Fay groaned as she began a fresh set of lat pull-downs. Her muscles ached as she tugged the wide metal bar just an inch past her collarbone at a pace slower than she was used to. Slowly, she eased it back, the weights clinking as they hit the stacked ones beneath. She’d set the machine to 90 pounds today, and the rope slid along the pulley system slower than she liked.

    ‘Good,’ she exhaled slowly, sweat clinging to her skin. ‘It means you’re working harder. Stronger. Better. You can do this.’ She shifted on the large rubber ball, repositioning her center of gravity again. The weight was straining her arms. It was going to be sore tomorrow. She knew Charlie would’ve scolded her and told her to stick with what she’d left off with, if not lower, but Fay refused. A three mile run on the track had gotten her blood flowing. ‘Blood and energon,’ she thought bitterly, biting her lip.

    That fact just made her want to push herself harder, though. ‘I am strong without them. I don’t need them.’ She huffed. “I am strong,” she murmured, sliding the bar, and the weights on the other end of the rope, back to their relaxed state. Five more reps to finish the set off. And she had two more sets after this. Her muscles already screamed at her to stop, but she refused to listen. She wouldn’t get anywhere by giving in to weakness. She would become stronger than ever. And she would do it without them. Without the Autobots or Decepticons. She would enhance her normal strength. Her human strength.

    She would prove that she didn’t need them or their lies. Their horrible, horrible lies and deception. “Fay. F-.” “No! No more magic tricks!” She couldn’t get that voice out of her head. It wrapped around her like a thick wool blanket, suffocating all she knew and all she had known.

    ‘It’s not possible,’ she thought bitterly, leaving the weights where they were and heading to another station; calf raises. She set the weights to 200 pounds and stepped onto the platform carefully. Moving from her tip toes until her heels nearly touched the ground. ‘It’s not possible,’ she repeated silently, a bit of anger spiking in her stomach as she thought of it. ‘The nerve to pull such a cheap trick on me!’

    She swallowed her anger, the balls of her feet shifting as she went through another rep, again and again until she finished the set of ten. She’d be sliding through the workout with ease pretty soon. And when it got too easy, she’d be upping the weights. She’d never let it get too easy. In the next half hour, Fay went through the motions for half her normal workout routine. She would’ve stuck to a full-body, but split the exercises since she didn’t have to worry about whether she’d be able to make it to the gym everyday.

    Fay huffed, eyes narrowing at the thought of her job. What did her bosses know? Would this situation cost her her job? Would it be the mere exactness of what she’d done to land herself here or the time she’d be unavailable to work? She didn’t know what she’d tell them when she returned, if she was allowed to come back at all. She groaned, shaking her head and strode back outside, the heat of the mid-summer sun sweltering as they neared midday. Few other people were outside right now.

    Water bottle in hand, she marched back to the track. They had an indoor track as well, but it was smaller and a total pain to re-measure her distance. She preferred going with what she knew. And in truth, it was a challenge to the horrible weather as of late. A silent scream that the sun was not as great an enemy when she knew about her horrid past. About her sketchy origins.

    She strode past the volleyball courts and nearly winced at the memory of her second day here. When she’d nearly blown her dreadful secret out of the water.

    ~~~

    It had been simple enough, a request by one of the nurses that she get out of her room and do something. Socialize. Be active. Whatever. Initially, she’d rolled her eyes at their desire to get her to do something other than mope and whisper curses under her breath. But of course, the clouds had provided some merciful cover and relief from the blistering summer sun. With a sigh, Fay changed into shorts and a t-shirt, pulling on sneakers and heading outside. To her luck, some of the other . . . residents were already on the volleyball courts, divvying up teams.

    Before she managed to register what was happening, she was assigned a team. She’d been a decent player, mostly when it came to spikes. So it didn’t seem like too big a deal that she play with nine other people on the outdoor courts. It went well, actually. Fay and her teammates managed to score points, though they tended towards a back-and-forth scoring. They’d get two points, the other team would land three, they’d  get three points the other team would manage two. It was fairly evenly matched.

    Fay smirked as they rotated again once they’d gotten the ball back and she faced the redheaded girl across the net from her. Carrie had been Fay’s new rival for the game, and they faced each other with a fire, both attempting to get spikes in past the other. Fay won most of the time, but just barely. In a moment, the serve was up in the air. The ball soared over to the other side of the court and in one, two hits it was back over the net, but too high for the other team to score a point.

    In one, two, three hits they’d sent it back. Fay’s hand itched. She knew it would be returned again. ‘Too high, too high,’ she cursed under her breath. Sure enough the ball was being set up again. Once, twice, and it was gliding through the air towards Carrie. Fay huffed, knowing how this was going to go already. Carrie was going to spike it. Fay had to either block it or keep it from hitting the ground.

