Stories Tell Us

by Cyndi

We are not alone in how we feel. .o. (Danceverse, OptimusxMikaela, post TLK)

1. I A Priori

Author's note: Sorry that this is so late. IRL issues and the research I needed to do made writing this take so much longer than I intended. For anyone new to this, "Danceverse" begins with A Dance to Remember. You can find the series on Archive Of Our Own if you don't want to hunt through my fanfiction profile here. I'm Cyndi on AO3 too!

Major content warnings: Graphic violence, abuse (mention of physical, sexual, verbal, emotional and gaslighting), sexual harassment, suicidal ideation(mention) and catastrophic natural disasters.

Minor content warnings: Swearing, vomiting, ableist slurs, and (for those with gender dysphoria) menstruation.

The warnings cover the whole story.

Expect headcanons. Bring tissues. Now let's transform and roll out!

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Stories Tell Us

Part I: A Priori

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"Have you ever felt it could all go away
if you blink?
If you never stop running you won't fall behind,
so you think.
And you wonder in your heart
if you're still not who you are,
who are you?
Nothing's as it seems till it all falls apart..."

-Josh Groban, "Granted"

.o

Darkness turned everything into murky shadows. The absoluteness of it defied imagination.

Cold dryness seeped through Mikaela's skin. She stared at gibbous Jupiter, which took up half her visual field. Its cloud bands churned like river rapids vanishing towards blackness. The swirling Great Red Spot looked particularly angry.

Wait.

Space took less than two minutes to kill somebody, and exposure stole consciousness within fifteen seconds. Why was she still conscious? Why wasn't she suffocating? Wasn't her spit supposed to boil?

I wish I missed that science class, Mikaela thought morbidly. Her detachment towards herself didn't strike her as unusual.

Jupiter moved slowly aside. Optimus floated past its northern pole and accelerated towards a blinding glow appearing in the distance. Everything behind it warped like dented chrome, even the darkness.

"Optimus! Don't drink it!" Mikaela yelled, desperately kicking her feet in attempt to reach him. Tension tightened her stomach into painful knots. She didn't have time to notice her shouting made no sense. "Don't drink it! Don't drink it! You're going to-"

Too late.

Optimus' body stopped against the unfeeling blackness. Just an afterimage, something left behind when the last photons bounced off his armor. Time dilation shielded her from witnessing his dismembered atoms flying apart like a house in a tornado.

"No, no, no!" Mikaela screamed until her throat went raw.

The black hole belched in her face. Deadly radiation vaporized her skin.

.o

Something yanked at Mikaela's feet. She woke with a yelp. Thunder exploded directly overhead.

"Mom, it's time!" Elita's breathless voice merged into the newborn downpour hitting the roof. She zipped up the gray hoodie she wore over her clothes. "C'mon!"

Mikaela's heart raced as she glanced around at the dark master bedroom. The black hole was just her usual July fourth nightmares. She picked the sleep goop out of her eyes and smoothed her sloppy hair.

"I'll be right down."

"Okay."

Elita rushed away, her messy brown braid bouncing. She sounded like a twenty car pileup crashing down the stairs.

Lightning turned the windows white. Rolling thunder shook Mikaela's breastbone. She threw a light pink summer robe over her rumpled blue tunic and followed her daughter's path. Her bare feet slapped noisily on the smooth hardwood floor. The third stair creaked beneath her toes and the coldness of the thick wooden handrail did little to cool her worry.

Two brass gourd lamps sat on mahogany end tables framing the red Chesterfield sofa. Their pleated white coolie shades lit the sofa and fireplace mantle. Optimus wasn't there like she expected. She reached the bottom of the staircase, grabbed the fluted box newel with her left hand and swung herself in a hairpin turn without losing speed. Her new trajectory flung her towards the basement door, where she slowed and made another left to enter.

Tide laundry detergent scents filled her nose. She passed the alcove where the washer-dryer set sat tucked to the left of the door and peered into the basement's gray dimness.

Elita was glued to Optimus' side, her arms wrapped tight around his middle. Optimus had his left arm draped over her shoulders. He slumped in a side sitting position directly below the hopper window in the corner. Water droplets speckled the tiny window like constellations. Scratches on the wood paneling beneath it marked his fall.

"Open it when I'm gone," he said cryptically to Elita.

"Okay." Elita cupped his face between her hands. They bumped foreheads, nuzzled noses and gave each other a light peck on the mouth. Optimus' head flopped forward again as soon as she let it go.

Mikaela tied her robe shut as she descended the steep cement stairs into the basement. The frigid floor bit her feet. It was always cold in here, even during the summer. She wasted no time in straightening Optimus' legs to make him more comfortable. He emitted a soft grunt, like someone having a cramp massaged away. Hologram or not, sitting like that had to hurt.

"Hey, honey."

Optimus didn't raise his head, so Mikaela knelt and lifted it for him. He let it droop backwards against the wall behind him. His normally brilliant blue optics hardly lit his face.

"Wifey," he said affectionately, "I fell."

"Me, too, on my prom night."

The joke took a moment to register. His optics twinkled at the recollection. "I'm still experiencing that fall."

Heat rushed into her cheeks.

Optimus' joking demeanor dissolved. He picked his head up and looked into Mikaela's eyes.

"My hologram will shut off after I lose consciousness." His left optic twitched. "I won't contact you again until I deal with the Creators."

Elita frowned indignantly. "Why? Dad! You always call when you get somewhere."

Optimus blinked and his pupils shrank to bright pinpoints. "I can't risk them tracing my signal back to y-"

He yelped and lurched forward, clutching his chest.

Mikaela startled. "Optimus?"

Elita jerked her head up. "Dad!"

Another groan escaped him. He stuck the second knuckle of his index finger into his mouth and bit down. His pupils returned to their normal aperture and glowed dimmer than before. Dents marred his finger when he stopped biting it.

"Daddy," Elita petted the red Autobot symbol on his chest, "Are you okay?"

Optimus sounded strained, "I'm- all right. My fuel pump shut down and m-my energon is cooling. The c-cold is mildly uncomfortable." His voice smoothed out and returned to its normal depth as he relaxed against the wall again. "I'll enter stasis lock momentarily. It's all right, Elita. Shhh, sweet-Spark, I'm fine."

Mikaela knew that hurt like hell. The barely noticeable quiver in his eyelids gave it away. He was in horrendous pain and shielding his little girl from seeing him suffer. Rather than give him an audio-full for it, she swooped forward and pressed her lips to his mouth. His armor was colder than the room.

"You're coming back when this is over," Mikaela said, meeting his gaze. She defaulted to a tone she reserved for an unruly Elita. "I'm not accepting maybe or I hope so or no as answers. You're going to kick your Creators' asses and come right back. That's final."

Optimus blinked slowly, his optics quirking in an affectionate smile. "Mikaela, are you mothering me?"

"You're damn right I am." Her eyes welled over. "The only response I'll accept is yes, mom."

"In that case..." Wiper fluid tears beaded on his eyelids. He cupped her cheek in his palm and brushed his thumb across her lips. "Yes, mom."

Mikaela took his hand, kissed it and embraced him along with Elita. She tried in vain to will her body heat into him.

"I love you," Optimus said in her ear.

"I love you, too," Mikaela murmured against his shoulder.

He repeated it to Elita, who responded in kind.

Rain swished against the awning window. Optimus arched again, his optics flaring. They stayed bright, yet his inner and outer pupils dilated to their widest aperture.

"My optics are losing resolution. I can't see you."

"I can see you." Elita moved her face near his. "You'll be okay, dad. You're the king of okay."

He shifted his gaze between Elita and Mikaela like he feared forgetting their faces the moment he stopped seeing them.

"We're right here." Mikaela leaned closer until his searching optics fixed on her. Keeping the lump in her throat in check used a strength she didn't know she possessed. Especially when she saw wiper fluid tears dribble onto his cheek plating. He needed her to be strong, and right then she would do anything for him.

"Will you be all right?" asked Optimus.

"Shhh," Mikaela thumbed the tears off his frigid cheeks and held his right hand. "Worry about yourself."

He closed his fingers around hers. "I'm worried about you."

Optimus, you selfless son of a...

"I'll be fine. I promise."

Tension left him, evidenced by his hydraulics hissing.

Elita picked his free hand up and gripped his thumb. "When people ask where you went, I'm gonna tell them you're saving the world. And someday, when I grow up, I'm gonna change the world so it's safe for Autobots again. 'Til all are one, right?"

Optimus's confident smile obliterated doubt's shadows.

"Until that day..." His voice wound down like a cassette player with dying batteries. "...'Til all- are- one..."

His face relaxed to deadpan and his optics faded. He closed them as his chin sank gracefully towards his chest.

"Dad," Elita sniffled.

Tears escaped onto Mikaela's cheeks. Everything between her chest and throat ached to cry, but she refused to give in to it. She couldn't remember the last time Optimus looked so peaceful. Crying because she missed him seemed selfish, so she told herself to be grateful that he entered stasis-lock without a struggle.

"G'night, honey," she whispered in his audio. "I'll see you soon."

Thunder crackled and wind rattled the hopper window.

The wiper fluid on Optimus' eyelids crystallized. Fine white fern patterns appeared on his armor. Frost dotted his windshields and windows. Deep space frigidness radiated off his body. He was so cold it burned to touch him. Mikaela reluctantly laid his hand in his lap and sat back on her heels.

Movement off to the side caught her eye. Annoyed, she pushed her fingers through her messy hair.

"El, what are you doing?"

"I want to make him comfy."

"He doesn't know the difference."

"I do!"

"Then hurry up before you stick to him."

Mikaela helped Elita lay Optimus on his back next to the wall. His joints froze stiff like rigor mortis, and moving them required tremendous effort. He seemed so heavy with the weight of the world embedded in his shoulders.

Elita heaved his sword onto his chest. She pointed the sharp end towards his feet and folded his hands on the pommel.

"He looks like King Arthur."

Mikaela draped an arm around her daughter's shoulders. "Sleeping until it's time to be a hero again."

