and even her little sister, but no one had come. They never showed up to tell her that she was going to be okay.

For nearly a week she'd asked about her family, and why they hadn't come to see her, but no one would answer her questions. The doctors and nurses wouldn't tell her anything. They wouldn't tell her where her family was, or even if they were okay. They wouldn't even tell her what was wrong with her. Every time she'd asked, they'd just give her something to make her sleep again.

Then there was the man who'd been in her room one day when she woke up. He never told her his name, instead, he simply told her that her family was dead, that the funerals had already been held, and that she would never be able to see them again. She remembered him telling her that she would go to a state foster home after she got released from the hospital, and that it might be possible for her to take some classes so she could learn to adjust to her new disability. She remembered the man telling her all of it at once, and so fast that he had left before the full realization had set in.

The nurse had found her sobbing her heart out over the loss of her family. She hadn't been given the chance to say goodbye, the chance to tell them how much she loved them, or even what they really meant to her. She would never see them again. In fact, she would never see anything again, and that hurt as much as anything else.

Tears fell from sightless grey eyes as she remembered all of it. She'd lost everything that day. Her mother, her father, her little sister, her home, her clothes, and even her dreams of becoming a ballet dancer along with her sight and the use of her left arm. Perhaps the worst part of it all was that there was really no explanation for why it had happened, and she knew that it was one of those things that she would never know the answer to.

She shook her head in frustration to try to get those thoughts and memories out of her mind. They wouldn't help her now, nor would they ever help. Those memories were just something to break her concentration when she needed to focus on what she was doing. She swung the tip of the old fishing pole and a short arc in front of her to see if it hit anything. She knew from the few instructions that she'd received while in the state foster home that as long as it didn't hit anything, then there was nothing in front of her to trip on.

The therapist who'd taught her even went so far as to tell her that it would have been better if she'd been born blind, because then she would have learned such things at an earlier age, and wouldn't have to concentrate on it so much. The problem was that she did need to concentrate, and her memories were distracting. She finally started moving forward once more, when the end of the fishing rod hit something.

Knowing that something was there, she made her way forward cautiously. Her right hand brushed against a metal surface, and she felt around a bit to see if she could tell what it was. Relief flooded though her as she recognized the feel of a dumpster. Her right hand automatically went up to the edge to see how full it was. She felt the top of the edge, but didn't feel any bags. Dipping her hand slowly inside, she checked to see if there was anything inside that she could get to. Her arm was only at her elbow when her hand hit the top of a trash bag. Now if she was lucky, she might be able to find something to eat.

She leaned her rod against the brick wall and began to carefully climb in the dumpster. It wasn't something she'd ever have considered if her family had still been alive, but things had changed. The foster home that she'd been sent to, didn't have, or didn't want to spare the funds that were needed so she could learn what she needed to know about her handicap, and there were a lot of things that she didn't know. How to read Braille was only one of them, but the list only started there. About the only thing she could do half way decently was get around on her own two feet and it took almost all of her concentration and attention to just do that.

Once she was inside the dumpster, she began carefully tearing open the bags that she could feel. She let her nose act as her guide in each case, since she couldn't see if there was any food in the bag. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as the smell of old and mildewed coffee grounds hit her. It wasn't actually that her senses of smell or hearing had gotten better, but rather it was that she tended to pay more attention to what she smelled or heard, because if she didn't, then she could get hurt really easily now that she couldn't see what might cause an injury.

She didn't know how many bags of trash she'd opened when she found the partially eaten sandwich, but then with the way her stomach was growling, she really didn't care either. Clutching her prize in her left hand hand, she carefully climbed her way out of the dumpster and grabbed her rod before she sat down to eat. She laid the rod down beside her, and held the sandwich firmly as she began to eat it. Luck was apparently with her tonight, since she could tell from the way it smelled that it had been thrown out earlier that day.

She didn't know what kind of sight she made as she sat there, nor would she have cared. Things like her appearance just didn't really matter anymore. Almost as soon as she'd arrived at the foster home, the two people who ran the place had begun to gripe loudly about what she was costing them. She'd known simply from the feel of the clothes they gave her that it was all used. The doctors hadn't even taken the bandages off of her eyes before they complained to her about the massive medical bills that she was racking up. Then they'd told her that there wasn't enough money to keep paying for the rehabilitation therapy, and that she'd had her last lesson in adjusting to her blindness.