    The nearly-orange redhead sprung up, and Fay’s legs propelled her off the ground in a matter of a fractional second, arms extended to block the ball and send it propelling back to the opposite court. Unfortunately, Carrie’s strike had come at just the right moment, in just the right spot with just the right amount of power. The ball didn’t hit Fay’s palms and bounce back. It went through, pushing her thumbs out of the way as her hands were meeting together, and struck Fay in the temple.

    A vicious pain exploded in her skull and Fay fell to the ground, a hand to the side of her head. But not before Carrie, having the only vantage point that allowed her to see through the mess of hair and motion in that moment, saw the flash of cold metal. Fay knew exactly what had happened when her hand touched the smooth, cool surface of silver before her skin mended over the impacted area and covered it back up.

    Fay knew exactly what had happened when she managed to open her eyes and saw the redhead with a powerful spike staring at her, pale, as the other players had flocked around, checking if she was okay. Mercifully, Carrie remained quiet for those few minutes before Fay stormed off, shooting one last warning glance at the redhead whose skin was paler than usual, even for someone with porcelein skin. ‘Good,’ Fay thought angrily. ‘Say a word and that paleness will be because you’re dead, not scared.’

    But a silent threat wouldn’t be enough. No; especially not with Fay’s Decepticon programming sliding through her energon veins like a living darkness. The brunette girl stalked through the halls all afternoon, waiting just outside the girl’s locker room. Waiting until Carrie showed herself. She got done late, the blood still drained from her face, a haunted look in her eyes. ‘Grow up,’ she thought bitterly, striding through the halls quietly, following Carrie in silence. A deadly stealth. One she’d been given in her Cybertronian instincts that told her exactly how to distribute her weight to find her prey, to hunt it down. To kill it before it even had the chance to scream.

    Fay followed Carrie until she got to her bedroom, and slipped inside behind her before the door slid shut automatically. “Carrie,” Fay said in a low growl before Carrie could even get situated. The sun was setting outside. The halls were mostly quiet, empty. Plenty of people were getting dinner, or dessert. Fay had been lucky she’d returned to her room instead of going somewhere . . . public.

    Carrie’s red hair flashed as she whipped her head around and saw Fay standing there, blocking the only door. Her face, if possible, became even paler. “Oh, God, please no . . .” She whispered, absolutely terrified. Fay almost felt bad for her. Almost. Probably would have if Carrie didn’t know her secret. Well, she knew something. Not so much as much as Fay did, but Carrie knew something. And that was a dangerous something.

    Honestly, Fay’s skull was still pounding, she was dizzy. But something in her woldn’t give. Something in her reminded her that Carrie was a threat and had to be taken care of. Fay stalked closer to the redhead and leaned in close, Carrie’s back pressing to the blue-painted wall as she attempted to put space between them. Space she couldn’t create anymore. “Please don’t kill me . . .” Carrie said quietly.

    Fay barked a laugh, shaking her head. “You innocent fool! I wouldn’t kill you!” Carrie sagged in relief, but it didn’t last. “Too many witnesses. Cameras. No, I’m just here to warn you that if you do say anything, and I mean ANYTHING, about what you saw today, I will no longer care about the witnesses and cameras. And your body will be found as a broken, bloody heap in the courtyard.”

    Carrie’s body tensed again, and her heart began beating so loud, she was terrified the brunette girl in front of her might actually hear it through her chest. It became hard to breathe, like someone was sitting on her chest; or someone were holding a blade to her diaphragm. She wouldn’t put that idea past this girl, though. This girl wasn’t normal. And Carrie wondered how on Earth she’d wound up in this place for people.

People. She certainly looked normal enough. Until the volleyball had struck her. Carrie couldn’t imagine what she actually was, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. Surely that would end in her gruesome death, too. She could see it already. Her body so broken, bloody and marred that they had to use dental records to identify her, her ginger hair stained a dark, morbid red from her blood . . .

    “I said are we understood?” Fay voice broke through the terrified girl’s reverie and imagination. Her horrible, terrifying imagination. Carrie gave a swift nod, her brown eyes wide. Fay looked her over a moment longer, determining if it was a lie or not. She found no deceit and finally said, “Good. Don’t make me come back.” Without another word, she slipped from the room, footsteps silent but body language filled with fury and calm.

    Carrie didn’t sleep that night. Or the next. And it had led to her receiving a sedative in her daily medications. Even when Carrie became a recluse and a special case in the institution, she didn’t care. Fay couldn’t bring herself to it. She couldn’t admit that she’d caused that damage to another living being.