Optimus' hologram pixilated like a bad digital TV signal and winked out. The chill in the room dissipated. Brilliant lightning and bone-shaking thunder raged at his departure.

.o

Hours earlier...

To Mikaela, nothing looked cuter than Elita asking Optimus to braid her hair. She sat at the kitchen table, calmly eating a blueberry muffin while he stood behind her to do his thing.

Some twelve year olds withered if their parents dared look at, touch, kiss or hug them in public. Not so for Elita. Maybe Optimus' influence helped her grow into an openly affectionate girl. But man, she had a mean streak if she found out somebody attacked a person incapable of defending themselves, especially Cybertronians. She didn't care that it caused some of her peers to laugh at her or call her robot girl; she held her ground and backed up her beliefs.

Elita leaned back when Optimus asked her to. She grew her brunette hair to her mid-back. Mikaela let her get blonde highlights when school let out for the summer. They looked gorgeous.

And Optimus was as good at doing hair as he was at cooking. He used the soft-bristled hairbrush to smooth everything when he wove more and more strands together against Elita's scalp.

"Almost ready to zoom," Optimus said. "Elita, am I pulling?"

"Nope." Elita smiled.

His hands paused at the nape of her neck. He brushed the three separated locks a few times to remove any lingering tangles.

Mikaela grabbed a sour green apple from the bowl by the sink, crossed around the counter and leaned on the kitchen table to watch.

Optimus stuck a sparkly red hair band in his mouth to keep his hands free, hooked two locks of Elita's hair around the end joints of his left index and middle fingers and draped the third over his right index fingertip.

Then, magic.

His hands became scintillating silver blurs alternating from palm up and palm down. Elita's hair wove perfectly together between them. He could've passed for a professional who braided people's hair on tropical beaches, except he created one large braid instead of several small ones.

Mikaela's cheeks warmed when Optimus winked flirtatiously at her. He wove the braid in less than ten seconds, pulled the sparkly band out of his mouth and added it to Elita's hair with three quick finger flicks. A few passes with the brush tamed the frizzy tail.

"Your French braid is complete."

"Awesome. Thanks, dad."

Elita looked up when Optimus looked down. They kissed each other's foreheads. She uncurled from her chair and finished her muffin on the way to the kitchen sink.

Optimus peered at Mikaela. He let his own mouth fall open and pushed it shut again with his hand when he caught her gawking. Mikaela faked an offended sneer and took a bite of her apple.

"That gets cooler every time I see you do it," she said.

He passed his hand over the top of his head as if slicking back hair and sat in the chair Elita vacated. "It's better to be cool than a cube."

"Square," Elita called from the sink.

Optimus squinted without breaking his smile, "Mikaela, we're raising a pedant."

"I heard that."

Mikaela put on her best 'mom' voice, "Don't you have a disaster zone of a room to clean up?"

"It's not a disaster zone, I'm building a secret military base," Elita huffed when she passed them.

"Smart-aft," muttered Optimus. He rolled his optics exactly when Elita did and counted to three with his fingers.

"As if!" Elita shot back. "It's not smart, it's a genius."

"Because you're wearing genes that we gave you." Optimus rested his elbow on the table, propped his cheek against his fist and perfectly mirrored Elita's irritated 'whatever' hand-wave.

Keeping a straight, stern face used everything Mikaela had. "Enough, El. I don't care if you're hiding Area 51 under your floor. Your room's a hot mess."

"Can it wait until after the picnic?"

"No." Optimus and Mikaela said at the same time.

"Ugh! Fine."

Footsteps thudded up the stairs and her bedroom door banged.

Mikaela gently kicked Optimus' shin under the table once she finished her apple. "Thanks for the non-help, boss bot."

He shrugged. "You had it under control."

"You convinced her to start this cleanup operation in the first place."

Thanks to Optimus, Elita spent a week going through her belongings and discarding anything she no longer had a use for. Items with sentimental value survived the purge. Her bedroom was a minefield of trash bags and items piled up in seemingly random order. There used to be a floor in there, once, but it hadn't been clearly seen for the past seven days.

Optimus rubbed his index finger across his chin. He stared blankly, his optics dimming until they shut off. Mikaela groaned mentally. She noted the time on her phone, calmly crunched her apple and watched him slump forward.

These episodes weren't cause for alarm unless they went on longer than twenty minutes. So far, that hadn't happened.

Five minutes later, he shuddered. She knew he wasn't alert by his vacant expression and dull speech.

"We're supposed to pick Elita up from Lupe's at three o'clock."

"Honey, that was last week."

"What?" He tried to sit up properly, but his head weighed more than he could lift.

"It's July fourth."

"That can't be correct...we were just..."

"You're having a recharge attack."

"That- ugh..." His hands splayed against the tabletop. "I can't keep up with you right now."

She rubbed his hand. "I know. It's okay. Just relax."

"What date is it?"

"July fourth."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Why?"

"I don't know." He lifted his head by leaning back in the kitchen chair. "Did you say it's July fourth?"

"Yup."

Optimus' optics dimmed again. Mikaela grabbed his shoulder and directed him forward. He managed to fold his arms on the tabletop before his lights went out. The clang of his head landing on his forearms sounded like her heart cracking.

Okay, universe. She glared accusingly at the ceiling. What next, huh? What bullshit are you dropping on him next?

Naturally, the universe didn't answer.

"I hate these," Optimus grunted.

Mikaela shoved her anguish aside. "Are you back with me?"

He kept his face nested in his forearms, but gave a thumbs up. Splitting headaches followed his recharge attacks. Light added to his misery. He straightened when it passed and looked down at the open Car and Driver magazine he collapsed on. Mikaela had drawn little blue hearts around the cherry red GMC Topkick c6500. A truck way out of her league right now, but a girl could dream.

Optimus cocked a brow ridge. Perhaps the truck reminded him of Ironhide, too.

"I won't be able to resist stasis lock much longer," he said.

She gnawed her bottom lip and frowned. "How long do you have?"

The way he glanced down at his hands warned of an answer she wasn't going to like. He refocused on her face.

"Fourteen hours. Any longer, and I risk permanent damage."

Mikaela glanced at the time on her phone. Nine in the morning. Her stomach knotted.

Optimus mentioned the possibility of using all his energon to keep warm in space. Running completely dry didn't mean immediate death any more than an empty gas tank meant a car ceased functioning forever, but it put his health at serious risk.

Energon was an "energy state" catalyst that allowed a bot to stay conscious and maintain their self-repair systems. Nanites were one of their most vital components, second only to Spark chambers, CPUs and fuel pumps. Those tireless microscopic workers prevented moving parts from degrading, healed most injuries and tore apart microscopic contaminants in wounds, tubes, pipes or hoses.

"This can't be happening." Mikaela slipped her fingers into her brunette hair and massaged her scalp. Her eyes narrowed when she noticed how slick it felt.

"I wish it wasn't." Optimus gazed at her with raised brow ridges, a look that apologized for every disappointment his departure incurred.

"Elita is gonna have a herd of cows over this." She groaned under her breath at the thought.

"I know." He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. "I'm leaning towards secrecy until after the fireworks tonight."

"She'll be upset that you waited to tell her."

"Mmhmm. Catch twenty-two." His brow ridges settled in a line. He simulated a sigh and rose to stand. "I should assist her cleanup operation before the bed disappears."

"Heh! Yeah, good idea." Mikaela slid off her chair and stretched her arms over her head. "I'm gonna take a shower. I feel like a grease monkey in all the wrong ways."

Optimus caught her in his arms and waltz-dipped her. He purred salaciously in her ear, "Grease is an excellent lubricant. Rawr!"

Ooh, his deep voice did things to her body when he talked to her like that.

"You're horrible." She laughed and slapped his shoulder when he stood them up again.

"I practice daily." He waggled his brow ridges as he led her through a few saucy tango steps. Afterward, he embraced her close against his chest. His warm armor was porcelain smooth to her cheek. "It may be wise to keep our minds in the here and now rather than what awaits us in fourteen hours. Live moment to moment."

"Easier said than done."

"I know." Optimus gave her a light squeeze. His tone lightened, "I'll inform you if we need to call a bomb squad into Elita's room."

Mikaela held onto the hug a second longer than he did. She crinkled her nose. "Good luck."

With that, he beamed his hologram upstairs. Sometimes, she envied his ability to do that. She took the long way via the stairs and closed the bathroom door behind her.

Twenty minutes later, she blow-dried her hair and reached for the clothes hanging off the back of the bathroom door.

Dressing slightly fancier than usual helped Mikaela feel better. She pulled up the back zipper of her midnight blue flutter-sleeve tunic, defined her waistline with a thin white belt and donned dark red leggings. A simple ponytail emphasized her neck. White wedge sandals put her stars and stripes toenail art on display. Gold shimmer eye shadow, rosy blush and red lip gloss brought out her sharp features. To complete her look, she added a pair of sparkly earrings.

Optimus gave her these earrings for Mother's day. Tiny crystal stars danged off the ends of tiered gold chains. The faceted stars caught the light like prisms.

Mikaela moved the earrings box back into her room. She had a simple oak dresser with brass handles. The top right-hand drawer housed all her jewelry in boxes or cloth bags.

Something thudded several times before loudly going bang. The whole upstairs floor shook!

"Finally!" Optimus said, "Parental achievement unlocked after twelve years!"

"Oh, dang!" Elita gasped. "Let me get that."

"Wait, it's- ow! It's stuck!"

"No, it's not. Oof! Okay, I guess it is. It's really stuck!"

They cracked up.

Okay, laughing didn't sound like an emergency. Mikaela decided to check on them anyway. She approached Elita's room and peeked in because the door was open.

Everything looked almost impeccable again, save for the black trash bags piled by the closet. Optimus sat on the floor, clutching at his left knee while doubled over. Elita leaned against the wall with a red face and laugh-tears in her eyes.

"What's going on in here?" asked Mikaela.

Neither Optimus nor Elita could answer right away. Instead, Optimus lifted up the leg he held onto. There was a green Lego brick wedged in the treads at the "heel' end of his foot. He covered his face and stomped his right foot on the floor while he laughed.