It had all been so unfair. Never, not in a million years would she have asked for any of the things that had happened that day, but they had happened, and being told that she was too old to waste good money on when she'd never amount to anything or get adopted because of her medical problems had been the final straw. She had run away that night. She'd waited until she was sure that everyone else was asleep, and then she'd snuck out. She knew that she'd only been there about three months, but there was only so much that she could take. Living on the streets these past four years had been hard, but she knew that she could deal with that now, although the first month or so had been a horrible learning experience for her. She'd lived with it, and she'd learned to cope with the way she lived, and perhaps the best part of it all was that she wasn't costing anyone anything.

Okay, so it wasn't all that much to be proud of. It was at least something, and no matter what anyone else might say, she knew that she could tell them that she was living on her own and that even as terrifying as it was at times, she was still doing it. So her stuff that she'd brought with her had gotten stolen within the first week, she'd eventually replaced a lot of it. The old fishing pole with the eyes broken off of it was a good example. Completely useless to anyone but her, she'd found a way to make do. So maybe she was going to end up spending the rest of her life just trying to make do. Would it really matter to anyone but her? Probably not, and most likely no one would ever notice or care about what little she'd learned to achieve on her own.

She thought about a lot of things while she slowly ate that sandwich. The rye bread was a little hard, but that was made up for by the thick slathering of mustard that was on it. She had no idea who had made the sandwich, but who ever it was must have been too busy to get a chance to eat it. She knew that there were several thick slices of pastrami, pepperoni, roast beef, and even ham on it, and that wasn't even counting the vegetables. She started to smile as she thought of just how incredibly lucky she'd been to find such a meal, but then she thought of how many times she hadn't gotten as lucky and went hungry because of it and her smile faded before it had truly formed.

When she finished the sandwich, she moved a little ways away from the dumpster to get away from the smell a bit, and let her food digest. She listened carefully for any noises which might be out of place, but the only sounds to be heard, were those of the sparse traffic this late at night, and that of the wind. She paid close attention to the sounds around her for a while, because she'd had some very harrowing experiences in the beginning, and others that she truly wished she could forget because of the nightmares they caused.

Living on the streets wasn't an easy life to begin with, but it was made far tougher by the fact that she was blind. She didn't care how hard it was, nor did she really think about it, because if she ever did, she'd end up in tears or worse. She knew that the truth of her life was that it couldn't get much worse than it already was, but there was something deep inside her heart that just wouldn't let her give up. She didn't know what it was, but she had often wished many times that it wasn't there, so that she could give up, so she could just end it all.

'After all, I can't read, I can't even go back to school, and even if I could, I'd be so far behind that I'd never catch up. So what else is there?' She wondered idly.

She sat there alone with her thoughts and memories since she had nothing else that she could do to occupy her mind. Although it wouldn't have been considered all that much by most people's standards, the sandwich that she'd eaten was more food than she'd been able to scrounge during the past two days, and she wanted to let it digest so she could get the most out of it.

An irritated expression graced her features as she made a concerted effort to remember times that had been much better and far happier than what she currently endured. She remembered one of the things that she could no longer even practice, her ballet dancing. The first time she'd been able to go 'En Pointe'; her instructor had complimented her so strongly and so sincerely that she'd felt twelve feet tall for days. Her sense of accomplishment after finally getting that right was indescribable, she remember how hard she'd struggled to gain and eventually hold that position. It was one of the most difficult things she'd ever learned, but she'd done it, and never had she been more proud of herself.

She was startled out of her reverie and fond memories by something brushing against her hand. She realized that it was a slip of paper, and she picked it up. Her fingers explored the piece of paper curiously. Then she realized that the paper felt differently. Her eyes widened in stark disbelief as she realized that what she now held was money!

Three days. To most individuals, it couldn't seem like a very long time, but when one was aware of what happened during each and every second of those seventy two hours, it was almost like an eternity. For him it had been such an eternity. What truly made that length of time so monstrous, so hideous in every aspect, were the thoughts, and memories that plagued his every waking moment. Memories of how he'd died, or to be more precise, how he'd been killed.

Fighting for something he had believed in, but on a world that he wasn't sure about. He'd had no choice when he'd taken on someone who was more than four times his size and several times his strength. It didn't make any difference that the one he'd ended up fighting, was intent on the destruction or domination of every living being in the universe. Nor did it matter that he'd firmly believed in the principals of the one he'd chosen to follow. In the end, it all came down to the fact that he'd died fighting for those principals, and against the one who'd killed him in a terribly brutal fashion.