    ‘She was a danger,’ she’d reasoned, pacing in her room when she’d caught news. ‘She had to be dealt with one way or another.’ She sighed, closing her eyes. ‘But was it the right way . . . ?’ She shook her head vigorously. Of course it was. Carrie wouldn’t have listened otherwise. Would she? Fay bit her lip. She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t even sure why Carrie had seemed like such a danger. She was a human. Weak, insignificant . . . Fay sighed, flopping down on the bed.

    ‘Because you know what it’s like . . . Don’t you Farrah?’ She closed her eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt her like that . . .’ Silently, Fay thanked God, or the AllSpark, or whatever she was supposed to pray to, that Carrie hadn’t had access to any kind of weaponry. If she had, Carrie probably would’ve a suffered a fate similar to Fay’s. Fay would never have forgiven herself.

    ~~~

    Six laps later, a mile and a half for her cool down, Fay strode off the track, chin high as she picked up the water bottle and drenched herself with something other than her own sweat before taking a few long swigs of the barely still-chilled water. It had warmed significantly during her last bit of exercise, and had she taken three miles instead, she would’ve spit the water back out. Warm water was disgusting. Just thinking about it nearly made her wince. She was just glad her sweat stains were now indiscernible from the water stains.

    She nearly jumped out of her now-slick skin when she heard his voice behind her. “Entertaining yourself, Filly?”

    Fay spun on her heel only to see Optimus standing not five feet away. After all this time . . . he had the nerve to come here and shun her in his own silence and those, those were his first words to her? Her blood and energon boiled in her veins, not just because of the heat, but because of the frustration and anger she held for him. For all his insignificance and indignation. For all the reasons he’d given her to both hate and love him with every ounce of her being.

    A scowl crossing her lips, a snappy retort was on her tongue, one filled with biting words and a blow to his ego, but . . . his expression. The sorrow in those bright blue eyes. The tremendous sad that laced his colorful irises. The ones she was so used to seeing full of life and amusement, even when she snapped at him and ran from him and accused him of being a creep or a stalker or a murderer were . . . sad.

    His hands were stuffed in his pockets and she watched him for a moment, her spark wavering as it pulsed gently in her chest, trying to figure out what she should do. Trying to imagine some course of action because to her own surprise, it was absolutely unbearable to see him this way. To see him so . . . broken.

    Fay dropped the water bottle into the grass and closed the space between them, throwing her arms around him tightly. She didn’t care that sweat mingled with now warm water on her skin, she wanted to feel him. He didn’t care, either. He wanted to feel her, too. His arms draped around her smaller body, holding her close against him, a bit of tension building inside him only to be released. He missed her so horribly since the anniversary . . . since he’d unfortunately broken her spirit. Her will to live, even. He felt awful, absolutely horrible. IronHide had been right, as he always had been.

    IronHide always seemed to know what was best for Fay. And in truth, Optimus was jealous of that. He wanted to be there for Fay the way IronHide had been. He wanted to protect her and fight with her, beside her, sometimes with her if only to know she still loved him. He wanted to love her . . . But did she still love him after everything that had happened? She may be embracing him now but the last time he’d seen her she’d threatened to rip his spark out with a feral kind of look in her eyes, an animosity inset by the Decepticons when they’d programmed her so long ago . . .

    “Filly . . . ?” He broke the peaceful quiet, his voice soft as he could make it. He didn’t want to incite her anger again. It had been enough of a miracle that she hadn’t just clawed his eyes out when she saw the sorrow there. It would’ve fit with her Decepticon programming better. But perhaps she didn’t operate solely on her Decepticon programming like he’d thought she might.

    “Yes, Optimus?” She asked gently, relaxing into his muscular form. He was easily questioning what he’d thought about her before. It made his spark beat a little faster thinking she was capable of breaking the chains they’d laid around her to bind her where they’d wanted.

    “Do you still love me? Was that true to begin with at all?”

    Her body tensed and she pulled away, staring up at him, glaring at him, a scowl crossing her lips again as she turned away and stormed back inside, leaving the water bottle on the ground. She couldn’t have cared less.

    Optimus sighed, looking down at the grass, the too-green grass despite it being the peak of summer and the height being insufferable, if not maddening. Maybe she wasn’t as free as he’d hoped. His spark sunk a little. She would be their greatest enemy if they couldn’t get through to her. They’d tried so hard for so long, and yet did it matter? Did any of it matter? He looked up to the clouds, the few that refused to pass directly over the sun and made indiscernible shapes at their worst and vague shapes at their best.

    But Fay wasn’t upset because of anything Optimus could imagine. Nothing his processor dared to imagine. She didn’t walk off because he’d activated her inner Decepticon nature, but because he’d questioned the fact that she’d ever loved him.

    That she still loved him even though she hated him.