Disclaimer: I don't own them.

It took a little longer than Silverbolt originally intended before he could follow up on his promise to come back, but he did manage to make a quick flight over to the neighboring base to track down Optimus Prime and request that he talk to the Protectobots. He had been hesitant to bother him. Optimus seemed so tired and distracted (all of them were right now, really, but Optimus usually managed to hide it better), and he was surrounded by a constant whirlwind of emergency meetings and mechs seeking him out. Optimus, however, had been appalled to learn that Prowl still hadn't declassified the Protectobots, that they were still confined to quarters and unaware of what was going on. A quick comm. conversation had settled that issue, and Optimus promised to make a special trip to speak to the Protectobots personally. He also hadn't been aware of how badly they had been injured, and seemed quite troubled. Silverbolt was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the potential loss of their strategic importance. More like guilt over letting younglings get hurt. He had been the same way over the Aerialbots (and still was, although in recent vorns he'd finally started to treat them more as soldiers, although he'd believed in their potential from the beginning, even when they were really just wayward younglings who had no idea what they were doing), the first times they had gotten banged up in battles.

The washracks were operational again, and Skydive suggested they take the Protectobots and show them around a bit. Skydive had been feigning only mild interest in the new gestalt, but Silverbolt could tell he was just as excited as the rest of them. When they got to their quarters, however, Ratchet was already there, checking over First Aid while the rest of the team hovered in concern.

"Hot Spot?" Silverbolt indicated First Aid with a concerned expression, and Hot Spot shook his head and came over.

"We don't know. Ratchet says his vitals are stable, but he won't take any energon, and he keeps rubbing at his face, like something hurts, but we've given him all of his painkillers. Ratchet thinks it might just be his sensory network trying to reboot, but....Hi guys," he said belatedly to the rest of the Aerialbots, standing somewhat subdued now behind Silverbolt.

Silverbolt made introductions and explained why they had come, and Hot Spot finally convinced the rest of his team to go get cleaned up, even though their reluctance to leave their injured teammate was clear. Silverbolt opted to stay behind with Hot Spot and First Aid, to "talk about leader stuff" Fireflight teased, and Ratchet escorted them out the door with dire warnings not to keep the Protectobots out too long or do anything strenuous, and if they so much as jarred a servo they were to call him immediately, and Streetwise was to stay off of that leg (Air Raid promptly slung Streetwise up and over onto his back, and they both gave Ratchet remarkably similar cheeky grins.) Silverbolt watched them go with some trepidation, but hopefully with Skydive running point they wouldn't get into too much trouble. It was only a trip to the washracks and back. What could go wrong?

Hot Spot settled on the floor in front of the couch (where it appeared the Protectobots had been recharging, even though there were perfectly good berths in all of the rooms) where First Aid was curled up in a limp little ball, with an energon drip attached to one arm. First Aid slowly uncurled when he realized Silverbolt was there, smiled blearily, and, despite both their efforts to persuade him to stay put, dragged himself up to check Silverbolt's arm and shoulder. He paused often to rub at his optics, and Hot Spot's browplates furrowed again in concern. Satisfied at last, he snuggled up against Hot Spot with a weary sigh. Hot Spot stroked a hand over the ridges of his helm gently, and First Aid shuttered his optics, appearing to drift into a light recharge, although he stirred a bit, now and then, as if he couldn't quite get comfortable. They sat there quietly for awhile. Hot Spot needed to talk about things, Silverbolt sensed, but he didn't seem to want to break the silence.

"So, tell me what's on your processor," Silverbolt said finally. Hot Spot met his gaze with a half-smile and the looked back down at First Aid. He started to say something, then shook his head and was silent for another long moment, while Silverbolt waited patiently.

"I panicked," Hot Spot admitted at last, "when we took that hit, out there, and First Aid was hurt. I couldn't think, I didn't know what to do. It's a good thing Blades and Groove kept their processors functioning, because I certainly wasn't any help at all. I'm supposed to be their leader, Silverbolt. What good am I, if I can't help them when they need me most?"

"I panicked too, the first time one of my guys got hurt. Don't be too hard on yourself," Silverbolt told him. "And I didn't have nearly your excuse. Fireflight just twisted one wing a little bit with a bad landing, one of our first flights, nothing serious, but he was yelling and I couldn't calm down. Wheeljack finally had to take me into another room and give me a sedative while they worked on him."