"Dad stepped on a Lego and did this!" Elita held her left foot and hopped around before plopping onto her butt on the floor next to Optimus. "He looked like Wile E. Coyote!"

"Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Mud," Optimus snickered.

"Oh, you poor baby," Mikaela snickered. Their laughter was contagious. "Okay, gimme your foot, I'll pull that out."

"As you wish," said Optimus. He put his right foot flat on the floor and crossed his legs so his left ankle rested on his right knee. His sole treads were already spread out as far as possible.

Pulling on the Lego didn't budge it an inch.

"I'll try pliers." She crinkled her nose, "You're lucky it's not up your aft."

Elita giggled at that. Mikaela playfully rolled her eyes and ventured downstairs. She returned after retrieving her needle nose pliers from the basement toolbox.

"All right." Mikaela poked the pliers between the treads in Optimus' foot and grabbed the Lego brick. "Ready?"

"No," he said, "but do it anyway."

"Your funeral. On three." Mikaela held the rubbery red pliers handles with both hands. "One, two, three!"

"Ow!" Optimus squeezed his optics shut.

She toppled onto her butt and triumphantly held up the Lego brick. "Got it!"

Elita cackled at both of them. "I can't believe it took you that long to step on a Lego, dad. Was it worth the pain?"

"Mmhmm." Optimus rubbed his sore foot and squinted one optic. "Now put that away. It isn't an experience I want to repeat."

"Is that why you didn't flicker your hologram?" asked Elita.

"Yes."

"Figures." Mikaela, a veteran who survived stepping on at least twenty of those damn things, bit her lip to avoid a rude laugh. She turned to Elita instead. "El, are you done with cleanup?"

"Yeah." Elita dropped the wayward Lego brick in a bag by her bed.

"Okay. Toss the bags in my truck. I'll drop them off at Volunteers of America on the way to work."

Mikaela couldn't make herself say tomorrow without bitter coldness. Luckily, Elita didn't notice the lapse in her demeanor. She grabbed two stuffed trash bags that crinkled while she bumped down the stairs, her French braid swinging behind her.

Optimus took the hand Mikaela offered and got to his feet. A smile tilted his optics. "You're wearing my Mother's day present."

Warmth suffused her cheeks. They were about to kiss when Elita bounded in to grab more bags. A resonantly distinctive Godzilla roar filled the room. Her ringtone. She swiped her phone off the dresser, twisted her fist around the top of a heavier trash bag and answered the call while she dragged it through the door.

"Hello? Hey! Talia! Yeah, I'm coming to the picnic. What're you bringing?" Her voice faded around the corner, "Awesome! Yeah! Dad made potato salad and..."

Optimus snapped his fingers, which made a clanging noise. "That reminds me, I should get the cooler ready for transport."

Mikaela covered a yawn. "Do you have enough ice?"

"Yeah."

He paused at Elita's dresser to shake the cheap snow globe she kept there. Pink glitter swirled around the plastic moose standing in the center.

Elita thudded her way upstairs. She grabbed the bag Mikaela handed her while chattering away on her phone.

.o

Mikaela's watch showed noon when Optimus parked the Silverado in the centermost parking space by the grassy curb.

The picnic took place in a public park twenty miles from the cabin. It boasted a playground, basketball courts, handball courts, tennis courts, and a sprawling grass field shaded by thick, bushy California pepper and Holly oak trees. Parents lounged among the wooden picnic tables, which were arranged in neat semicircular rows in the most shaded spots.

A group of preteen girls gathered around a volleyball net being set up in the grass by the basketball courts.

Talia was the most easily recognizable of the bunch because of her pale skin and bald head. Lupe, a tall Mexican girl with her dark hair tied back in a bun, held the volleyball.

Predictably, Elita exited the Silverado and bolted towards them as soon as Optimus turned off the engine.

"We got dumped," Optimus said jokingly. He checked the rear view mirror. "Whoops, I better change."

The truck's tinted windows concealed him as he shifted to his human hologram. This time, he manifested an absolutely amazing bald-faded pompadour undercut with red, white and blue streaks amidst the 'natural' light brown. His facial stubble looked typical of a man who went two days between shaves. Silver-rimmed glasses sat atop his nose, a perfect frame for blue eyes like Elita's.

For clothes, he chose black denim shorts, a dark red T-shirt sporting a bald eagle carrying an American flag and black fisherman sandals. He wanted to show off that he "worked out" a bit. His muscles weren't body builder huge, but they showed and looked nice.

"I hope I'm dressed sufficiently for the weather."

"Yup. You look sexy," Mikaela winked at him.

His grin could light solar systems. He waggled his thick eyebrows. "Just for you, wifey."

They laughed and got out to grab their picnic supplies. Somebody's barbecue grill added a charcoal note over the scrumptious fresh cut grass. Humidity made being in the sun feel like a sauna. Mikaela nudged Optimus towards the shade.

Somebody's basketball clinked through a chain net. The ball bounced, shoes thumped on blacktop and boys shouted at each other.

Erin O'Clery, a statuesque redhead wearing an off-white sundress and straw sun hat with a pastel blue ribbon, slid her box of fruit cups aside. She wore a red flip-flop sandal on one foot and a black medical boot on the other.

Mikaela noticed Erin's daughter, Julia, sitting by her feet. Julia's hair was as red as her mom's and cut in a cute, messy bob. She hugged a worn stuffed brown rabbit to her chest and stayed intent on the iPad in her lap, which played Sesame Street. Her pink and purple jumper and pale green Capri shorts had a few blades of grass stuck to them. Elmo's smiling face adorned the tops of her black Mary Jane shoes.

Optimus gratefully set his cooler down on the vacated table space. He extracted the huge bowl of potato salad and two jumbo family-sized bags of cool ranch Doritos. A small cooler inside the big one was empty, but would contain "food" manifested via hologram whenever he wanted to mimic eating.

"Thirsty?" Mikaela tilted the big cooler to show Erin the bottles of Gatorade, Aquafina water and Elita's favorite Snapple iced tea.

"Oh, thank you!" Erin plucked up an Aquafina. She passed it to Julia, who turned her head to take a sip. Julia's eyes were as green as her mother's.

"Looks like quite a turnout," Mikaela said. She nudged Optimus. "Honey, check your blood sugar."

Erin glanced at Optimus when he regarded Mikaela.

"Ah, thank you," he said.

Optimus produced an Accu-Chek glucose monitor from his pocket. They always made a point to do this around people whenever abundant food was available. Having witnesses prevented unwanted questions when other people realized he wasn't eating from everyone else's dishes.

He noticed Erin peering at him and said, "I'm diabetic."

"Hi, Diabetic." She spoke with an Irish accent, "I'm Erin."

It took Optimus a moment to get the joke. "Actually, my name is Owen." He nodded towards Mikaela, smiling, "I'm hers."

"Oh! Mikaela's husband- Hi!" Erin beamed up at him. "It's nice to meet you in person. Mikaela says you're busy most of the time."

"I am." Optimus nodded. "I'm a truck driver when I'm not deployed. It keeps me busy."

Perfect cover for his mysterious absences on the rare occasions Elita had friends over. One of his greatest fears was going into flashbacks or having anxiety attacks in their presence, so he turned his hologram off until Elita called to tell him they left. Elita made it easier for him by going to her friends' houses more often.

Erin adjusted her hat. "That sounds like quite the lonely job."

"Sometimes." He shrugged, "But family is a phone call away."

The girls by the volleyball net broke up into two teams. Elita, Lupe and Talia on one team, three other girls whose names Mikaela didn't know on the other. The competition looked friendly, judging by their laughter and clumsy volleyball skills.

Optimus eyed the game. "Are any of your children playing?"

Erin shook her head. "Nah. Dave is on the basketball court. He's wearing the yellow striped shirt."

Now Mikaela recognized the tall, strawberry-blonde boy. Elita chased him halfway around school once because he said Transformers were monsters.

"And this," Erin indicated the girl sitting by her feet, "is Julia."

Julia didn't acknowledge him while being introduced.

"Hello, Julia." Optimus regarded the girl. He tilted his head at the lack of response, "Is she hard of hearing?"

"Autistic," Erin replied.

"Ah." He sat on the grass beside her. Rather than try to seek her eyes, he gazed at the iPad with her and spoke more softly. "My name is Owen. I'm Elita's dad. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. If you don't mind my asking, how old are you, Julia?"

Julia tapped the screen to pause the video and counted on her fingers. She held up eight and stuck out her tongue.

"Wow! That's eight birthday cakes! Do you think the Count would enjoy that?" He adopted the Count's accent, "One cake, two cakes, three cakes! Ah-ah-ah!"

"Ah-ah-ah!" Julia copied his Count laugh.

Mikaela snorted at that. Geez, she hadn't heard Optimus do his Count impression since Elita was three.

He went on, "I suppose you can tell the Count is my favorite. Who's yours?"

Julia bent lower over the iPad, giggling. She uncurled her right leg and wiggled her foot.

"Elmo, huh?" Optimus bent his knees and rested his chin on them. "You're right. Elmo is the best."

"Elmo is the best!" Julia tapped her stuffed rabbit against her chest and set it in her lap. "Elmo is the best!"

She bent her arms and flapped her hands as she looked over at Optimus. Her smile began in her bright green eyes and spread to her lips.

He raised his eyebrows and grinned back. "Hello, little lady."

"Hello, little lady! Hello!"

Julia dumped the iPad aside, grabbed her bunny and bolted towards the slides. She guffawed throughout her sprint.

"Whoa!" Optimus watched her go. "She's a speedster!"

Erin laughed and wiggled her toes. "Maybe she'll be a track and field star in high school."

She scooped up the iPad and closed the cover. Three large stickers decorated it: A rainbow colored lemniscate for Neurodiversity, a red shoe for Red Instead, and a blue puzzle piece crossed out with a big red X that said Boycott Autism Speaks underneath. She tucked the iPad into her beaded brown canvas bag and followed her daughter, her progress slowed by the fracture boot.

The bench Mikaela sat on shifted slightly forward when Optimus slid next to her. "It's hard to believe Elita was that young, once."

