Disclaimer: I don't own them...wish I did.
Pairing and characters: Magnus/OFC, Optimus/Elita, Ironhide/Chromia, Ratchet, Vector Prime, ghost!Jazz, Lennox, Prowl, Epps, Soundwave, various other Autobots and Decepticons, OCs
Rating for: swearing, mature topics (thanks, Chromia), and a non-explicit sex scene
A/N: Constructive criticism and reviews are always appreciated. :3
- Chapter 1 -
On the few times I contemplated it, I always figured that, should it ever turn out that there were alternate realities, and I somehow got caught up in them, that it would result this big glorious, heroic adventure. It would start from the moment I arrived, and I'd never have time to think about it until I managed to get home, and I'd end up famous, in one reality or another, or I'd save the world, something like that. I mean, that's what happens in the TV shows, right? Yeah. I suppose I should have listened a little more closely to that one professor in university who asked us what aliens would think of our civilization if they came to Earth and we'd completely destroyed ourselves and everything we'd created, except for a recorded season of Friends. TV lies.
And yet, amidst the lies, there is a kernal of truth, even if it does simplify and compress things.
It had been the night of my graduation, oddly enough. I had my degree in my hand - or, well, on my dresser at home - and hadn't even looked at my student loans yet, nor stopped to wonder what on Earth I was going to do with a BA in classics when I barely passed the required language courses for it. I was just out to have a good night on the town, and celebrate the end of university with my friends. Which we did, with style - six bars, two pubs, and one lounge later, we were stumbling our way home. It was dark, I stumbled a bit more than usual, and when I looked up, I clearly remember there being a pole, and me hitting that pole.
I woke up the next morning in the drunk tank of a city halfway across the continent. At first, I chalked up getting from Calgary to San Francisco as the results of a bender of epic proportions. It was unlikely, but what else was I supposed to think?
I started thinking other things when I phoned home, intending to beg a ticket home from my parents. I hung up when a little old lady answered the phone, and two tries later, I realized that they really weren't there. More phone calls revealed that several of my friends' numbers were disconnected, and those that did connect didn't lead to the right person. I finally got someone with the right name when I tried one of my cousins' numbers that I barely remembered, but they knew nothing about my parents.
Freaking out and further research ensued, until I finally figured out that I, and most of my family, did not exist anymore. The phones could have been a giant hoax by my friends and family, but my facebook page, and every other piece of evidence of me on the internet, was gone as well. It was a miracle my cell phone was still working, because there was no trace of this particular Terry Gorman anywhere that I could discover.
So I found myself sitting on a corner in San Francisco, staring out at the bay wondering what the hell had happened to me. That was when the alternate reality idea occurred to me - I wasn't quite ready to jump to the paranoid 'somebody is out to get me and has erased my identity completely' idea yet, after all. So, in-between spending my few remaining Canadian dollars on food and crashing out on a park bench for awhile, I dug, trying to find anything different.
I found it the next day at the library, when I was pouring over an atlas - Los Angeles was now Mission City. And yeah, I knew what that meant. Transformers. And judging from the news, and the date, I was after the second movie, yet there was no evidence of the world knowing about Cybertronians.
I thought about going to find them. I came up with all these elaborate plans to contact someone involved with the Autobots, in fact. But in the end, I didn't. Not only because I'd have to go way down the ladder - Sam Witwicky's facebook was about as secure as Fort Knox, as was every other reference to him or anyone else mentioned in the film anywhere on the internet - but because I realized it would probably be best if I didn't show up on their doorstep, for all parties involved. I had an older brother that had loved them as a kid, so I'd grown up on their lore, and had seen most of the shows, heard the stories about the characters. I knew a lot, and I didn't know what of it was true, if any of it could be potentially harmful if I accidentally mentioned it to the wrong person. Or, I could know jack shit and just end up being some stupid human that the Autobots or the government would end up having to deal with somehow. The only good outcomes, in fact, were hardly realistic. There was the fact that maybe the Autobots could get me home, but the more I thought about it, the less likely I figured that was.
So instead, I discovered just why America has a problem with illegal immigrants. Getting a job under the table, with no ID, was surprisingly easy. So was finding a place to stay, once I had the cash in hand. From there, it was just a question of working my way up the quasi-legal job ladder. It was strange, and yet liberating, to be completely free from my old life. I found myself taking interesting turns in personality.