"Really?" Hot Spot asked, looking hopeful.

"Really. I was a total disaster walking. It never gets any easier, but you learn to keep functioning. Well, most of the time," Silverbolt added, wincing as he recalled a not-so-long-ago meltdown in the medbay, when three members of his team had been shot down. "What about the battle? From what I hear you guys were pretty impressive. You'd never seen combat before though, had you?"

"No, the battle was…well, it should have been scary, I guess, but…it was just like…" Hot Spot paused a moment, searching for words. "Like flying might be I guess, if you'd never done it before but once you were in the air you knew exactly what to do." Silverbolt looked down uncomfortably at that, but Hot Spot didn't seem to notice. "I knew how to help, where to send my team, and they were like my own hands almost. Everything just fell into place. Then we formed Defensor and stopped the cannon. We saved the base, and all of those lives. And I know we would…we would all do it again, even with how it turned out."

Hot Spot smoothed his hand over First Aid's helm again, troubled. "I can't bear the thought of losing any of them, of any one them getting hurt again, but at the same time, it's what we were built for. Our purpose. It was like finally being alive, really alive for the first time. I want to keep them all safe in this room forever, and at the same time I can't wait, we all can't wait, to get out there again. To do what we were meant to do. Protect."

Silverbolt understood that tug and pull (keep them safe, answer the call) differently maybe, than Hot Spot. The Aerialbots fought for joy of swift flight in battle, for testing their skills and wits against the Decepticon seekers, for the Autobots and their friends and comrades, but their sense of purpose had grown slowly, not always unwavering, not ingrained in their very programming quite the same way it seemed Hot Spot was describing.

"If we go," Silverbolt said after a long time, knowing Hot Spot would understand what he meant when he said 'go,' "we all go together."

"Yes," Hot Spot said, looking down at First Aid, who stirred again, frowning slightly. "We wouldn't have let him go alone." Hot Spot looked up at Silverbolt again after a moment, expression a little rueful. "Well, this is a cheery conversation. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get so…ah…"

"Deep?" Silverbolt suggested, and Hot Spot laughed, which made Silverbolt smile again (he did a lot of smiling when he was around Hot Spot, Silverbolt was starting to notice).

"I don't know about deep, but whatever it was, let's talk about something else. Tell me about your team."

"My favorite subject," Silverbolt said brightly, attempting for sarcasm but not quite convincing, (because they were his favorite subject, much as he might try to deny it), and so he told Hot Spot about his group of crazy fliers, and they compared combined forms. Superion seemed to be more of a separate entity that came into existence through the combined minds of the Aerialbots, while Hot Spot thought his team's experience as Defensor was somewhat different (based on their admittedly small sample of three successful mergings). Not so much a separate entity as all of the Protectobots blended, with the expertise of whichever component was most needed as the one everyone else synched their thoughts to. Usually that was Hot Spot, but not always, as the moment when First Aid took over proved.

"Took over?" Silverbolt wondered, staring down at the recharging ambulance in surprise, and trying to imagine what would happen if, say, Fireflight took over Superion. A very unsettling thought, that one. "You let him take over?"

"Well, it's not exactly like that," Hot Spot said, scratching at his helm a little. "Uh…yeah, maybe it is, actually. He made the best decision, and…it cost him. But if he hadn't we would have all been dead."

"What happens if you disagree?" Silverbolt asked, curious. From what little he had seen, the Protectobot team dynamic was remarkably turmoil-free. His own team always seemed to be experiencing one sort of drama or another, although they always worked it out in the end.

"Not sure, maybe it just hasn't come up yet. We haven't exactly had a lot of practice," Hot Spot said, laughing. First Aid made a soft, discontented sound, burrowing a little closer to Hot Spot. Hot Spot readjusted the tubing to the energon transfusion line so it wouldn't kink. The smile had not left his face, but his brow had that worried furrow again.

"Does he always recharge like that?" Silverbolt asked, indicating the way First Aid had both of his hands curled into tight balls, tucked under his chin. Hot Spot smiled sadly, expression pensive.

"I didn't know why he did that until the battle, the first time we were Defensor for more than half a breem." Silverbolt nodded. There were very few secrets when you were a gestalt. "We were hurting him, when we first came online. The sensors in his hands are very sensitive, and we would crowd all together to recharge. He's tougher than he looks, actually, but his hands…and he never let us know. I never sensed a hint of it through the gestalt bond until we merged."