Nostalgia washed over Mikaela. She patted his knee in agreement.

More parents and kids arrived. Car engines, the clunk of coolers and more voices filled the background.

Then a tenor voice with a strong New York accent shouted over the general noise. "Howdy! Hi! Hey!"

"Ugh..." Mikaela silently gritted her teeth.

The Pagonis family was the richest family at Elita's school, and boy did they love showing it off. Seeing them make a public appearance in such a "lowly" place made Mikaela roll her eyes.

Maxwell "Max" Pagonis was 'husband next door' handsome, like a stocky brown-eyed James Dean with curly black hair cropped short, a square jaw and a cleft chin. Gel kept his curls combed back off his face. He wore a thin gold neck chain that glistened near the collar of his crisp white polo shirt and the creases in his white dress pants were sharp enough to cut diamonds.

Sherry, his aerobics instructor of a wife, trailed behind him wearing a shiny sleeveless jumpsuit printed like an American flag. A filmy white scarf protected her braided, dye-fried blonde hair from the sun. Her outfit looked more fitting for a NASCAR racetrack than a family picnic. Watching her struggle through the grass on her gold spike heel sandals was almost funny. Mikaela didn't bother getting up to help.

Their son, Tyson, dragged a cooler on a red wagon. He inherited his dad's cleft chin and curly black hair, but had his mom's delicate lips. The poor kid's dark hair was slicked back with enough gel to kill the ozone layer. His crimson silk button-down shirt, designer jeans and pristine white shoes didn't seem comfortable or proper for rough and tumble play in humid weather.

"You guys got it covered?" Max asked his family.

"Yeah," Tyson grunted.

"Yes, dear."

Sherry and Tyson got busy setting out what they brought. Homemade fruit salad, finger sandwiches and pink lemonade. Mikaela accepted a cup of lemonade and sipped. Cold and sweet with a tart aftertaste. Optimus politely waved off a finger sandwich offered by Sherry. Max swiped it and ate it instead.

Tyson chomped a handful of Doritos and headed towards the volleyball net. The girls absorbed him and any other kid who approached into the game.

The bench vibrated when Max plopped down next to Optimus and let his knees spread apart until they bumped into Optimus' legs. He rested his elbows on the table behind him and sighed. His Old Spice aftershave clashed with the smells of charcoal and fresh cut grass.

Optimus, who had his legs crossed like Mikaela, uncrossed them to assert his space and didn't let Max invade it. They turned their heads and silently sized each other up.

"Max, I don't think you had a chance to meet my husband." Mikaela said to diffuse the awkwardness. "Max, this is Owen. Owen, this is Max."

"I see. The mysterious husband appears!" Max reached over for a handshake. "Nice to meet you, Owen! So, you're military, too?"

"Max, nice to make your acquaintance." Optimus uncrossed his right arm. He met the handshake, pumped it once with gusto and released. "My work is top secret. I'm not permitted to discuss it. Let's say it's Black Ops and leave it there."

"Ahh, hey, I get it. I do the same, 'xcept I can't name my department. It's new. So..." Max gestured to the volleyball game, "which one's yours, again?"

"Elita. She is the beautiful girl with a French braid." Optimus smiled brightly even though his body tensed like he wanted to squirm out of his holographic skin. Something about this guy had him on edge.

"Oh?" Max refocused on Optimus' face, squinting. "Your daughter has your eyes. That's a pretty rare shade of blue."

Amusement flashed across Optimus' expression. "People say that a lot."

The bench creaked. Max shifted his weight. "Hey, uh... Are you sure you should let your kid walk around dressed like that?"

Optimus' brow knit. "What is the matter with her clothing?"

Max dropped his voice to a stage whisper. "Her outfit is so revealing. You shouldn't let a girl that young make herself such a tempting distraction."

Mikaela bristled as she eyed her twelve-year-old daughter's chosen Fourth of July outfit. A white halter top decorated with red sequin stars, blue board shorts and red flip-flops. Like a chrysalis turning transparent to reveal the growing butterfly's wings, Elita showed hints of the woman she was growing up into beneath her childhood stubbiness.

Talia, a very petite and thin girl due to chemotherapy, wore a red, white and blue tie-dyed tank top, frayed cutoff jean shorts and white gladiator sandals. Lupe, the most physically developed of Elita's friends, clothed herself in blue ballet flats, a loose white fishnet crop top over a dark red sports bra with a white Nike swoosh across the front and a short white trumpet skirt. Elita's outfit wasn't any skimpier than her friends.

Optimus stood up. His abrupt movement shook the whole picnic table. He recaptured Max's hand as if to shake it again and loomed into the other man's personal space. The amiable features of his human hologram twisted in a sneer. If the arch of his frown and the blaze in his bright blue eyes didn't express his rage enough, his voice certainly did. His tone could freeze the sun.

"You better teach your son to keep his hands off my little girl, because I taught her how to kick his teeth in if he doesn't." Optimus squeezed Max's hand until his fingertips turned red, "Now, care explain to me why you're sexualizing her outfit when all she did was dress for warm weather?"

Gasping, Max grasped Optimus' wrist in failed attempt to break his grip. He gulped, daring to make eye contact again, and twitched a nervous smile.

"Aw, c'mon, I-I didn't mean anything by it. I was just poking fun. Right?" Now he tried appealing to Mikaela, who glowered.

"I'm not laughing." Optimus growled. "And if this hand or your son's hand ever touch my daughter without her permission, I will break the arm it is attached to." He gave a final squeeze to show the seriousness of that threat and released. "Have I made myself clear?"

Max leaned back, rubbing his sore knuckles. "Easy! I ain't gonna touch-"

"Yes or no, Max. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yeah! Okay, buddy. Fine. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing, because I'm not the problem." Optimus pushed his glasses up on his nose. He pinned Max with a final glare and walked off towards the restrooms.

"He's nuts," Max muttered.

Mikaela scowled at the pompous man before jogging after Optimus. Her mind raced. What brought that on?

She found him leaning against the brick divider wall that hid the bathroom doors from the general public. He had his arms crossed and his head bowed.

Harsh sun beat down on the white cement and bounced off the bricks. Sweat beaded on Mikaela's face.

"Hey," she said softly, "Are you okay?"

"No," Optimus perfectly simulated a human sigh. "It's him." He placed a hand on his chest. "I know that hand and voice anywhere. I almost broke his arm, and he wouldn't have known why."

"Wait-" Mikaela's brain did a wipe-rewind until she realized the context in his statement. "He's the bastard who...?"

He just looked at her, and she saw the affirmative in his deadpan expression. Human hologram or no, his eyes remained the most evocative part of his face for anyone who knew how to decipher them. His entire body flinched when she took a step closer. Touch wasn't a good idea right now. He linked his hands together on the back of his head and paced in a circle, muttering to himself.

Guaranteeing he felt safe became her top priority. She leaned on the men's bathroom doorframe so she wasn't blocking the only exit. He stopped pacing.

Mikaela spread her hands. "There's a bright side to this. You didn't freeze up in flashbacks."

"I did that after I arrived here. I suppose the victory is holding off the reaction until I was able to 'have' it privately." Optimus took his glasses off long enough to rub the inner corners of his eyes. "Mikaela, I'm sorry if I've spoiled the picnic for you."

Typical Optimus, he was a mess and he still worried about her.

"You didn't." She fumed inside. "And you don't have to deal with Max. I'll fix that prick for you."

"Mikaela..."

"He's gotta pay, so I'll make sure he pays. I know where to hit jerks like that so it hurts. Stay here until you're calm, okay?"

"What are you planning?"

"Something that'll make him sweat."

"Mikaela-"

"Honey, I'll knock one of his teeth out if I don't do this instead."

Mikaela pushed off the doorframe and walked with determination towards the parking lot. First, she reached into the bed of her Silverado for a white beach towel, which she used to hide the box of tampons and bottle of bleach she pulled out from between two gray duffle bags. The huge duffle bags were secured inside black crates in the truck bed. They held essentials- nonperishable food, water, clothes, medicine, toiletries, sleeping bags and the like. Bug-out supplies, basically. Two boxed tents disguised everything as camping stuff. A ratty red sunglasses case containing cash fell out of a bag, so she stuffed it back in beside a cleaned out sunscreen tube that concealed gift cards and coupons. Her dad taught her never to hide money in obvious places.

Cemetery Wind and Earth's military forces had joined together to form the Transformers Reaction Force, or TRF. Civilians weren't supposed to know that, but Ultra Magnus did a fantastic job of scouring the dark web and intercepting communications on encrypted channels. Every Cybertronian on Earth outside of Cuba was in danger. People closely associated with them disappeared without a trace. Being ready to bail any time became mandatory.

Speaking of military, Max was foolish enough to park his plum Rolls Royce- a beautiful Phantom Extended Wheelbase- right beside Mikaela's gunmetal gray Silverado.

All cars were parked perpendicular to the picnic area, so nobody except people exiting the restrooms had a clear view between vehicles. Mikaela glanced around, moved like she was pulling her leggings down and dropped the box of tampons near her feet. Grabbing Max's car while pretending to lose her balance let her see whether or not Max turned the alarm on. No warning chirps. No blaring siren sounds. Nothing. Silence.

Who would be crass enough to steal a fancy car like that from a picnic anyway? Too bad Max didn't count on this.

Mikaela cast one more glance for privacy, flipped the gas tank cover open, unscrewed the cap and let the towel conceal her lower half as she dumped all the bleach into Max's gas tank. She wiped every surface she touched with the towel to remove her fingerprints and used her elbow to close the gas tank flap. The tampons got tossed back into the truck bed. She feigned pulling her leggings up and covered the bleach bottle with the towel.

Bleach sped up the oxidation of the metal inside the gas tank. The result? An engine randomly cutting out due to corrosion and rust particles clogging fuel injectors and pipes on every restart. Max put a lot of money and pride into his car. Materialistic people like him experienced existential dread whenever anything threatened their prized possessions.

Mikaela blew the plum Rolls Royce a kiss. She joined Optimus by the restrooms again.

"What did you do?" He asked, his voice noticeably calmer.