I'd been a reclusive classics major who only went out for special occasions before - a library geek, an academic, more into my books than the traditional 'girly' things. After a year in this alternate reality, I only set foot in the library to use the internet - and infrequently for that. Instead, I spent most of my time either waiting tables at Eric's Family Restaurant and Gas Station, on the outskirts of San Francisco, or hanging out with the friends I'd acquired, either in bars, going to movies, shopping, or other outings. I actually went tanning regularly now, and found myself concerned with my hair and makeup, where before such things had been of no interest to me. I suppose it was my way of dealing - I couldn't go back to my old life, so I chose to just forget it, to become as different from it as possible.
I should have known better, though. When the universe has already turned your life upside down, it would be logical to expect more of the same. Murphy's Law, and all that. I plead emotional trauma for not having thought of that, though.
"Hi, my name's Terry, I'll be your server. What can I get for you this morning? Trucker's specials all around?" I asked, tucking my shoulder-length brown hair behind one ear as I surveyed the four men that were our first customers for the day. A more different group of people I couldn't imagine. Though their trucks were sitting out in the lot, only one had the stereotypical trucker look, complete with the baseball hat. Two of them had the classic sports team jock look down, and the last obviously had either some relation to the army or really liked the look.
"Only two," the army guy said. "But four coffees, please."
"Sure thing," I replied with a smile, and headed off to the kitchen. Them being the only customers at the moment, I got their coffees, then waited by the kitchen for their order to be ready, chatting with the cook, Dan, about a movie me and some of the other waitresses had gone to see last night. When their food was ready, I carried it over, somewhat surprised that the two specials were for the army guy and one of the sports-team guys, while the trucker stereotype wasn't having anything. Like a good waitress, I didn't comment on the oddity, simply asking if they were sure they didn't want anything, and then I went on my merry way.
Shortly afterwards, our second customers of the day arrived, and after them, more. I passed by the table with our first customers a few times, asking if they needed anything, but they never did, and I didn't think anything of them until after they'd left. I was passing through the kitchen on my break when Dan called my name, and I poked my head back around the freezer curiously.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Do you know those guys that were in here first thing this morning?" Dan asked, frowning.
"No, why?" I asked, looking surprised - I had barely talked to the guys, even when we weren't busy. I obviously didn't know them too well.
"The guy with the hat was staring at you the entire time they were in here," Dan replied.
"He was?" I asked, thinking back to the trucker stereotype. "Ew. Creepy," I commented.
"Yeah. You have a ride home tonight?" Dan asked, not even trying to be subtle.
"I'll find one," I told him reassuringly - I'd heard a few tales of waitresses followed home and harassed, enough to be wary of it.
"I'm off before you, but my number's on the sheet, call me if you don't find one," Dan said, nodding towards the employee contact sheet.
"Um - ok," I said, giving him an uncertain look, then excused myself and went outside for the rest of my break. Dan was a nice guy, but he was also a bit of a pot-head. I had no doubt that if I called him after work, he'd show up half-baked. And he lived across the bay. I'd just find another ride - it wouldn't be the first time I'd hung around work until one of my co-workers was off, after all.
I ended up catching a ride from Sara, one of the other waitresses - a younger one that was still trying to live her dream of getting into modeling or acting, and only worked part-time, coming in for lunch and then heading out to find her big break. Nothing happened during the ride home, and I put the trucker staring at me out of my head and went back to business as usual - until he showed up again a week later, this time just with the army guy.
I was a bit less friendly this time, and a bit more clumsy, as I realized that Dan was right and the trucker guy did seem to stare at me the entire time they were in the restaurant. I would have hidden in the kitchen if I could, but we were somewhat busy. I still retreated when I could, and was grateful when they left. I caught a cab to a friend's place after, and stayed the night with her.