The memory of that terrible, blinding agony was unbelievable. Nothing that he knew of, could have prepared him for the sheer torment that he'd felt in that moment when he'd been torn all too literally in half. That incredible and unimaginable pain had seemed to last forever, but that wasn't surprising. What did surprise him was just how long he'd managed to live after it had happened.

He remembered how the intensity of the pain had paralyzed every system he had. He remembered how the individual he'd once respected had enjoyed the process of ripping his body in half. He remembered the comment as his opponent had flung him in two entirely separate directions. He could still see, in the depths of his highly detailed memories, the madly whirling world as he hurdled towards the ground, the sight of his legs as they too tumbled towards the same fate. He remembered each fraction of every pain filled second as the ground rushed at him. He recalled that horrible flash of agony as his pain intensified to an indescribable degree when he actually hit the ground.

Once again, the horrible sounds of his body hitting the ground filled his thoughts, as he remembered the awful events of that terrible day. What made it so horrible was that the only thing that had been accomplished that day had been the destruction of the Allspark. It was true that his opponent had also been killed, but like him, that opponent had once again been brought to life.

It was more than enough to make him wonder if it had been worth it. Make him ask himself if the sacrifices that had been made that day were worth the price that had been paid. He knew the legends of what was supposed to happen when someone died, but then everyone knew those legends. It hadn't happened, or if it had, he couldn't remember any of it. The Matrix, the face of Primus, his lost friends and family, and he could remember none of it! He had given everything he had to offer, including his own life, and it hadn't made a single difference. That was what was tearing him up inside, and it was what had dominated his thoughts for the past three days.

He knew that Optimus Prime had used some of the power inherent in the Matrix to restore life to his badly broken body. That it had occurred several years after he'd died didn't matter. All that mattered now was that he was once again alive. Alive to feel the joys of life, to renew old friendships, to experience the joys that could be found on this new world, but unfortunately he continuously found himself remembering the brutally agonizing moments of his death. It didn't matter how much he didn't want to dwell on such gruesome events, it was more that he couldn't stop himself from doing so. He could recall how happy and almost carefree he had been before his untimely demise, but that was no longer the case. That had been before he was killed.

Now, however he found himself asking the point and purpose of it all. He couldn't help but wonder if maybe things shouldn't have been different, or maybe if they even could have been different. His ruminations had been next to useless in providing answers to any of the questions that he posed to himself, and that merely made him feel worse. So now, here he was, sitting at the end of an alley, looking at one of the streets where he and his friends had fought so valiantly and yet so uselessly several years ago.

"Gimme the fuckin money ya little bitch!" A voice snarled angrily.

The voice and the words startled him out of his reverie suddenly, and he quickly swept his scanners over his surroundings to find the source. There! Behind him, a poorly clothed male was snatching something away from someone who was obviously much younger and dressed in clothes that were far past a state of dilapidation.

He started his engine, slammed his transmission into reverse, built up enough speed, and whipped himself around to face the two before the man even had a chance to run.

"Give it back, and run slimeball, or else I might just see if I can turn you into another stain on the ground!" He called out loudly as he used his headlights to blast the entire alley in a bright light to stun the man into cooperation.

Had he been in his standard mode, he might have given a grim smile of satisfaction as the man threw the money back at his intended victim and took off running.

Sightless grey eyes widened in astonishment as she felt the strip of paper brush against her face as it fell. She heard the rapid beat of the man's shoes as he made his escape. The loud noise of a car that sounded almost angry didn't quite cover the scream of the tires as the car came rushing down the alley to stop in front of her. Her right hand was grasping frantically, as she tried desperately to catch the money that she had miraculously found.

She'd just gotten her hand on the unknown bill when her ears picked up the distinct sound of an object being crushed beneath the tires of the car stopping in front of her. Her face twisted into an expression of pained agony as she realized what had made that disturbing crunching noise.

"Are ya okay? He did get a chance ta hurt ya did he?" A deep voice asked her in what sounded like genuine concern.

"I'm... I'm fine. He just grabbed the money from me. Can... Can you tell me how much it is?" She answered in surprise.

"It's a ten dollar bill. Why would ya need me ta tell ya that?" The man in the car asked her in a tone that told her that he was really confused.

"I needed to know how much it is, so I'd know if I have enough to get something to use as a new cane." She answered irritatedly.

"Cane?" The man repeated confusedly.

He scanned the area around the girl, even though he could only tell that from the voice, and realized that his left front tire was sitting on a six foot long tapered rod of fiberglass that was now broken from his weight. He knew that a cane was used to support a person's weight to assist them in walking, so how could such a flimsy material possibly be used as a cane?