A little hand squishing, it didn't seem like a big deal, really, but Silverbolt could see how much it bothered Hot Spot. His own team often drove him crazy, the bond echoing with every little hurt or dilemma, but at the thought of one of them being hurt and not knowing…he suddenly was very grateful for the daily messy clinging drama, exhausting as it could be. (Speaking of which, there was something brewing right now, around the edges of the bond, something to do with Fireflight and Slingshot, and he hoped it didn't involve the Protectobots because the last thing Hot Spot needed right now was more traumatized team members.)

"The others I can keep track of, but First Aid…blocks me somehow, and I don't even notice," Hot Spot continued, trying to explain. "Like when we were all learning to fire pulse rifles, and Ironhide first had us shoot at drones. First Aid shot one, not a half bad shot too, and then…he put his rifle down and wouldn't fire anymore, but he wouldn't tell us why. Ironhide wasn't happy, but Wheeljack convinced him not to push it. He wouldn't ever talk about it, and it didn't seem like a big thing, but Silverbolt…when he shot that drone…the targets were ok, but the drone, for some reason…" Hot Spot's voice broke a little. "He might as well have been shooting straight into his own spark. He was being ripped apart and…he never…he never said a word."

Silverbolt put a hand on Hot Spot's leg, as Hot Spot struggled for composure, knowing all too well what it was like, to be a sparkling with the sparks and processors of four other mechs twining through your very soul.

"He's been blocking me since we were hurt. At first it might have been from the energy blast, it threw everything off, but now…I can't even talk to him, I don't know if he's in pain or scared and I…hate it. Silverbolt, he won't let me in…and I can't…I can't stand it anymore…"

Hot Spot's voice caught in a sob, and at the open sound of it Silverbolt was reminded again how young Hot Spot really was. He had wept like that too, once. Still did, but not where anyone, including his gestaltmates, could see him (they knew of course, but they mostly respected his unspoken desire not to look into those places in his mind too closely. Mostly.)

Silverbolt kept his hand on Hot Spot's leg, letting him know he was there, listening, wishing he could think of some words of wisdom. Privately he made a promise to get Hot Spot out of these quarters soon. Poor kid had been cooped up in here too long, and he obviously wasn't made for just sitting around, injured or not. That was probably half his problem.

First Aid let out a sleepy moan, and Hot Spot stroked his helm again trying to soothe him back into recharge. First Aid refused to be soothed, however, dragging himself up, feeling over Hot Spot's face, then nudged his forehead once against Hot Spot's chin (what? what's wrong?) making distressed, half-awake little sounds.

Hot Spot put both hands on either side of First Aid's helm and pressed both of their foreheads tightly together. "Let me in, please, Aid, just…let me in," he murmured brokenly. First Aid put his hands on Hot Spot's arms and drew back a little. Hot Spot made a low sound of despair, but Silverbolt could almost see First Aid's processor working, even without seeing his face, as First Aid's head lifted suddenly and he huffed air through his vents in mildly exasperated realization. So that's what all of this fuss is about.

First Aid leaned forward and wrapped both arms around his gestalt commander, and Hot Spot sobbed once and buried his head in First Aid's shoulder. They both grew very still, for a long while. Silverbolt sat patiently, until Hot Spot raised his head, still clasping First Aid tightly to him.

"Better?" he asked Hot Spot softly, and Hot Spot nodded and let out a laugh that still had more than a hint of weeping in it.

Hot Spot roughly cleared his vents and said in a voice somewhat hoarse with emotion, "He's ok. He's in more pain than he's been letting on; it still hurts a little when we link through the bond like that, but…he's really ok. He doesn't know why he doesn't want to take energon either, he's just not hungry. I was so afraid he was…giving up, but it's not that at all. He just hides, for some reason, when he's hurt, and he didn't want us to worry. That kind of backfired, didn't it, you little glitch head," Hot Spot murmured down at First Aid with utmost affection.