I was on edge for the next week, waiting for the trucker to come back. When he did, I flat out refused to serve him and his friends - three others, missing the army guy from before, but two of them looking similar and one looking like he should be in a business suit. Fortunately, Dan was working, and backed me up when I told Eric, my boss, about the guy. So I got to stay in the kitchen and help Dan while Eric waited my tables, and then I took over from him as soon as the trucker and his friends left. Eric wasn't pleased with it, but understood my concern. He just refused to let me do it again until I had a more legitimate reason to worry than 'he stares creepily at me' - which, according to Eric, half the restaurant did regularly. It was the downside of being a female waitress in a restaurant favoured by truckers, he said.
Fortunately, it seemed as if the trucker wasn't coming back. A month passed without sight of him, and then one evening, about half an hour before close, I looked up from my pre-emptive cleaning - the place was empty, so I was getting ready to go early - as the bell rang and saw him stepping inside. Since this was the first time he'd come near the end of my shift, I was a little wary, but went to serve him, anyways - Dan was busy in the kitchen, and Eric did have security cameras, and would have my job if I didn't help the guy.
"What'll it be?" I asked, internally wincing at how terse the question came out.
"Coffee," the trucker said, sounding tired. I realized with a start that this was the first time I'd heard him speak, and that he actually had quite a pleasant voice - not rough or growly like most of the trucker stereotypes we got in. Apparently he wasn't a smoker.
"Coming right up," I responded, and headed for the coffee pot. I poured him his cup and then went back to cleaning up. I was tense at first, expecting him to continue staring at me, but when I snuck a glance at him, I found that he actually had his eyes closed, head bowed over his cup of coffee, which he'd wrapped his hands around but didn't seem to have drunk out of. Half an hour later, when I was debating going over to let him know we were closing, he abruptly stood, nodded in my direction, tossed a couple dollars on the table, and left. He hadn't touched his coffee, and was long gone by the time Dan drove me home.
"So, you becoming a regular here or something?" I asked the next time I saw him, a few days later. It was a slow day - raining buckets outside, supposedly the remains of a tropical storm - and he'd shown up alone, ordering a cup of coffee before fixing his gaze out the window. I suppose that, since he wasn't staring at me any longer, I felt a little bolder - also, I was in a good mood today.
"Just stopping in whenever I'm passing through," he replied, seeming startled as I took a seat across from him in the booth.
"You seem to be doing that a lot lately," I commented.
"Is there a problem with that?" he asked, seeming irritated.
"No, just wondering if I should reserve this table for you or something, since you always pick it. I mean, our other regulars have their seats, and we'll do our best to have them available for them when we know they're stopping in," I replied lightly, then pointed to the table for two across the aisle from the booth. "That's Jim and Bob's table, for example. They come in every holiday for lunch. Been doing it for years, and are actually the reason Eric originally ordered a 'reserved' sign - we get busy on Easter Sunday, of all holidays, and they used to have to wait for a spot, until we got that sign." The guy chuckled.
"Fascinating. I doubt I'll be through on such a regular schedule, though. And I really don't care where I sit - this is just habit," he said.
"So you say now, but when you come in and have to take another seat, don't give me a puppy-dog look because everything is weird from your new seat," I told him warningly, though I was grinning as I spoke. The guy laughed at that.
"I promise I won't!" he assured me once he calmed down.
"Good. Eric doesn't like it when I toss customers out so regulars can have their seats, anyways," I said with a snicker.
"You? Toss customers out?" he seemed amused, glancing over what he could see of me above the table, and then leaned in slightly. "Somehow I think you mean you'd get the guy in the kitchen to do it for you," he said conspiratorially. I gasped in mock outrage, then snickered again.
"Yeah, probably. If I ever did," I said. "Only came close to asking him to do so once, though."
"Oh?" he seemed curious, and I suddenly groaned, realizing what I'd just backed myself into - he was the only guy I'd contemplated asking Dan to kick out. "Too embarrassing a story?" he asked, sounding amused.
"Only in present company. You creeped me out when you first started showing up," I said, then promptly hid my furiously blushing face in my hands. To my surprise, the guy didn't laugh, and when I looked up, he was giving me a serious look.
"I'm sorry," he said, sincerely. "I did not mean to."
"Er - it's fine. All in the past, now," I said, giving him a reassuring smile, then excused myself to do something or another that I later couldn't remember. The guy didn't seem offended, but left not long after, once again leaving an untouched coffee and a couple dollars on the table. My good mood deflated a little once I realized he was gone.