"Yes, a cane. I can't tell if something's in front of me without one." She told the man a little angrily.

"How come ya need a cane to know if somethin's in front of ya? Can't ya just see it?" The man asked.

The tone of puzzlement and confusion in the man's voice surprised her. Surely he knew that she was blind by now. Hadn't he ever seen a blind person before? She shook her head as she tried to make sense of this strange situation.

"No, I can't see. I'm blind, and I'll never be able to see again. I can't even walk very good without using a cane or something to feel if I'm about to run into something." She told him while trying not to be smart-alecky about it.

His surprise couldn't have been greater. He'd known bots who'd gotten their optics damaged so that they couldn't see, but they were still able to get around by using their sensors until their optics were repaired or replaced, but then he realized that humans couldn't have their eyes replaced, which meant that what she said was true. He felt his spark sink as he felt about half an inch tall when he realized that he'd literally taken her mobility away from her by stopping on that flimsy fiberglass rod. He knew that somehow he had to do something to make this right.

"Look, I'm sorry. I was only tryin ta help. If I'd known what ya used that for; I'd have stopped sooner. I got a friend that can get ya a better one. I... I've never met anyone who was blind before." He told her factually.

She heard what the man in the car said, but more she heard the genuine regret and honesty in his voice. His offer to replace her makeshift cane had to be sincere, and given her circumstances, she didn't have much choice but to take him up on that offer. She wasn't too sure of just how far he was willing to help her, but this was the first person besides her therapist who had actually seemed to care what might happen to her.

"Okay. What do you want me to do?" She asked wondering if her wanted her to wait here while his friend got a new cane for her or what.

"Well, ya can't get around without a cane, right? So I figure I kinda owe ya for that one, at least until I get a replacement. I owe ya that much, since I broke the one you had. Mah name's Jazz, by the way. What's yours?" Jazz asked her.

"My name is Stephanie, but you can call me Steph if you want. And without a cane, there's really not much I can do." She answered with no small amount of hope, but with a large amount of nervousness and fear at the prospect of dealing with this total stranger.

"Okay, Steph. Come on and let's get ya fixed up." Jazz told her.

"Are you sure about this? I mean, I'm filthy. I don't even know how long it's been since I last washed my clothes in a bathroom sink, and I know I smell worse than a garbage dump." She told him apprehensively.

She knew that there were things that were worse than living on the streets, and digging for cast off scraps in the dumpsters. There were lots of people that she had to hide from and avoid; other vagrants would gladly trade her for some kind of reward.

"At least promise that you won't turn me in. There's no way I want to go back to that foster home." She demanded fearfully, knowing that several government agencies would lock her up somewhere while they claimed that it was best for her.

"Look, I don't know who you're hidin from, but as long as ya ain't done nuthin wrong I won't turn ya in. Now if ya can promise me that ya ain't broke the law, then I can promise I won't turn ya in." Jazz responded seriously.

"The only thing I did was run away from a place that was being run by people who didn't want me there because I cost them too much money. I don't want to go back, because they don't like me, as bad as things are right now, it's still better than it was there." She said honestly.

Jazz had been a specialist in sabotage, infiltration, and interrogation for more than a million years of war, and he knew that she was telling the truth, but he could still tell that there was something that she was leaving out. The fact that there was still something being hidden from him, a secret that was being kept bothered him. He had no idea what that secret might be, but he was determined to get it out of her.

"All right. Since ya say that you ain't broken the law, then you'll be fine with me, but I'm tellin ya now, I don't take well ta criminals; understand?" Jazz told her firmly.

"I'm not a criminal. The law just says that I'm too young to be on my own. I'm not going back to that foster home! They hate having me there, and I hate being there. I... I just don't want to end up getting kidnapped and sold as a slave or something." Stephanie said as tears filled her eyes.

The energon in his lines ran cold with both horror and rage as he heard those words. He knew the girl was telling him the truth on that one, and that revealing that much information hadn't been easy. Jazz knew now that this girl was placing an incredible amount of trust in him, and he knew that without betraying everything he believed in, everything he'd died fighting for, that he could never betray that trust.

"I promise that ya won't have ta worry about any of that stuff while ya hang with me, an as for the smell, how bout I take ya someplace where ya can get cleaned up?" Jazz offered.

"Okay, that sounds really good right now." She said as she wiped away the tears that ran down dirt stained cheeks.