"I bleached Max's gas tank."

He raised a brow. "He won't come to harm, will he?"

"Nah. His wallet and pride will."

Optimus shook his head and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Mikaela leaned on his side as they stepped around the wall.

A high pitched scream rang across the playground. Not Elita's, thank God, but alarming nonetheless. Mikaela spotted Tyson fleeing the swing set with Julia's bunny. Julia thrashed in her mother's arms, screeching like somebody ripped her limbs off.

"Tyson!" Mikaela shouted.

Tyson sprinted past the volleyball net. Elita kicked off her flip-flops and shot after him like a rocket. She hurled the volleyball in his path, making him break his stride just long enough for her to catch up.

"Drop that bunny!" Elita snarled.

Tyson stood six inches taller than her, and she sneered up at him like he was pond scum.

Julia's screaming reached a new octave. She broke away from Erin and ran straight at Tyson.

"Julia!" Erin cried, unable to run because of her broken foot. "Tyson! Stop it!"

Tyson only giggled when Julia tearfully held up her arms in a silent request for her prized possession.

"Nuh-uh! Finders, keepers, retard!"

Julia wailed and jumped up and down.

Elita got in front of her. "Give Fluffster back, now!"

Tyson made Julia's bunny wave its arms in a total mockery of how Julia flapped her hands. He pointed at her, laughing. "Stop being retarded and I'll think about it!"

Julia pushed by Elita and sank her teeth into Tyson's extended finger.

"Ow!" He yanked his hand away, wide-eyed. "She bit me!"

Julia sat down and banged her head against her knees. Her panicked bawling echoed off the distant handball courts. Erin's straw hat fell off as she dove next to her daughter, pulled her close and cradled her to stop the head banging. Julia flailed in her arms, inconsolable.

Erin scowled at Tyson and said something too quiet to hear.

"Should we intervene?" Optimus whispered to Mikaela.

"Not yet." Mikaela hissed back.

Tyson inched backwards like he intended to flee again. Talia curled her lip and Lupe frowned. Both abandoned the paused volleyball game, jogged across the grass and stood on either side of Tyson. Now he had nowhere to run.

Talia asked Erin something inaudible, and Erin shook her head.

"C'mon, Tyson!" Talia hollered. She peered across the grass at Sherry and Max, but neither responded. They smirked as if they enjoyed the show.

Elita stepped forward until her forehead almost brushed Tyson's chin. "Give. Fluffster. Back.

"Okay."

Tyson slapped her face with the bunny instead.

Optimus' eyes widened. Mikaela's blood boiled, but she knew the brat sealed his fate by striking the first blow.

"That's it!" Elita slammed her fist against her palm.

Tyson swung at her again. Elita ducked and lunged. Her uppercut nailed his solar plexus. He doubled forward on her fist like a suitcase. Lupe pushed him sideways, making him topple in a sniveling heap. Talia snatched the plush bunny from his limp hand and handed it to Elita. Elita stroked it like a living thing able to feel pain and gently delivered it to Julia.

"It's okay, Julia. Fluffster didn't get hurt. He's okay, see?"

Julia squeezed Elita's hand and pressed Fluffster against her own face. Her bawling quieted to sobbing. Erin relaxed visibly. She helped Julia release her grip on Elita.

Lupe knelt beside Erin while keeping an eye on Tyson. Talia headed for the swings and picked up Erin's canvas bag. She checked to ensure nothing went missing as she brought it back to its rightful owner. Elita retrieved Erin's lost hat. All three girls helped her stand up again. Julia stayed seated on the ground, her face hidden against Fluffster's belly.

Erin asked Lupe something too quiet to hear. Lupe nodded once and spoke to Elita. Talia threw her hands in the air in a whatever gesture. Elita shrugged, brushed herself off, and they separated.

Erin coaxed Julia back to the picnic tables. Talia and Lupe chattered animatedly about what happened. Elita found her discarded flip-flops, picked up the volleyball and the trio rejoined the game.

Tyson twisted onto his hands and knees, coughing. The kids on the basketball court laughed at him.

"That's why she gets in trouble at school," Mikaela said to Optimus.

"Mmhmm." He cocked his head. "In this case, I believe justice was delivered properly. Ah, there goes Max. Perhaps he'll straighten Tyson out."

"Hardly." Mikaela could almost predict Max's reaction.

Max hauled Tyson up by his shirt. "You let a girl beat you up? What's wrong with you?"

"That fool...he is teaching his son to-"

Mikaela gripped Optimus' hand to halt him from intervening. People like Max were set in their ways. The only way to deal with them was tolerating their presence as civilly as possible.

Tyson wandered off towards the handball courts, his pristine clothes rumpled and grass-stained. Max and Sherry moved one table over from their previous location. Mikaela noticed Max shooting Optimus odd looks while they reclaimed the picnic bench.

"Boys will be boys, eh?" Max said, which sent Sherry giggling.

"No. That was bullying, and it is unacceptable." Optimus replied coolly, ignoring Sherry's antics. "I question the character of parents who allow such behavior to continue."

"Your kid punched mine."

"Shut it, Max. Your child struck mine first," Optimus snapped. "Elita responded exactly how she was taught. She did not use violence until he left her no choice."

"Tch." That prompted a sneer from Max. "You've got anger management issues."

Optimus scowled at him through the corner of his eye.

"I have PTSD. Anger happens, sometimes at inappropriate times. Which reminds me...I owe you an apology for grabbing your hand earlier. That was uncalled for, and I'm sorry."

He didn't apologize for what he said. Mikaela was grateful for that.

"Heh, PTSD. That's serious business, but there's therapy for it now. I kinda-sorta understand what you're goin' through." Max looked up and wiped his sweaty brow. "I had a little incident with electricity in an abandoned movie theater. I get the willies every time there's a thunderstorm, heh, heh!"

As if that was comparable! Mikaela bit her bottom lip to avoid cussing him out.

"Storms don't scare you that much, dear," Sherry cooed in his ear.

Geez, lady, Mikaela groaned to herself. She ate a handful of Ritz crackers someone left sitting in a bowl. Optimus manifested a cup of Yoplait strawberry flavored yogurt and a spoon from his cooler. He pointedly checked his watch before 'eating' his food.

Elita trotted over, her forehead damp with sweat and a cheerful smile on her face. She went right for a bottle of Snapple. Half got gulped before she took another breath.

"Phew, we're playing hard."

Optimus dabbed the sweat off her brow with a napkin. "Your overhand serve is much improved."

"Yeah." Elita finished the Snapple and blinked. "Uh oh."

Mikaela tensed. That was the uh oh she hated hearing in public.

Elita shot towards the restrooms in a full on sprint, but froze halfway there. Mikaela and Optimus scrambled and got her the rest of the way.

Just last month the quantity of her glyph attacks suddenly dropped, but their intensity increased. Keeping her calm during them became more and more difficult.

Ratchet's old files and predictions were all Mikaela had to go on. Sometimes she hated not being able to seek the old medic's advice in the moment.

Elita shrieked once they were hidden from sight. "I don't know what that is! I don't know who that is! Argh! Stop yelling!"

"El, it's okay." Mikaela supported Elita from behind to prevent her from bolting away.

Optimus knelt to look their daughter in the eyes.

"What is the voice saying? Elita? Focus. Can you repeat what you're hearing?"

"It's so loud. I'm trying to see it, but it's so loud."

She grabbed her ears and doubled forward, her eyes tightly shut. Just like that, the paroxysm ended. For a moment she stared blankly at the wall. Then she rushed into a stall, coughed and threw up.

"El?" Mikaela hedged.

Elita flushed the toilet and emerged, wiping her mouth. She washed her hands in the sink while staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror above it. From Mikaela's viewpoint, the cracks appeared to cross the side of Optimus' head.

"Who is Unicron?" She scooped water into her mouth, swished and spat it into the sink. "Who is the Great Deceiver? Who are they? Dad?"

Optimus' eyebrows settled in a line. He rubbed his finger across his simulated stubble. "Unicron is Cybertron's ancient enemy, a being who has never been seen. I don't know anything about a Great Deceiver. Historical documents and stories mentioned the term without further explanation. Why would the Allspark have such information?"

Mikaela rubbed Elita's shoulders. "As a warning?"

"For what?" Optimus replied.

"Because stuff needs a warning label to keep dumbasses from hurting or killing themselves with it. Why do you think the hair dryer tag says not to use it while sleeping?"

That caused him to raise a brow.

Elita wiped her eyes. "Maybe I'm the warning label."

"Heck of a warning label." Mikaela shook her head, sighing. "El, are you all right?"

"I'm fine now."

A shadow darkened the restroom door. Lupe and Talia rushed in, both panting from running hard.

Lupe coughed and blurted, "Elita, are you okay?"

"We saw you go into one of your seizures," said Talia.

Elita put on her bravest smile and slipped from Mikaela's arms. She splashed water on her face again, erasing the last evidence of her fright. "Yeah. It came on real fast. Hey, Lupe, did your mom make tamales?"

"Mmhmm! Let's eat some with your mom's chili, Talia!"

Talia laughed and threw her arms around both of them. "You two are cray-cray."

Elita peeked over her shoulder at Mikaela and Optimus. She was fine. Mikaela gave a little 'go ahead' wave. The girls disappeared through the doorway and their chatter faded into the distance.

"Great Deceiver," Optimus said to himself.

Another shadow dimmed the door. Sherry shot Optimus a dirty look for being in the women's restroom. She entered the stall Elita threw up in, put down enough toilet paper to smother a tank and talked loudly to cover up the sounds of peeing.

"I don't like that brown girl. She must be an anchor child taking up a school seat for more deserving children."

"Education is the right of any mind willing to receive it," said Optimus.

"Oh, really? Are we letting those stupid robots who keep falling out of the sky into our schools next? Those things are monsters. Especially the big red and blue one from Chicago! People think it brought all that riffraff here."

If Optimus could mimic skin blanching, he would've gone whiter than a sheet. His jaw dropped instead. He was too gob smacked to speak.

The toilet flushed. Sherry walked out to wash her hands, but Elita used the last of the soap. She scrubbed her hands under running water instead, muttering about filthy aliens.

