(A/N): Well, this is it. Last chapter. All twelve of you who have been reading, thank you so much, and I hope you feel that I have not wasted your time. Thank you to all the kind reviewers, as well. As you have probably guessed, this story gets a little personal for me, and I really hesitated to post it because it does whoa, open me up to be judged. Interrogators aren't really well-liked. And I guess I made some sort of self-statement making the protagonist a Decepticon, And giving him my ritual. Wow, you could so psychoanalyze me based on that. Anyway, I'm blathering because I'm very sorry to see this story go. I hope you have enjoyed the read. I do have a sequel, named Fallout, which is…alas, even worse. You'll see some of the set up here.

XXII.

Vortex rolled his head in its socket while drones bustled around him, setting up a carry harness. One of his rotors glinted silvery new. He flexed it cautiously. Barricade walked up to Ironhide, who sat numbly where he had been directed as the drones set the harness around his chassis. More drones pointed weapons at him, but he didn't seem to notice.

The Autobot lifted his head at Barricade's approach. "Where are you taking me?" Ironhide asked, dully.

"Does it matter?"

"No." The Autobot dropped his head back on his knees.

The dronemaster gave a ready signal to Vortex, who shifted into his vehicle mode. His two large rotors swept out and beat against the air. He lifted steadily from the hangar floor. "Altitude," he asked over the rotornoise that echoed in the enclosed space.

"Good enough," the dronemaster called out, tapping Vortex's undercarriage in case the larger bot couldn't hear him over his own rotorwash. The dronemaster reached over his head and hooked the carry harness to Vortex's belly. He gave another slap and turned to Barricade. "Time."

Barricade turned to the hangar's shipside door. He took Flareup by the hand. "Ready to go?" Her repairs had been complete—the repair bots had repainted her armor with coruscating purple-and-fuschia swirls, probably as their own, dumb way of apology. Better than Barricade could manage. She'd even summoned up a smile when she saw the new paint job. Her optics had been reinforced with the same cage-like bars that Decepticons favored. The bots had been unable to repair her one eye, and had replaced it, with more apologetic clicks and beeps, with a red one. Her gaze was lopsided—one red, one blue.

He wondered if she saw differently through a Decepticon optic.

"Why are you taking me home?"

"Failed to protect you," he said, half sincere. Half-aware that this was yet another long and deep approach. Unsure, unaware whether the sincerity overrode the approach. Which was genuine? He couldn't even tell any more. "Least we can do to send you back home." He steeled himself. Easy enough. Put her on Vortex. He'd drop the two at Diego Garcia. Barricade's part in this was almost done. Almost over.

"Home," she said. "Earth, you mean."

"Yes."

She straightened her shoulders. Her body moved without pain—the bots had done their usual excellent job. "I am ready." She rolled forward until she saw Ironhide. Her hand clutched the inner seam of Barricade's arm. "He is here."

"We are returning him as well."

"I don't see why." Her voice was hard and brittle. Then it cracked. "Don't leave me alone with him."

"You will be safe."

"Come with me. Please." Her two-colored eyes blinked up at him through their new cages. "Just until I'm home."

Slag. No. He wanted this over. Wanted this put behind him. Wanted some recharge time. Some peace. Just a half cycle—a quarter—before he had to start repairing the damage he had done. Blackout. Starscream.

Vortex hit his comm, subvoc. "She knows you," he said, calmly. "She doesn't know me."

Getting lessons in decency from Vortex. That's how far he'd fallen. He forced a smile on his face, feeling his cracked cheekplates sting. You can do this. Just a little bit longer. A little bit more. Friendly up. No more ugly. You can do this. Relax. "All right."

They said nothing the trip back, sitting together in Vortex's hold. He braced the cycle bot between his legs—neither of her modes was well suited for a helicopter insertion, how the atmospheric up- and down-drafts buffeted even Vortex's bulk around. Her hands dug into his knees. She looked down. "Sorry."

"No need."

"Here," Vortex said, aloud. "Got visual."

"Response?"