Stephanie got to her feet, and shoved the ten dollar bill in her one pocket that didn't have a hole in it, it was the largest amount she'd possessed since she'd run away, and she didn't intend to lose it. Then, she put her right hand in front of her to feel her way around the car so she could get in. The level of the hood in front of her was low and curved in a way that told her it was some kind of sports car, but she couldn't tell what kind. She made her way around the car by keeping her left hand on the hood, and the other stretched out to make sure that she didn't run into anything. It was almost with a sigh of relief that she finally sat down in the passenger seat, and buckled up.

Watching the girl make her way around the front of his alt mode, only made Jazz feel worse about accidentally breaking her cane. He could see the girl's sightless eyes staring straight in front of her, unable to focus on anything. Deeply disturbed by a disability that he would never have encountered back on Cybertron, Jazz scanned the girl. His sensors showed him the massive amounts of scar tissue that covered the left side of her upper body and left arm, but what was far worse than the rather extensive scarring was the residual energy signature that was still embedded in those scars. Jazz had seen that same energy signature on thousands of different occasions, and on each one of those times, that signature had been found on the various battle injuries of his friends. The girl's injuries had been caused by plasma fire from a Cybertronian weapon!

Jazz honestly didn't know how she was able to even tolerate such a debilitating injury forget about actually living with it! He watched in silence as the girl used her right hand to check and make sure that the seat was empty, and then to determine just how much room she'd have in the seat. It was a truly eerie experience to see someone feeling out their environment in order to know what was around them. He'd never imagined that he'd meet someone with that kind of damage, and when he actually thought about it, about how she would never be able to tell anyone what he might look like, about where he could take her, and about how she would never actually know where she'd been taken unless he told her the truth. The saboteur felt the energon in his lines run cold as he suddenly realized that this girl had literally put her life in his hands on just his word alone.

Stephanie knew that what she was doing was incredibly dangerous. Without being able to see, she knew that she would have to trust someone she'd only just met. She could tell from his voice that he was black. She was sure that the strong deep voice belonged to a very powerful man, but at the same time, that voice had undertones of sympathy and compassion. She wasn't really sure why she felt she should trust Jazz, but at the same time, something told her that she could trust Jazz. That strange little feeling didn't stop her from being scared though and she did her best to hide it, but like many of those who were blind, she didn't think about her facial expressions.

Jazz knew that she was scared. Primus, the girl's fear was written all over her face. She was taking him at his word and trusting in his promise to her and that touched his spark in a way that he couldn't explain. He saw the way that she was trying to avoid getting his interior dirty, but still pressed herself back in the seat because she couldn't anticipate any of the moves that he might make. The girl's actions gave Jazz a whole new appreciation of just how much trust she was placing in him.

"Can ya tell me why someone would kidnap ya and sell ya inta slavery?" Jazz asked quietly.

Stephanie started at the question. It was a topic that she'd learned about through over hearing other homeless people talk about it. She hadn't known anything about it when she first started living on the streets and given that Jazz didn't seem to know much about blindness, he certainly wouldn't know about that.

"Drug dealers don't care where they get their money from. They'll steal kids and make them into slaves so that they can sell some sex time with them. The attractive ones make more money and they keep the kids stoned so they won't fight it, or try to escape. With someone like me they probably wouldn't even bother wasting the drugs because as long as they took my cane away from me; I wouldn't be able to escape, and I'd never be able to identify anyone." She answered sadly.

"So if they ever found ya, then they'd force ya ta do that slaggin stuff right? So how do ya stay away from em?" Jazz asked curiously.

"I have to hide during the day. The only way I can tell if it's night time is by listening for the hum of the street lights, or feeling for sunlight on my face. I've got some hiding spots scattered all over the place. I have to have a lot of them because I can't run without taking a chance of tripping on something. If that happens, I'd really get hurt pretty bad. At my age, I'm supposed to be in school, so I have to hide from the police and everybody else too. If they catch me they'll just send me back to that foster home and then I won't have anything because they'd take my cane away. Plus, I'd have to hear them tell me how much they hate me because of how expensive I am. At least where I'm at, even if people don't like me; I don't have to hear them tell me they hate me."

Jazz felt a black rage boiling deep within his processors. The story that the girl was telling him conjured up the image of a life that was far too similar to that told by many of the various Cybertronian femmes they'd rescued. It was one thing for an adult to face that kind of hardship and danger, but for him to hear it from someone as young as she was just made his circuits sizzle.

Jazz was about to ask another question when the girl's expression changed almost instantly. She immediately unbuckled the safety belt, had the door open, and was outside on the ground before he even realized that she was going to get out. He watched in stunned silence as the girl fell to her hands and knees before she violently emptied the contents of her stomach into the alley. A scan of what was coming up showed him that some of what she'd eaten earlier was heavily contaminated with salmonella bacteria. He knew what that was from the explanation the Sergeant Epps had given during the BBQ that had been held to celebrate his return to life.