Mikaela grasped Optimus' hand and slapped her other hand on the mirror next to Sherry's head, effectively blocking her from leaving.

"His name is Optimus Prime." She stared unblinking into Sherry's wide gray eyes. "He sacrificed more than you ever will in your perfect little life. You're still breathing because of him. He's somewhere out in space right now, saving your ungrateful rich ass. You should be thanking him, not talking trash about him."

"Those things are monsters."

Mikaela took her hand off the mirror and jabbed an accusing finger at Sherry's reddening face, "No, that's you and your husband. You think being rich makes you better than everybody else. Guess what? It doesn't."

Sherry glanced at Optimus, fully expecting him to call Mikaela off. She scowled when he smirked and shook his head. His non-response had her bristling like a terrified feline. She refocused her attention on Mikaela.

"Your lack of respect is obvious. It explains your daughter's attitude towards my son, too."

"Elita knows that respect isn't something to demand from her, it's earned." Mikaela leaned forward, deadpan, "And I taught her to respect herself enough to take no shit from brats like your son."

"How dare y-

"How dare I?" Mikaela laughed in her face. "You came in here spitting out your racist, xenophobic garbage and called me disrespectful because I don't agree. You and Max are filling Tyson's head with the same crap, but I'm the disrespectful one here because I think for myself? Really? Lady, look in the mirror and get over yourself!"

A wet noise sounded when Sherry gulped. There was no reclaiming her lost dignity after that. She fluffed her hair and indicated Optimus with her chin.

"You're just as unhinged as he is!"

Optimus' derisive laughter echoed in the bathroom. The sound made Sherry jump. Mikaela smirked right in her face and watched her flee like someone lit her pants on fire.

"And that is why I love you," Optimus rumbled in her ear.

She looked past his laughter and into his eyes. Everything Sherry said hurt him deeply. War and betrayal wore down his thick skin, and that trashy clod stabbed an exposed nerve.

"She's garbage," Mikaela said to him. "I hear that bullshit from school parents all the time. A lot of 'em don't like me because I'm not an anti-robot sheep like them. I swear, Optimus, nobody thinks for themselves anymore. Sherry always toddles along behind Max like a frigging poodle and parrots what he says. I can't stand people like her."

Optimus simulated a sigh. "Sometimes, group-think is a detriment. Many people double down on their incorrect beliefs when proven wrong by another perspective because they can't fathom being wrong. Perhaps that is why Sherry follows as opposed to expressing her own thoughts."

"I doubt she has anything original in her thick skull," muttered Mikaela. She shook her head, trying to wriggle the bad mood away. "C'mon, I saw a box of pizza out there and I want some."

They held hands all the way back to the picnic area.

.o

Afternoon gave way to evening. The picnic ended at five o'clock. Street fireworks were illegal, though that didn't stop a few people from setting off firecrackers and bottle rockets. Families who chose to enjoy the holiday lawfully headed away to the numerous professional fireworks events taking place around the area.

Mikaela loved the luxury cabin's location- it allowed views of two different fireworks events to the south and east. No leaving home necessary.

She cooked a quick six o'clock dinner of mac 'n cheese with broccoli and leftover meatloaf on the side. Shadows outside stretched longer as the sun sank towards dusk.

Optimus shed the human hologram in favor of his bot form. He paced around, checking windows and doors. His encounter with Max unsettled him more than he let on. Worse, his symptoms sometimes amplified at night because it was dark outside when his traumatic incident took place.

"Not now!" He muttered, slapping himself on the brow, "That is a lie. Be quiet! Damn it! I said be quiet!"

Neither Mikaela nor Elita acknowledged his muttering. He preferred it that way unless he sought their help.

Optimus entered the kitchen. Doing things transferred his nervous energy towards accomplishing something. Mikaela left certain chores undone on purpose for that exact reason.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Mmhmm," he replied. "The intrusive thoughts are intense."

"What are they saying?"

Optimus shook his head. "They are too vile to repeat."

Mikaela set out another towel. He dabbed the silverware and dishes dry and stored them away in their proper places. An irascible frown pinched his face plates.

Mundane tasks weren't cutting it this time.

Elita headed for the living room. She glanced at the window, decided she had enough light to leave the lamps off and fiddled with the stereo remote. The opening piano chords of A Thousand Years by Christina Perri, her current favorite song, filtered towards the kitchen.

"Dad, c'mon, let's dance!"

"Heart beats fast, colors and promises.
How to be brave, how can I love when I'm afraid to fall?
But watching you stand alone,
all of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow,
one step closer..."

A smile softened Optimus' features. "I mustn't ignore such an important invitation."

He draped his dish towel over the oven handle to help it dry quicker.

"...I have died every day waiting for you.
Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you
for a thousand years.
I'll love you for a thousand more..."

Mikaela patted his chest plate and smooched his cheek. "Go dance with your girl. I'm gonna start the laundry."

"I wouldn't mind starting you," Optimus purred in her ear.

He had a talent for saying bawdy things in a weirdly tasteful way, and it was quite effective. Heat flooded her cheeks. She playfully flicked one of his ear finials and retreated upstairs.

No part of the cabin escaped Christina Perri's crisp vocals. Mikaela hummed along as she rolled sock pairs together and tossed them onto the multicolored heap in the white laundry basket. Dark items populated one side, light ones the other. Old sweat wafted unpleasantly off both piles. She ignored it in favor of the music and kick-shoved the plastic basket past her bedroom doorway.

Elita jumped onto the sofa to equalize her height with Optimus. Their dance consisted of embracing and swaying to the rhythm, yet they wrapped the evening light around them like a cloak.

"...Time stands still,
beauty in all she is.
I will be brave,
I will not let anything take away.
Standing in front of me.
Every breath,
every hour has come to this.
One step closer..."

Mikaela couldn't resist whipping her phone out and recording the two people she loved most in the universe. She convinced herself that she hit record because she felt like it and not because she feared never seeing Optimus and Elita have a moment like this again.

The song's chorus repeated. Elita hopped off the sofa, her bare feet plopping on the hardwood floor. Being only four feet and nine inches tall placed the top of her head two inches below the bottom of his chest.

Size differences be-damned, he took her right hand in his left and led her in a genuine ballroom waltz. He kept his moves simple. She knew enough to follow along beautifully. The rise and fall of their slow spin across the floor resembled a merry-go-round ride.

"...and all along I believed I would find you.
Time has brought your heart to me;
I have loved you for a thousand years.
I'll love you for a thousand more..."

Elita waved when she noticed Mikaela. Optimus glanced up, winked and raised his arm to twirl Elita underneath. They completed another orbit around the sofa. Their momentum painted the flowing violins while their footsteps punctuated the percussive piano and guitar.

Sunlight shone orange against the trees outside. A scintillating white Kenworth t800 rolled past the picture windows and parked near the southeast corner of the cabin. Ultra Magnus was back from patrol. Neither Optimus nor Elita noticed him photo-bombing their moment.

A Thousand Years reached its gentle conclusion. Optimus ended the dance by stepping back, bowing like a gentleman and kissing Elita's hand. He tried so hard to smile for her, but his face plates twisted into a pained grimace instead.

Elita bounced up onto the sofa to hug him tight. Optimus buried his face against her shoulder. Mikaela quit recording and pocketed her phone. She didn't realize he was crying until she got downstairs with the laundry and heard the telltale springy noises coming off his voice emitter.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Elita asked.

Optimus shook his head without revealing his face, an almost comical reversal of how the situation usually played out. Her response was word-for-word identical to how he reacted to the same answer.

"I'm sorry you feel that way." She shifted her arms forward and hugged him more fully. "But you don't have to explain if you don't want to."

Elita caught Mikaela's eye and mouthed, "Anxiety attack."

Mikaela figured as much when she didn't see steam. Cybertronian panic attacks were physical experiences that came on suddenly. Anxiety attacks had a slower onset and stayed purely in the mental and emotional realms.

Mikaela hurried the laundry into the washing machine and started the first load. Optimus wasn't crying anymore by the time she reappeared. She approached him from behind and wrapped both arms around his waist anyway. Warm air escaped his vents, stirring her hair.

What if he had an episode after awakening from stasis after an unknown span of time? What if he panicked? How did he intend to cope without his family rushing to his side?

Frightening possibilities tangled Mikaela's mind. Optimus wasn't going to shatter at a mere glance. People had to crack before they fell apart.

But how much did today crack him?

Dealing with Optimus' stasis trauma always felt like watching him tread water in the middle of a stormy ocean. He used all his strength to keep himself afloat, and he couldn't swim because the waves kept tossing him back where he started.

"Are you okay, honey?"

"He's being sick," Elita whispered. She nuzzled her cheek against Optimus'. "The picnic was hard."

Mikaela knew why, but it became obvious he hadn't expressed that information to Elita. Probably for the best- only bodily restraint would hold back her wrath if she found out.

"I'm all right," Optimus said.

"You sure, dad?"

"Yeah." He straightened, rolled his shoulders back and shook his head to clear it. "How about some Doctor Who? Pick an episode."

Elita's eyes gleamed. "Okay..."

A few minutes later, they sat together as a family and watched The Husbands of River Song. Elita chose it because the scene where the Doctor pretended to be stunned by the TARDIS always made Optimus laugh.

.o

Test fireworks burst in the sky at exactly eight-thirty.

Elita whooped excitedly. She bolted outdoors with all the finesse of a stampeding elephant. Clanking clicks marked Ultra Magnus shifting into robot mode. Somehow, he completed his transformation sequence in a handstand. He swung a leg down and crouched to let Elita scale him like a tree.

Ultra Magnus was a near-identical silver and white "twin" of Optimus' old robot mode with a few noticeable differences. The ear finials on each side of his head were flat instead of pointed, and each had a silver aerial telescoping antenna sprouting off the top. His rectangular nose lacked a groove down the middle and his mouth plates were three thin metal strips that somehow moved similarly to human lips. Engraved Cybertronian glyphs decorated most of his edges like filigree and esoteric dot patterns covered his fingers.