First Aid scooted up a little higher so he could rest his head in the crook of Hot Spot's shoulder and sighed deeply, and Hot Spot took First Aid's hands in his own larger one, and cradled them safely against his chestplates. Hot Spot smiled at Silverbolt, and Silverbolt smiled back (there he went, smiling again). They talked some more as First Aid recharged peacefully, Hot Spot prodding Silverbolt to tell him more about his team and Silverbolt babbled away, enjoying himself more than he had in a long time. To be able to talk to someone who understood, really understood, it was wonderful.

They were interrupted by a sudden confused onslaught of emotions from both their teams, and Groove and Blades burst through the door to fling themselves against Hot Spot, followed shortly afterwards by Skydive carrying an equally upset Streetwise.

Silverbolt stood up in alarm, taking Streetwise with the idea of handing him down to Hot Spot, but to his surprise Streetwise clamped on to him tightly, shivering but patting his back a little as if Silverbolt were the one that needed comforting.

"Skydive, what the slag happened?" Silverbolt asked, looking at his wingmate incredulously.

"I don't know!" Skydive waved his hands in the air as if proclaiming his innocence. "Slingshot and Fireflight were going after each other again, but they weren't anywhere near the Protectobots," he said in bewilderment. "They just started to freak out, so we brought them back here."

"They hate each other Hot Spot," Groove got himself together enough to say, systems whirring anxiously. "Fireflight yelled at Slingshot, and Slingshot threw the scrub brush at him and said he could go smelt himself and Fireflight said he hated them all and he ran out, and Slingshot yelled that he hated him too, and then he shoved Air Raid." Groove looked over at Silverbolt with an expression of sparkbroken, innocent despair. His sorrow at having to tell Silverbolt such devastating news was so sincere…and Silverbolt gulped and choked as he tried to hold back a wave of completely inappropriate laughter. It was not funny. It was NOT funny, he kept telling himself firmly, but Skydive's wide optics and firm-pressed, twitching lips were not helping at ALL.

He risked a glance at Hot Spot, to see how he was taking all of this. Hot Spot, having had the benefit of Silverbolt's description (well, more like moaning and complaining if he were honest) of Aerialbot team dynamics, was keeping his cool quite well. Silverbolt could almost see him switch into reassuring leader mode.

"Guys it's all right. They don't really hate each other. They just show off like that because they want Silverbolt give them attention all the time, and he was in here talking to me, so they missed him." Well, that wasn't exactly what he said, Silverbolt thought, but he wasn't going to correct Hot Spot's interpretation any time soon. This was priceless. Skydive's optics grew even wider, if that were possible, and he quickly looked down, crossing his arms tightly across his chestplates as if to keep from exploding. A tiny, strangled noise escaped from his vocalizer. Hot Shot continued explaining. "It's kind of like Ratchet, when he yells…only different," he ended a little uncertainly.

Streetwise stopped patting Silverbolt on the back and looked up him with quavery blue optics. He scrubbed at the optic fluid with one hand in an action so endearingly sparkling-like, that Silverbolt felt his own spark melt, and his amusement subsided (thankfully).

"They don't really hate each other, they just missed you?" Streetwise asked him hopefully, and Silverbolt was able to nod and look Streetwise in the optics and tell him yes, absolutely, they yelled and screamed, but it was just because they wanted him to come and make them apologize and hug, and they most definitely did not hate each other.

"That's a stupid way to get attention," Blades muttered grumpily, and Groove and Streetwise nodded in slightly disapproving and bemused agreement.

Silverbolt felt the amusement rising again, but quashed it down firmly while he sent a firm comm. to Fireflight and Slingshot and helped Streetwise sit down with the rest of his brothers. You two, get your afts in here now. You are going to apologize and hug each other where the Protectobots can see you.

What? came Slingshot's startled answer. Silverbolt, you've got to be kidding.

I'm not going to hug Slingshot, Fireflight sent indignantly. Do you know what he said to me?

I don't care! I want you in here in the next quarter breem or you'll be scrubbing out the washracks with your glossae for the next vorn!

They made it with remarkable alacrity, considering that they were still near the washracks on the other side of the base and they had to come the long way around to avoid the remaining uncleared piles of rubble. They came through the door, Fireflight confused and hurt, Slingshot sullen, and Air Raid trailing behind with an amused smile on his face (probably having been filled in by Skydive).

Slingshot snorted in disdain when he saw the huddled Protectobots. They were crying? he sent, and Silverbolt felt his anger rising.