Processors that could analyze hundreds of different options in an instant during battle flashed into action as he watched. Jazz knew that she now needed some serious medical attention or there was a strong chance that she'd die. If he took her to one of the human hospitals then the human authorities would be alerted and he'd already given her his word that he wouldn't tell them. It didn't matter that he wouldn't be the one turning her in, because he'd have been the one to take her to those that did turn her in. That left him with only one other option and while he didn't think she'd be happy with him for it; it was far better than watching her die. Jazz waited until her stomach was empty before he spoke to her again.

"Come on. I got a friend that can fix ya up and get ya over that food poisoning." Jazz told her.

"How do you know it's food poisoning?" Stephanie asked weakly.

"I just do okay. How I know ain't important right now. What is important is that you need a doc and fast! I know just the guy. He'll get you fixed up and he'll keep your secret; okay? Now just get in." Jazz answered immediately.

Stephanie got back in the car slowly. Every part of her body seemed to suddenly have lost all strength while turning to rubber. As soon as she got the seat belt buckled, she was pressed back into the seat as Jazz took off at a high rate of speed. She knew he was driving fast, but without being able to see; she couldn't tell how fast, and maybe that was just as well, because he seemed to be really moving out!

"Ratchet! I got a human girl with me. She's got food poisoning from salmonella. I'm bringin her to ya, because she don't wanna trust the human authorities. There's somethin else ya need ta know. She's blind, and she's got a ton of scars from getting burned and I'd swear that it was caused by some kind of a plasma weapon!" Jazz sent via comm signal.

When Ratchet sent his acknowledgement that he was getting the medbay ready Jazz could have breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing that she'd be in good, capable hands took a tremendous load off his processors. Now the only thing that worried him was; how the slagging pit was he supposed to tell her what he really was? He wasn't sure of the answer to that question, but he hoped that he'd come up with something before he had to let Ratchet treat the girl.

Stephanie held on to the armrests on the door and the center console that ran between the seats. She couldn't see to anticipate any of the turns and she felt herself reacting to the acceleration forces of Jazz's driving. The racing wind, roaring engine, and howling of the road beneath the tires were all among the sounds that she heard as she held on tightly. Then she felt herself pressed against the door so hard that she was sure that only the door and the seatbelt were holding her in the seat. As hard and fast as Jazz was driving she heard him shift gears and felt him go even faster around a left hand turn, but even so, she noticed that the tires never chirped, screeched, or even slide as he made the high speed turn. Even though she couldn't see just how fast Jazz was going; she knew that something wasn't right. The tires should have made some kind of noise when he made that last turn, but they hadn't. She felt her fear rise as Jazz drove hard and fast, but smoothly at the same time. Finally she mustered up the courage to ask about it.

"How can you turn like that without sliding? What kind of car is this?" She croaked in a weak, quivering voice.

"Look, Stephanie. You trusted me… so now I'm gonna trust you. I'm not human. I'm what ya call a robot, but we call ourselves Autobots. It's a little tough ta explain, but ta sum it up, this ain't a car you're ridin in, it's me! I'm the car, and I can transform into what you would consider a robot. Right now, I'm takin ya ta see Ratchet, he's our medic, like one of your doctors, and he'll get ya taken care of, okay?" Jazz explained quickly when he saw his chance to break the news to her.

The sudden expression of terror on the girl's face nearly broke his spark in two and Jazz knew that a little more of an explanation was needed. "Hey, I gave ya my word that you'd be fine. I meant that. Ain't nothin gonna happen ta ya except that you're gonna see Ratchet so he can get you cured, then I'll get either him or Wheeljack ta make ya a new cane that won't get broke so easily. Ya ain't gettin kidnapped or nothin, so don't worry about that. You're safe; understand?" He said in as gentle and comforting a tone as he could.

Stephanie swallowed hard when she heard Jazz tell her the truth. Terror filled her mind as she suddenly realized just how helpless she really was in this situation. She was alone, unable to see, and with no idea where she was, or how fast she was going. She couldn't even tell if she could jump out or not! With very few exceptions, almost all of the robot movies she'd ever heard of had been about evil robots, and now she was riding in one!

"Are... are you... an army robot?" Stephanie asked fearfully.