Elita vaulted onto Ultra Magnus' shoulder and hooked an arm around his smokestack. His pipes weren't ticklish, but his audios were another story. She goosed one. His left optic twitched and the corresponding antenna retracted partway into his ear finial. He turned his head to look her in the eyes and smiled mischievously.

"Going up?"

"Yup." Elita giggled, covering her mouth.

Ultra Magnus straightened and walked due east past the metal shed at the property's edge. He planted his feet a shoulder's width apart while folding his hands behind his back. Such a soldier, even while relaxed.

Mikaela and Optimus strolled upstairs, exited the external master bedroom door and stood together on the deck.

A cool zephyr stirred the otherwise still air. Fluffy tree crowns silhouetted themselves against the black sky. Venus, a brilliant white dot sinking towards the western horizon, led a celestial charge. Jupiter dominated the southern sky as a pale speck chasing Venus' glory. Saturn, dimmer and yellow, shyly crested the eastern treetops. Only Mars held a candle to Venus due to its close passage to Earth, but the ruddy war bringer hadn't risen yet.

Six glittering blue bursts signaled the fireworks show's beginning. Their booms echoed off the surrounding landscape.

Optimus wrapped an arm around Mikaela's waist. She pressed close against his side. He was warm, but not uncomfortably so. Static crackled when he searched his extensive playlist of music until he settled on a cover of Stand By Me by Bootstraps. The haunting opening chord rose against the noisy fireworks.

"When the night has come,
and the land is dark,
and the moon is the only light we'll see..."

Was this their last night together? Mikaela's throat clenched on the possibility. How could they come so far, go through so much, only for their lives to separate again? It wasn't fair.

"Optimus?"

He quirked a brow. She offered him her hand.

Dancing told their love story to anyone who watched them. She wanted the sky to feel it. Maybe a dance would convince the stars to give him back. A foolish, childish thought, yet she gripped it tightly like a lifeline.

Optimus grasped her hand and edged in front of her. He placed one hand on her hip, properly intertwined their free hands and deftly picked up the song's pulse. She laid her unoccupied hand on his shoulder, her hips swaying inside the motion he established.

"...No, I won't be afraid.
No, I won't be afraid,
just as long as you stand,
stand by me..."

Tears prickled underneath her eyelids. Letting Optimus see her cry made everything harder for him, so she forced it back. He pulled her closer as if sensing her inner struggle. Was he putting on his bravest face for her, too? Probably, but he always did a better job of appearing calm when he wasn't. She never would've known he felt as small and afraid as she did if her prom night didn't go sour. That night seemed a million light years distant now.

She embraced his neck until his music drowned out the world. He swayed her in slow circles like the first time. Every atom composing her being listened to his joints hiss-click, felt his porcelain smooth armor and smelled his familiar mixture of hot metal and motor oil. The warmth of his body matched the balmy night air.

"...So darlin', darlin',
stand by me,
oh stand by me..."

"I know this is difficult for you," murmured Optimus.

Her throat ached all over again, but her voice stayed steady. "I keep telling myself it's like the times you went off to work with NEST."

"But my presence on Earth was a secret then, and my return was more or less guaranteed. This departure is full of unknowns."

"Yeah."

Gold fireworks blossomed in the sky. Their boom-hiss sprayed white sparkles among the stars.

"...If the sky we look upon
should tumble and fall,
or the mountain should crumble into the sea..."

"There is an upside to our situation." Servos whirred when he nuzzled his hard metal cheek against the soft skin of hers. He squeezed her gently for emphasis. "This."

This.

Them.

Now.

Mikaela's eyes stung anew, and it wasn't because of the gunpowder in the air. She blinked twice. The upwelling emotion overflowed onto her cheeks. They shared a few this-might-be-permanent goodbyes, and he came back. Shouldn't she be a pro at handling this?

"It's all right," Optimus said in her ear. He kept her close to him as she struggled against her grief. "I will find a way back to Earth. I promise you that."

"I'll wait all my life for you if I have to," Mikaela said through her tears.

Optimus lifted her chin and leaned his head forward until their foreheads touched. "And if I don't return in your lifetime...I will love you for the rest of mine."

"...I won't cry.
I won't cry.
No, I won't shed a tear,
just as long as you stand,
stand by me..."

His declaration flowed across her heart like soothing balm. She interlocked her fingers against the nape of his neck. His hands came to rest on her lower back. Their swaying continued. The music carried them in slow counterclockwise circles that excluded time's eternal march.

New fireworks lit up the East. Colorful bursts of light soared overhead.

Optimus tilted his head. Mikaela closed her eyes. The sky's brilliance was incomparable to the tingle of his mouth plates sliding gently across her parted lips in a deep Cybertronian kiss.

"...So darlin', darlin',
stand by me,
oh stand by me..."

"Mikaela," whispered Optimus.

A summer breeze blew a strand of hair against her lips. He brushed it aside. Firework flashes illuminated his features as she peered up at him, and the following booms became her ephemerality crashing into his ancientness.

Mayflies weren't supposed to fall in love with mountains. Did Fate seek to restore the universe's balance, or was it a bluff testing their loyalty?

Optimus massaged her lower back. Mikaela moved her thumbs in little circles behind his ear finials. His optics asked her to engulf him the way night engulfed day. The fierceness of his desire dared Fate to come between them.

"...Oh, my love,
stand by me..."

Heat rushed through Mikaela's face- and elsewhere- like the horizon opening itself to the sun. Rationality whispered over her racing heartbeat. Should they do this? Did he have enough energon for it? What if it triggered flashbacks because of what happened earlier?

Determination tightened his mouth plates, answering her unasked questions. He would deal with the consequences when they arrived. That was all the permission she needed to join him in calling Fate's bluff.

They entered her bedroom without a sound. Dazzling fireworks silhouetted their bodies against doorway.

"...Stay, oh my love.
Stand by me..."

Mikaela unbuckled her belt. Optimus frowned playfully at her using it to pull him in for a kiss before dropping it on the floor by their feet. He unzipped her tunic and ran a desperate hand over her newly exposed shoulder blades. Goosebumps prickled her skin even though his metal fingertips were warm.

She took a few steps back to disrobe. Her tunic and leggings flopped atop her belt. Lacy red bikini-style panties and a matching strapless bra were the only garments still on her body.

His gaze caressed her skin, and her throat ached at realizing this could be the last time he looked upon her with undisguised hunger. She slammed a mental door on the thought. The future wasn't allowed here.

"...Oh, my love,
stand by me.
Stand by me."

Orange light flashed outside the window. White shimmers followed.

A soft click sounded. Optimus parted the armor guarding his Spark chamber. Pulsing blue-white brilliance teased through its closed doors like sunlight peeking between boards in a fence. Mikaela licked her lips. Watching points of reflected light glide over his red, blue and silver chrome sent jealousy pulsing through her nerve endings. God, he looked amazing.

He tilted his head and tantalized her with a cat-like slow blink. A very intimate Cybertronian flirt- something akin to blowing a lover a kiss.

Mikaela mirrored the gesture and playfully tip-toed backwards towards the bed. Optimus pursued her without breaking eye contact. The carnal intent in his optics parted the universe like the Red Sea.

No lightning bolt on Earth compared to the electricity of his fingers wrapping around her wrist. Her crystal earrings sparkled as he pulled her against his warm metal frame. His left hand slithered up her arm, down her back and snaked past the waistband of her panties to grasp her backside.

Giddiness knotted Mikaela's stomach. Her heartbeat thumped against Optimus' closed Spark chamber. His optics darkened while he bent forward, waltz-dipping her onto the bed. He ducked beyond her chin to mouth her through her lacy bra. Heat poured straight into her pelvis.

Then he waggled his brow ridges and held up something red like a magician who swiped someone's wallet.

Her panties.

"Damn," whispered Mikaela.

"Impressed?" He twirled them around his fingertip.

"Mmhmm."

Optimus squinted and parted his mouth plates in a mischievous grin. His voice rumbled her bones.

"Good."

A flick of his wrist sent the pilfered panties into the shadows.

Mikaela playfully thumbed his bottom lip plate and felt her way towards his chest. The dent in his Spark chamber doors stubbornly refused to fade.

"Yes," whispered Optimus, "Please."

She strummed the fine neural lines around his Spark chamber. They had the hardness of fiber optic cables and vibrated like taut rubber bands. A low, mechanical whine escaped his throat. Static tickled her wrist and raised the hairs on her arms.

"Are you okay?" Mikaela asked.

Optimus nodded once. He reached behind her and tapped playfully on her right shoulder blade, asking for more room. She lifted that shoulder off the bed. He unhooked her bra one-handed and flicked it straight up with gusto. It hit the ceiling fan pull chains and came right back down onto his head.

Mikaela didn't know what was funnier- his wide-eyed expression or the lacy crimson bra cup flopping over his left optic like a bizarre eye patch. She took her hand off his Spark chamber and placed it on her mouth to stifle a rude snicker.

"Hm, that never happens in the movies," Optimus remarked.

Fireworks cast ominous purple light into the room.

"It's a good look for you." Her eyes watered from trying not to laugh, "Like evil Spock's kinky goatee in Mirror, Mirror."

He tossed the bra aside and arched a brow in mock offense. "Tch! As if!"

It sounded exactly like Elita's snottiest retort to, well, a lot of things. Mikaela couldn't control herself any longer. She snorted, exhaled and snorted again when she gasped for breath.

Optimus eyed her. "Mikaela, did you fart?"

A giggle slipped around the hand covering her mouth. "Maybe."

That did it. He pressed a hand over his optics and laughed so hard his voice dissolved to a metallic whine. The future wanted to pour sadness on their moment, and they deflected it through laughter. They hugged each other until their mirth ran its course.

"Mm..." Optimus rumbled suggestively in her ear, "Who tops tonight?"

"Let me think." Mikaela pursed her lips. She pretended to consider it while tracing the silver circle of armor surrounding his Spark chamber. Touching it, but not quite granting full contact. Tingly static shocks tickled her fingertips.