He was back the next day. I didn't serve him, but I passed him on his way out.
"You're right, it is different at another table," he commented with a small grin, and I flashed him an answering one, only just then realizing he'd been at a different table.
"Dan, you need to put those muscles of yours to work," I said with a sigh as I entered the kitchen a week later, and he looked up from the grill as Chelsey, one of the other waitresses and sometimes-cook, slipped past me and grabbed an apron, getting ready to take over for him.
"There are a couple guys out there making a nuisance of themselves - you've probably heard them," Chelsey said. "They're bothering other customers, and since Eric hired you to both cook and bounce..."
"Hunh. Been awhile," Dan commented, taking off his apron and handing his flipper to Chelsey. She and I winced as there was a particularly loud round of laughter from the obnoxious guys that had sat down in the middle of the restaurant. "Alright, I'll go kick them out," he said, heading out, and I followed him to the kitchen door, watching from there as he walked up to the guys. It was an ugly situation to start with - any guys who were rude enough to cause this sort of a problem in the first place wouldn't leave quietly - but considering Dan was an ex-football player, and still worked out regularly - even if he wasn't in as good shape due to all his pot smoking - not many people would stand up to him. These guys, apparently, were the type to do so.
They were just as rude with Dan as they had been with Chelsey and I, but they got worse, and more nasty, as Dan refused to back down, insisting that they leave. It was nothing but talk, however, until Dan clamped a hand on the arm of one, clearly intending to haul him up and drag him out of the restaurant. The guys spun and punched Dan so fast I barely saw it, and Dan lost his grip, staggering backwards, arm instinctively clutching his middle. The guys he'd been trying to kick out, meanwhile, turned from being annoying to be aggressive. The looks on their faces weren't pretty as they focused on Dan, and I found myself edging forward, glancing towards the emergency button for the police.
Then the bell rang, announcing someone entering. Everyone's attention momentarily shifted to the door, and I winced as I found my ex-creepy trucker standing there, surveying the scene. Oddly, he seemed to have caught the problem guys' attention entirely, staring them down.
"I think it's time you gentlemen leave," he rumbled after several long moments, and one of the problem guys snarled before they all rose, kicking over their chairs and shooting Dan looks of contempt before heading out, brushing past my trucker friend on their way out. There was a pause as the other customers saw the problem guys get in their cars, then once they were gone, there was a rousing cheer, for both Dan and the trucker. Dan accepted the cheer with a sheepish grin and a wave, while the trucker merely nodded, following Dan over to the kitchen entrance, where I still waited.
"Nice lone ranger entrance," Chelsey commented, startling me, and I jerked my head around to find her peering over my shoulder - quite the feat, considering I was six feet even, and she was well under that.
"Thank you," the trucker said with a nod, bringing my attention back to him.
"Yeah, thanks. Saved my bacon - those guys hit hard," Dan commented as he squeezed passed Chelsey and I into the kitchen. Chelsey took the opportunity to take off the apron and return to waitress duty.
"I hope they didn't cause too much of a problem," the trucker said with concern as Chelsey set about refilling drinks and chatting with the customers, helping to restore the friendly atmosphere.
"They were about to," I said, shaking my head. "Right after I told you I've never had to call Dan to kick someone out before, too."
"I believe there's something known as Murphy's Law that would apply here," the trucker said, looking amused, and I laughed.
"I suppose it would," I said. "But here, grab a seat, I'll get you some coffee on the house for scaring those punks off." The trucker nodded, and headed for his usual table, while I went to get him his coffee. He stayed for the rest of the afternoon, oddly, only getting up to leave around the time I was getting off. He didn't drink his coffee, either, just staring out the window, or glancing around the restaurant.
"You're easing back into the creepy category," I commented as he left behind me.
"It's not intentional - I was distracted, and I didn't realize until I heard you saying goodbye how much time had passed," he replied with a shrug and a faint smile. I gave him an appraising look.
"Alright, if you say so," I said as I headed for the bus stop. After I few steps, I turned around, walking slowly backwards, suddenly curious. "By the way, you've officially saved Dan's bacon, and we're on speaking terms - so what the hell is your name?" he was already at his truck, but stopped to look over at me. There was a long pause before he finally answered -
"Magnus."