"In a way; I guess ya could say that I am. But I'm not from Earth so ya don't have ta worry about that. Me an my friends are from the planet Cybertron, and well... we can't go back, so we're makin a new home here." Jazz told her calmly.

"Are you going to ex... ex... do tests on me or something?"

'She's just a kid! Somehow, I gotta figure out how ta get her ta calm down and relax a bit'. Jazz reminded himself firmly.

"Stephanie... I promise ya. Nothing is going to happen to you that you don't agree with. If something comes up that you don't like the sound of; then you say so and I'll put a stop to it right then; okay? You're safe with me and I'll do whatever it takes ta keep that promise." He said in a reassuring tone.

She nodded her head and was about to reply when another urge caught her attention. "O... oh god... I... I think... I'm gonna puke again." She said weakly while trying in vain to gain control of her rebellious stomach.

Jazz quickly pulled over and rolled to a stop. He unlatched the seatbelt and opened his passenger side door so the girl could get out easily. That didn't go as well as he'd hoped. Instead of getting out properly, the girl simply fell out in a seemingly boneless heap, and began retching violently. They were lucky in that it was well after dark and the traffic was sparse so that there was no one around to observe what was happening. Jazz's spark ached in sympathy for the girl who simply huddled on the ground for several minutes while she suffered her way through numerous, painful and violent dry heaves. He knew she was miserable; that much was obvious from the way she couldn't even stay on her hands and knees. When she finally started to climb back in after nearly twenty minutes painful retching; Jazz could see that she was clearly exhausted.

"Just take your time. I'm not goin anywhere without ya an I'm not gonna leave ya. I've already contacted Ratchet and he's waitin on us. So just take it easy an I'll get ya there; okay?" Jazz told her comfortingly.

When she only nodded her head while struggling to get back in his passenger seat, Jazz knew that she was a lot weaker than she should be at this point. He didn't know the cause of her rapid decline, but he wasn't about to let that stop him from getting her the help she needed. He could have almost smiled in relief when she finally slumped down into the seat.

She gasped in surprise when she felt the seatbelt snake its way across her body and click into place. Then came the thump of the car door shutting, before she was once more pressed firmly back in the seat when Jazz took off again. She had no idea where she was at this point or where she was being taken and she was too miserable to really care. Her head felt like it was trying to explode, she felt weak, tired, and plagued with a stomach that was churning cruelly. She knew that Jazz was right in that she needed a doctor, but all she really wanted to do was curl up somewhere and sleep.

Jazz made the final turn after checking in at the gate to the base and stuck his accelerator pedal to his floor board. He didn't need to be a human physician to know that the symptoms were hitting the girl in his passenger seat a lot harder and faster than they should have. This was turning out to be one really nasty case of food poisoning and right now the only thing Jazz could do was rush her straight to Ratchet, which was exactly what he was doing.

Jazz was instantly relieved when he saw Ratchet waiting for him in the medbay. The electric green medic had everything set up and was ready to go. Jazz rolled to a stop and opened his passenger side door.

"Ya need ta get her Ratch. I don't think she's too coherent right now." Jazz exclaimed worriedly.

Ratchet took one look at the nearly unconscious passenger and knew that the saboteur was telling the truth. Who ever she was, was completely out of it thanks to a raging fever. He took in the rolling, half lidded eyes, the pasty complexion, the gaunt body, and the light sheen of sweat that was now covering her dirt stained skin. Ratchet reached in and lifted the girl out of the Solstice so that Jazz could transform. While the girl was in his hand, he conducted a scan of the girl's body to determine the full extent of her condition and he did not like what he found!

"Where the slag are her parents?" Ratchet asked angrily as he placed the limp form on a bed designed for humans.

"I don't know. I didn't really get a chance ta ask her. All I know is that she ran away from a foster home, when they kept tellin her how much they hated her an was costin em. She's been living alone on the streets; hidin from everybody. That's about all I know Ratch." Jazz answered bluntly.

"Hmm... A foster home would mean that she's a ward of the state. I can tell you that she's been living on her own for quite a while now. Half starved, malnourished, and somewhat dehydrated; she's so far beyond the state of filthy that it doesn't even merit discussion. It's a Primus blessed miracle that she doesn't have parasites such as lice or crabs, but then with all that dirt she's covered in, and considering the way she stinks, they probably couldn't stand to get near her." Ratchet grumbled as he began to remove the grimy, filth encrusted rags that the girl was wearing for clothes.

