There was fire everywhere. It was engulfing everything in a red flame. It was becoming harder and harder not to panic and increase their chances of suffocation. Tailgate had been listening to a lecture, when suddenly, like it was from the hand of primus himself, the building went up in crimson sparks. There was a high pitched ring blaring in Tailgates audios, it muffled the fire alarms to dull whisper.

Tailgate struggled for air; any –no matter how insignificant- would do in such a moment. For an instant, and just for an instant; so short it would be better perceived as a memory or trick of the light surrounding him, Tailgate thought he saw his carrier. He let out a desperate sob and held the moment for as long as it lasted. He laid their flat on his tank sobbing like a sparkling that fell off a swing-set. In a stroke of madness and disparity, he prayed for death, and sought it out in the sharpest object he could find within arm's reach.

It was a piece of near-melted shrapnel lying as limp as him. With every last drop of strength he had, Tailgate grabbed it with trembling servos and brought it to his spark chamber. He let out another desperate cry, but before he could deliver a first final blow, a servo catches him. Centimeters away from off-lining himself. Tailgate glanced up and saw blue optics trained on his own.

Strong, sturdy servos gracefully picked him up and carried him through the blinding heat, the shrapnel still grasped firmly in his tiny white hands. When Tailgate glanced down at the sharp nearly agonizing pinch in his servos, he found energon leaking out from the left with the right one gushing. Tailgate pried his servos from the protruding bit of melted metal and glass. He gave a tremor filled whine, so soft it was lost in the sound of bots dying and screaming for help. How death could make the slightest sound, was beyond him.

In the soft steady blinks and shuttering of optics, Tailgate shut them down. The high pitched ring in his audios was now dull and lifeless. By the time he reached the fresh air of the outside, he was in stasis.

"Stay with me Tailgate, c'mon…" a smooth voice like an echo filled Tailgates helm like tidal waves.

"You hand cuffed him to a chair." Orion said in a flat un-amused voice. "I know you want Cyclonus's wellbeing to be prior to the mech, but imprisonment is not the way."

"Well he's rebellious, what was I supposed to do? Trust him?" Ratchet said hands on his hips looking at the other as if they had the audacity to accuse him of foul play.

"Never mind that; what is Tailgates condition? Is he undamaged?" Ratchet lowered his defensive stance and looked to the tiny mini-bot hooked to an I.V on the medical slab.

"He'll be fine, just some helm trauma and a few more dents in his plating. The injuries to his hands aren't extensive, thank primus, but I must ask one question," Ratchet raised an optic ridge, "from further examination, the cuts in his palms are from holding something and seem to be self-inflicted. Just what happened in there?"

Orion was at a loss for words, he didn't wish for Tailgate to explain his attempted suicide. Even if Tailgate tried to, Orion was afraid of the answer he would receive.

They would receive, he corrected himself. Orion gave a miserable sigh; he did not want to anger his longtime friend.

"I don't know how. When I found him he wasn't holding anything."

A long penetrating stare.

"I promise."

The tension eased out of the room with a soft mumble from the injured. Ratchet immediately kneeled at his wards side and stroked his helm. "Shh, you're fine now sweet-spark. You're safe now…"

Orion was glad to see Ratchet by his god-creations side; for most honest reasons and a few selfish ones. But all in all, Orion was just glad Tailgate was safe.

"Ratchet, please I'm fine." Tailgate complained as he was ushered into his flat. Ratchet shushed the youngling and punched in the key code for door. It had been two days since the bombing. The bomb destroyed over half of the school. The rest was nearly unsalvageable, including the bodies. About seven hundred bots were hospitalized, and four hundred were killed. The death toll took the city by swarm. There were protests and fingers pointed; some even thought that the senate was to blame. First the registration law, then the riots.

Now this. Most bots, loyal to the hard-drive, stuck up for the senate.

"The audacity of those simple minded ingrates!"

"An outrage!"

The NAIL associates and social rights activists plagued the city streets day and night. No one could find peace, not even the victims.

"You are not fine. That blast radius was practically microscopic." Ratchet barked wheeling Tailgate to his berth, "How you survived it is beyond me." Tailgate rolled his optics and allowed Ratchet to help him up. His hands were still damaged, but not beyond repair. After a few hours there was a knock on the door, Orion was at work with a mountain of paper work, and Ratchet was likely doing the same. So who exactly could be outside the door?

"Hello?" Tailgate asked, he had been left alone for the last four hours and right now even a quick conversation would sooth his itching processor. The silence was driving him mad.

The door slid open and Cyclonus stepped in with two glasses of warm energon clasped in his clawed digits. This certainly caught Tailgate by surprise. He had been expecting Swerve or Whirl or any of his other friends. Cyclonus was not seen nor heard from ever since the explosion.

"Cyclonus?" Tailgate said, utter confusion clouding his central logic function. The large jet looked at the others bed-ridden state in silent pity. He did not want his small…acquaintance to have any sort of injuries. Had he known about the bomb, he would have stopped it.

"A bird told me you were sick, but I didn't think the extent was this drastic." Cyclonus hummed as he took a seat beside the berth. Tailgate shrugged, he looked down at his bandaged hand and turned it over from side to side. He still recalled the memory of crying, and blue optics from past events.

He also remembered his carrier. "It's nothing," he murmured quietly, "I'm fine." Cyclonus' optics darkened ever so slightly, as he contemplated the events leading up to the…injury. He did not feel it was his place to ask, however he did feel compelled to at least give the poor thing a drink. He had even procured it himself.

"I brewed this for you, if you willing to drink it." Cyclonus gestured toward the steaming cup in his right hand.

"Oh, i-it's fine, really i-I don't need anything." Tailgate stammered on trying to shy away as far as the berth would let him. Cyclonus raised an optic ridge.

"You look hungry, now drink it'll help."

"Bu-but-" the look Cyclonus started to give shut him up though. Tailgate hid his face for a reason and personally he didn't like flaunting it. Though he supposed just showing his mouth would be enough, Tailgate didn't peg Cyclonus as the kind of guy to judge someone by their appearance.

"Well, alright. Just don't stare at my scars okay?" Tailgate asked looking up at the other with a large set visor. As his mask slid back with a silent snick, Cyclonus became more intrigued. His lips plates were doll-like and his cheeks were round like cyber-apples. The only thing to disrupt this innocent, sparkling face was a long jagged scar crawling up the right cheek up past his lips and under his visor. Before either of them knew what was happening, a clawed hand tilted Tailgates chin. A thumb rested on his chin turned his head from side to side.

"Hmm, you're younger than you look." Cyclonus said with some amusement in his deep, droning voice. Tailgate felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

"Uhm, thanks. I uh- guess." Tailgate didn't really know what to say, no one had ever acted like this before. Usually his face was met with pity and a tsk or even ridicule.

No one had ever looked past the scar.

"Here, I made sure to sweeten it before I came in here." Cyclonus said handing Tailgate the steaming cup. Tailgate took the cup and sipped it, the faint taste of sweetener and organic honey streaming down his throat.

"It was recipe handed to me from my late endura, she was always very fond of cooking." Cyclonus said watching Tailgate sip his cup. He didn't touch his, he just held it.

"She was a good cook." Tailgate said a soft and rare smile curving his face. Little dimples drilled into his cheeks.

"Yes, she was."

Would you like to hear a story? It's about a man who lost his family and turned into a monster. It's quite good actually.

I think you'd like it.

A.N~ I know an author's note from me is a bit rare, but I would enjoy reading your –the readers- thoughts about this piece I have written. It would bring me so much joy to know that you like my ideas. ~