Yes, they were crying! They're sparklings, Slingshot. They haven't even reached their first vorn yet and they've just been through a very traumatic battle and their teammate is badly injured, and you and Fireflight scared the sparks out of them with your behavior. They were crying because they truly believe you two hate each other.

They're really less than a vorn old? Fireflight blinked in shock. But they're smart Silverbolt. How can they be that young?

They're smart sparklings Fireflight, but they're still sparklings. And they aren't used to arguing and you scared them. So hug Slingshot and say you're sorry.

He started it, Fireflight sent resentfully, but nevertheless he moved over to Slingshot and held out his arms, while the Protectobots all watched with rapt attention.

"I'm sorry Slingshot," he said. "I know you didn't mean it."

Slingshot grudgingly hugged Fireflight back. "I'm sorry too," he muttered. "It's not your fault you're a total space case."

"Hey!" Fireflight pinched Slingshot hard on his aileron, and Slingshot retaliated by punching him on the arm.

"Enough!" Silverbolt roared, before it could get completely out of hand, and four pairs of Protectobot optics stared up at him in shock. Great.

Air Raid was snickering helplessly somewhere behind him, but Silverbolt's attention was diverted when First Aid, who hadn't so much as twitched the entire time, suddenly twisted out of Hot Spot's grasp with a low cry of pain and staggered to his feet. The energon transfusion unit tumbled down on top of his brothers as the line tore out of his arm. Skydive reached out in an attempt to hold him steady, but he was reluctant to grab the still-healing armor too firmly. First Aid pushed away, weaving and stumbling out through the still open door to their quarters, leaving behind a trail of energon from the disconnected energon drip and the alarmed shouts of his brothers as they struggled to their feet.

Silverbolt was the first to reach him. First Aid was huddled on the floor of the hallway, optics shuttered tightly and hands pressed over auditory sensors. The stampede of panic-stricken Protectobots was not far behind, followed by the questioning calls of his own teammates. First Aid cringed and Silverbolt could hear his pained whimpers faintly under the chaos.

Quiet! Hot Spot commed them all urgently, and suddenly the only sound was First Aid whimper sobbing and the harsh rush of air through his intakes. Hot Spot knelt in front of First Aid and gently put a hand on his shoulder. First Aid unshuttered his optics slightly, blinking painfully at Hot Spot with optics that saw him, smiled shakily, and in a weak voice said "Hi, Hot Spot!…oof." Before Hot Spot could react, First Aid doubled over and made a horrible retching sound. Hot Spot grabbed First Aid by the shoulders and then, as his brother continued to heave as if he was trying to cough up his empty energon tank, looked up at Silverbolt with a desperate, panicked expression.

Silverbolt was feeling rather panicky himself, but when Hot Spot swayed slightly and put a hand to his mouthplates with a puzzled expression, he knew they had to act quickly.

Skydive, get First Aid to Ratchet, he ordered. Everyone grab a Protectobot and get them separated. Just pick a direction and go! Silverbolt heaved Hot Spot to his feet and steered him down the corridor, while Skydive picked up First Aid and rushed past them towards the temporary medbay. He didn't see which way the others went. Silverbolt didn't get very far before Hot Spot gurgled, and, realizing it was a lost cause, he stopped and let the wobbly Protectobot sink to his knees and purge every last drop of energon in his tank. Luckily, it had been awhile since Hot Spot had refueled, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it still wasn't pretty.

Finally the spasms ended, and Silverbolt helped Hot Spot sit down against the wall away from the mess. Hot Spot raised a shaking hand to his head and then looked at Silverbolt in stunned amazement.

"What was that?" he asked, voice very hoarse.

"You just purged your tanks, my friend." Silverbolt told him, patting his shoulder sympathetically. "Welcome to another one of the many joys of being a gestalt. When one purges, you all get to purge. Just wait until you try high grade."

"High grade?" Hot Spot blinked innocently.

Silverbolt laughed. "Nevermind. Ratchet will have my thrusters for corrupting you."

"Aid," Hot Spot said, struggling unsteadily to his feet.

"Skydive took him to Ratchet. Let's wait until we get the all clear, or else you'll just be purging again."

"He talked! Silverbolt, he could see me!" Hot Spot grinned excitedly at Silverbolt, spirits rebounding quickly. Silverbolt sent a quick comm. inquiry to Skydive and smiled at the answer.