Ratchet hadn't even removed a third of the girl's clothing before she started struggling against him, fighting weakly, but valiantly to stop him from taking the rest of her clothes off. The medic soon found that he had his hands full with the girl. He couldn't finish removing her rags of clothing without risking injury to her and that was something he wasn't willing to do, but he needed to get her undressed so he could treat her illness. Finally deciding that he'd just have to treat what he could until she was more coherent and therefore able to cooperate; Ratchet went to prepare some injections.

First, Ratchet administered a high powered antibiotic consisting of amoxicillin, erythromycin, anti-nausea medication, and a sedative. He knew that he'd used a little over kill on the antibiotics, but given the amount of dirt and grime on the girl, he also knew that she needed it. He waited a few minutes for the sedative to take effect, before he inserted an N.G. tube to both pump her stomach clear of any fluid build up and to administer further doses of medication. With the tube in place, he injected an antibacterial agent directly into her digestive tract to fight the bacterial infection caused by the salmonella poisoning. Now, all he could do was wait.

Ratchet turned to face the recently revived Jazz with a heavy expression. He studied the saboteur for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. He didn't know what had transpired for Jazz to meet the girl he'd brought in for treatment, and while it was obvious that the girl did need that treatment, it was also plain that Jazz didn't know much about her either!

"Your suspicion was correct. Her injuries are the result of plasma fire! The retinas of her eyes have been seared in such a way that she's been permanently flash blinded. Off hand, I'd have to say that it was a fairly high powered shot and that she only caught some of the splash damage after being blinded by a near miss. Wheeljack has been working on trying to develop a neural interface so that I'd be able to replace a severed limb. If he manages to create one that works, I might be able to fashion some prosthetic eyes for her, but he hasn't had any luck so far. I keep hoping though, because the number of humans who need such replacements are staggering. In the mean time, I can treat her food poisoning and when she wakes up; I'm hoping she'll be feeling up to getting herself cleaned up. If she's not then I hope she'll at least cooperate while someone else does it for her. Can you tell me how she got caught in the fire of a Cybertronian weapon?" Ratchet said sadly.

"No, I can't. Everything just kind of happened quick ya know. One second she's gettin robbed, and the next... well I'm parked on what she was usin for a cane ta see with. When she told me she was blind; I scanned her and saw the energy traces and that's when I figured that I oughta bring her here ta see if maybe you could do something. She told me a little about what her life is like on her own an made me promise that she wouldn't have ta go back ta that foster home. Next thing ya know; she's purgin all over the alley." Jazz answered disgustedly.

"It was a slagging beat up pole Ratch! How was I sposed ta know she needed it ta see! If I hadn't stopped on top of it..."

"If you hadn't stopped on top of it; you would have left and she'd still be as sick as she is, and probably laying in a hole somewhere dieing! Like it or not; you saved her life tonight, Jazz. If she's had to hide from everyone like you said, then she would have gone back into hiding when she realized that she was sick. So by the time she figured out that she was deathly ill; it would have been too late and she wouldn't have had the strength to get help." Ratchet interrupted angrily.

"Look, we both know that you didn't intend any harm. What's wrong with her right now was caused by living amidst trash! With things the way they are now, there's at least the chance that some things can be made right. So don't beat yourself up over this. She's here, she's safe, and she's far better off than she'd be out on the streets living in some alley or cardboard box. I'll let the human authorities know that we have her, so they can make appropriate arrangements..."

"Ya ain't gonna tell em a slaggin thing! I promised her that I wouldn't turn her in ta them. Twice! An there ain't no way that you're gonna make me break that promise! I told her that I'd do whatever it took ta keep my promise an make sure that she didn't have ta go back ta that slaggin foster home! She flat told me that living like that was better than that place! So I ain't lettin ya tell none of em; understand?" Jazz yelled angrily as he advanced threateningly on the medic.

Ratchet knew instantly that Jazz was serious. A large part of the mech's role in the war effort was infiltrating the enemy ranks and that involved heavy amounts of deception. Jazz tended to compensate for those lies by seldom giving his word about anything and being overly meticulous about keeping that word on those rare occasions that he did give it. Ratchet knew that the issue of informing the proper authorities was more of a legal or political matter than a medical one and that it wouldn't necessarily stop him from treating the girl's illness. The injuries from the plasma fire on the other hand; made her case particularly touchy. Those scars were more than a few years old and had been caused by a weapon that could only have been used by either a Decepticon or an Autobot. Ratchet couldn't think of any possible instance in which she would have encountered that type of weapons fire in the US. Then he looked at Jazz and the answer stuck him. There was one possibility, but only one and it was also where Jazz had found the girl. Mission City!