"Nil. They've spotted the harness." Meaning, the harness's contents. Vortex delicately avoided naming the Autobot.

Vortex rolled his side door open, and slewed to one side, so he could get lower to the ground without crushing Ironhide. He cut away the harness. Ironhide got to his feet, slowly, tearing off the harness straps. A crowd rushed toward the landing strip—Autobots running or rolling, NEST teams in their emergency vehicles, weapons aimed.

Vortex hovered a few feet off the ground. "Time to go," Barricade said. "Home."

"It's not my home," she said, bleakly looking out over the landing strip. In the half-light its runway lights blinked like long lines leading to nowhere. She turned her two-colored optics on him. "Do I have to go?"

"It is your decision." Go. Please go. Let me wash my hands of this. Let it be over. Almost over. Hold on. This is not who I am.

She gave him a measuring look, torn, for a long moment. "Yes," she said, finally. "Help me down."

He recoiled from touching her, suddenly, but he forced himself, holding her under the shoulder joints and lowering her from Vortex's fuselage until he felt her tire strike ground. She turned back, quickly, as if half afraid of what she was about to do. "All I know," she said, the words half-torn from her mouth by the roar of Vortex's rotors, "is that the energon here is green. A green stone. I don't know where it's from." Barricade blinked, surprised. She turned and rolled toward the approaching crowd before he could respond. Behind him, he heard a crackle. "Audio on," he heard Vortex say. "Ready."

Ready. This was it. Everything he'd ever…. This is not me. This is not who I am. This is what I've wanted. This is what I've fought for. Respect, recognition. Power. "No," he breathed. Forgotten about this part. Didn't want to see this part. Hear it. Just know that it was done.

Suddenly, audio crackled all around him as Soundwave hijacked the satellite signals. Every cell phone, every walkie-talkie, every audio receptor on Diego Garcia and around the globe crackled on. Audio and video. Ironhide's voice, culled from Barricade's own memory cortex.

"Slaggin' useless humans." Ironhide looked up, his face a mask of horror. His hand froze on the carry harness. Soundwave's transmission continued, "Hate the bastards." Another pause. "We could glass the whole planet without breaking a coolant seal if we wanted." The humans of the NEST team faltered, confused. The approaching Autobots slowed their pace, relief fading on their faces.

Barricade heard his own voice. Had he sounded that calm? He hadn't felt it. "Your Prime. Surely he values the alliance with the humans more highly than you." That is not me. That can't be me. This is not who I am.

"Prime has to rub them up all the time. Says he doesn't want them to see us as invaders, but allies. Slaggin' interspecies cooperation, he calls it." Another pause. Soundwave made sure that each of Ironhide's damning comments had a chance to sink in. "Prime makes them do our maintenance. Know what that's like, Decepticon? Least you don't have fraggin' xenos touching your valves."

Ironhide dropped to his knees, landing hard on his palms. Nothing moved except Vortex's powerful rotors. Barricade stood in the fuselage doorway, bracing one hand against the side.. The transmission began again, on a loop. Vortex lifted off, the rotorwash stirring the straps of the carry harness.

Soundwave damped his audio. "Megatron wishes to congratulate you upon your return. A preliminary reconaissance of the Tunguska area looks highly promising. And he is more than pleased with the results of your psychological operation."

"Yeah," Barricade said.

"I also wish to extend my praise. The audio, as you can hear, is unscrambled. I could not have created more condemnatory things for him to have said."

"Yeah."

"Do you suspect he will try to deny it? I have encoded it so that it is apparent and unspliced."

"No, he won't deny it," Barricade said, tired. He rested his head against his hand. He could still feel the vibration of Soundwave's broadcast through Vortex's fuselage. This is not me. This is not who I am.

All of the Autobots stared up at him, mouths open in horror and hatred. This is not me. Flareup turned back to him, her face unreadable, receding into the distance into two bright colored lights as Vortex grabbed altitude. Blame? Condemnation? Betrayal? Horror?

This is me. This is who I am.

He felt sick.