"Skydive says Ratchet's still looking him over, but he looks ok, and he's not trying to toss his tank anymore. Apparently it was a reaction to the sensory overload of all of his networks rebooting at once. Let's see how the rest of your team is doing and then we can go see him."

Hot Spot gave an excited bounce, and they went to collect Groove and Blades. Groove had managed not to purge, but poor Air Raid had regurgitated energon all down his side from where Blades had lost it. Fireflight reported that he was still with Streetwise in their quarters, and would someone please get him to stop because I'm starting to feel queasy too.

With visions of all ten of them purging, Silverbolt sent a plea to Wheeljack, who sent back a startled Oh dear, Silverbolt, I'm on my way. They passed him in the corridor on the way to the temporary medbay and he gave them all a wave, vocal indicators flashing as he jogged by.

"Don't worry guys, I'll fix him up in a jiffy. Go see First Aid!"

First Aid was sitting on one of the makeshift berths and the seven of them jostled a bit as they all tried to crowd around it. Ratchet growled at them mildly and then warned, speaking quietly, "Keep the noise down. I'm still trying to get his audios adjusted."

As Ratchet poked around at the side of his head, First Aid smiled and blinked painfully and looked at them all as if he couldn't get enough, and the three Protectobots did much the same.

"Sorry about that, guys," he said apologetically, voice soft and scratchy from disuse. "I didn't mean to make you all purge your tanks. Wasn't that amazing though? I mean, I'd read about tank purging but I never realized it was quite so…"

"Unpleasant?" Hot Spot said, laughing.

"Yeah, reading about it and doing it are two entirely different things, aren't they. Probably good experience for me though," First Aid said philosophically.

"That's just what Streetwise said you'd say," Groove said, laughing softly as well.

"Where is Streetwise?" First Aid wondered, suddenly worried, but the question was answered as Wheeljack arrived, followed by Fireflight carrying Streetwise, who was still looking a little wobbly-about-the-vents.

"Put him over there until we're sure he's over it," Ratchet ordered, waving to the far side of the medbay, and Streetwise looked at them all a little mournfully as Fireflight carried him away.

"Wheeljack, could you work up a temporary visor out of some of the medium density light shield plating?" Ratchet asked. "His auditory sensors are normalizing, but his optics are still overreacting, and I'm not seeing any signs of improvement."

"Sure thing Ratch. How're ya doing kiddo?" First Aid smiled at Wheeljack brightly as he took some quick measurements and patted him fondly on the helm. "Primus, having you functional again like this, it seemed too much to even hope for. So good to have you back kid."

"Better keep your optics shuttered for now," Ratchet told him, and First Aid nodded, squinting painfully, but just before he closed them his gaze caught Silverbolt's. Silverbolt winked and he rotated his left shoulder a few times. First Aid's optic ridges rose in recognition and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but Ratchet put his hands over Aid's optics and said "shut 'em, or I'm welding them closed."

After a few breems, Streetwise was finally deemed safe to join the rest of his gestaltmates, and the Aerialbots stepped back a bit, watching as the Protectobots took turns snuggling their brother in quiet celebration, and Groove tried to convince Wheeljack to make him a visor just like First Aid's. "Groove, no. You don't need a visor," Hot Spot was saying firmly.

"I'm sorry," Slingshot said gruffly, and they all turned to look at him.

"What?" said Silverbolt blankly.

"Fireflight. I'm sorry," Slingshot repeated, looking annoyed. "You're still a space case, but I shouldn't have said it like that. Actually, I kind of like it that you're a space case."

Slingshot grunted as he suddenly had his arms full of high velocity Fireflight. He grumbled and rolled his optics, but Silverbolt saw his arms squeezing Fireflight tightly back.

"The things you do to get my attention," Silverbolt said, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

Slingshot scowled at them all over Fireflight's back, and Silverbolt grinned and Air Raid and Skydive snickered as they gave him congratulatory punches on the arms.

"Nice one 'Bolt."

"Score one for the team commander!"

A/N This has been so much fun! A big thank you again to everyone who has been reading, and I wanted to put in a special thank you here to Anhai for tipping me off to NaNoWriMo (which is an awesome fun program and just exactly what I needed) and for all of the encouragement, and for being my Protectobot Aerialbot squee-buddy {special thank you ^_^}