Optimus planted his elbow on the mattress, rested his cheek against his fist and toyed with one of her earrings. His cool metal fingertips traced her collarbone before suddenly diving towards her nether regions. He caressed everywhere but where she wanted it the most.

Thinking straight- or pretending to- became impossible!

"Gah!" She squeaked, "Okay, fine. You top!"

He winked. "As you wish."

Green light lit the window and fierce crackling filled the room. Gunpowder wafted on the wind like anticipation.

Getting in position was a choreographed dance perfected through experience. Optimus scooted backwards off the bed while Mikaela threw a pillow against the headboard and reclined in the center of the mattress. The blue nylon comforter sent goosebumps down her spine.

He stood by the foot of the bed with his hands on his hips. His optics had a laser-like bead on every move she made. Knowing she captured his attention so completely left her feeling both vulnerable and powerful. She bent her knees, flopped her legs apart to show him the goods and ran her tongue across her front teeth.

Optimus shifted his weight and rolled his head side to side like a boxer loosening up before a match. White fireworks illuminated his armor nicely in the dimness. Mikaela waggled her eyebrows and beckoned him by curling her index finger towards herself.

Seeing his knees touch the comforter upped her heart rate. His hands dented the mattress, stealing her breath. The bed shifted under his weight and his hungry optics stayed focused on her eyes. Servos whirred and nylon rustled. He crawled forward. Heat from his armor teased her naked skin. Every nerve ending in her body jumped to attention.

Bigger fireworks tore up the sky. Passionate red flickers danced across the ceiling.

Mikaela draped her legs over Optimus' hips. She realized she didn't flip her ponytail off the back of her neck before settling down. Optimus shot her a knowing smile and did it for her. His fingertips returned to scratch the resulting itch. Such a small, caring gesture, yet it sent unspeakable need straight through her heart.

He leaned over, using his alluring baritone voice to its fullest advantage, "Wifey, are you prepared for liftoff?"

Gold flashes teased the window. Resounding booms held the future at bay.

"Yeah." Mikaela hit his ignition switch by massaging his ear finials. "Fire me up, boss bot."

Desire heated Optimus' armor. Crackling fireworks almost drowned out a grinding, mechanical click. He rose onto his knees to present his Spark to her. It spun like a tiny star that generated no heat, and each rotation pulsed life through his body with a ringing hum.

Mikaela shifted her gaze to his optics. They were deep blue rings surrounding darkness, the plea of a turned-on bot desperate to share his soul. A lump welled in her throat. She cupped his face between her palms and stroked his cheeks with her thumbs.

"I love you."

Her words brightened his Spark for a single pulse. It reached his optics a second later. He tilted his head.

"I love you, too."

They exchanged a kiss and a look of utter devotion. Optimus bent closer, his forearms swishing on the bedspread as he rested them alongside Mikaela's shoulders. She embraced him, her actions spurred by a hunger to hold him close. He lowered himself all the way and laid his Spark gently over her heartbeat.

Increasingly colorful flashes sketched their unhurried movements. Hard metal lips brushed a soft mouth. Hands clutched at shiny smoke stacks. Silver fingers caressed delicate shoulders. Skin flushed red. Chrome grew warmer.

Mikaela relished the blossoming heat in the pit of her stomach. She squeezed Optimus' hips between her thighs. He shuddered and moaned wantonly against her cheek.

Eternity's edge loomed around them. She felt her love for him rise inside her- saw his love for her burning in his optics- and their oneness completed like a circuit.

Heat rushed to Mikaela's face. An itchy ache gathered in her pelvis and exploded throughout her body. Spasms contracted her abdominal muscles. Her jaw dropped and her toes curled. She mewled, burying her face in Optimus' shoulder. The orgasm ran over her like a delightful earthquake, and she enjoyed the seismic ride.

Optimus grabbed the wooden headboard, which loosened Mikaela's hold on his neck. Hot air surged through his intake vents. Static crackled along his sharpest edges. Delicious agony contorted his expression. He threw his head back and let it droop forward again, his carnal growls becoming a series of deep, resonating groans.

Forever swept them away while the fireworks finale roared outside. They soared until the future pulled them back into time and obscured itself again behind curling gunpowder smoke.

Mikaela sighed as her body's throbbing quieted to tingling. She wiped sweat off her brow and basked in the afterglow.

"Mmmh." Optimus emitted his customary post-lovemaking purr. He sank forward and buried his face in the pillow. Hot oil smells permeated the room. His limp fingers skittered down the scratched headboard. Fabric swished against his armor. He slipped his hands under the pillow behind Mikaela's head.

"Mmmh?" She grinned, teasing him.

No response. Air whooshed through his vents. His Spark chamber slammed shut with a loud twang.

Her joking demeanor dissolved. Sometimes Optimus handled sex like he used to. And sometimes, when he got really symptomatic like now, he struggled afterward.

Facing the person responsible for his stasis trauma affected him more than he thought. Or did he expect a strong reaction and go forward anyway?

Selflessness, his greatest strength and biggest weakness.

Mikaela moved like she didn't want to rouse a light sleeper. She unhooked her legs from his hips, stretched them out between his knees and carefully pulled her arms down to her sides. He didn't notice her changing position.

"Optimus, listen. We're in bed. It's just us here. You're having a flashback. Try to move. Can you move for me?"

Servos whirred when Optimus turned his head to focus on her. He blinked twice and his flickering optics regained their steady blue luminance.

Her eyes softened. "Hey, handsome. Are you with me again?"

"Yeah. I'm..." Optimus pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. A mechanical sigh escaped him. "Frag, I just- I'm sorry."

"For what? Getting me off?" Mikaela disrupted his mental self-flagellation with humor.

It worked. He chuckled and rumbled in her ear. "Getting you off was both intentional and enjoyable."

Warmth heated her face. He nuzzled his cheek against hers, a signal that he was okay with being touched again. She hugged him close and petted the back of his head to soothe away the flashback's chill.

"Are you okay now?"

"Sort of."

Mikaela reached under the pillow for one of Optimus' hands. They interlocked their fingers. He smiled drowsily at her as if she embodied everything he ever wanted or needed. A look that still took her breath away after all these years.

"Wasn't that pretty?" Elita shouted up at them. Her voice unintentionally spoiled the illusion of timelessness.

"Yup!" Mikaela called back. It wasn't a lie if she didn't state exactly what she found so pretty right then.

"I suppose we have to move," said Optimus.

He wiped the evidence of their lovemaking off his armor using a tissue from the nightstand. Mikaela sat next to him and cleaned herself up, too. They tossed their wadded tissues in the small green bin under the nightstand.

Mikaela leaned in to kiss Optimus' cheek.

The downstairs screen door banged. They jumped apart like a pair of teenagers doing something they shouldn't. Optimus rolled partway onto his back to look nonchalant. Mikaela skipped the bra and panties in favor of clothing herself quickly. She tried in vain to finger-comb her messy ponytail. There was no saving it, so she let her hair down and shook it out. Not exactly perfect, but less obvious than messy sex hair. She looked over at Optimus and almost burst out laughing at his pose.

"Should I draw you like those French girls?"

He blinked, perfected the position by draping a hand above his head and waggled his brow ridges. "The last thing I need is another picture of me looking like a porcelain doll."

Footsteps creaked up the stairs.

Mikaela giggled, tossing her bra and panties at Optimus. Both landed squarely on his face.

"Hide those, quick!"

He stuffed both under his left chest plate.

Elita appeared in the doorway less than a second later. "Mom? Can I open the big bag of Cheetos?"

Mikaela spun to face her, smirking. "Did you finish the old bag?"

"Yeah."

"Then go for it."

"Cool." Elita's eyes shifted from Mikaela to Optimus. Her brow furrowed. She crossed her arms, leaned her weight on one leg and rolled her eyes. "Dad, there's a bra coming out of your chest."

"I'm attempting to start a trend," he replied.

"Dad! Oh. My. God. No." She face-palmed. "Just... no."

Mikaela knew she would laugh her ass off if she turned around, so she didn't. "Go open the Cheetos. We'll be out in a minute."

"Okay, rabbits." Elita wrinkled her nose. She spun on her heels and padded downstairs.

Mikaela sprinted towards the bed and took a flying leap. Optimus caught her when she landed practically on top of him. Elita was right. Her lacy red bra cup hung halfway out of his chest plate.

"You suck at hiding evidence," Mikaela teased.

"I had little time to prepare," Optimus replied snootily.

Stalling delayed the inevitable, so they rose together and tidied up the bedroom. Optimus straightened the disheveled bed. Mikaela deposited her undergarments in the empty clothes hamper in the closet.

He tapped her shoulder, and when she turned he delivered one of his endearingly clumsy human-style kisses. She leaned into it. They smooched three times. One for now, one for yesterday and one for tomorrow.

Shadows edged into his optics. His face lost almost all its expression. Watching his happiness drain away erased any guilt she felt about bleaching Max's precious car. That supercilious bastard ruined Optimus' life and joked about it, and she would never forgive him for it.

Optimus' voice brought her back to the present. "Are you ready?"

Mikaela nodded solemnly. That wasn't a conversation she looked forward to witnessing. Optimus held her hand and walked downstairs with her rather than beaming his hologram. He stood beside the counter separating the kitchen from the living room.

"On the feet, kiddo!"

Elita put the freshly-opened Cheetos bag back on the counter. She jogged barefoot across the brown linoleum and stood on the "toe ends" of Optimus' feet. Staying balanced required her to hug his waist.

"What's up, dad?"

Mikaela lingered by the wall. Optimus blinked as if gathering himself. Making Elita unhappy crushed him. He tried to avoid it whenever possible, yet there was no dodging this. His arms moved inward, shielding her from the words about to leave his mouth.

"Elita, I'm going into stasis lock soon."

Her entire body froze for a fraction of a second. "Is it gonna make your stasis trauma worse?"

"No, sweet-Spark." Optimus spoke gently, his deep voice filling the room with its soothing rumble. "Everything shuts off, even reflexes. I won't dream or feel the passage of time at all, and I'll awaken again when the Creators respond to my message or appear to collect me."

"You promised not to leave again," Elita said bitterly.

Optimus' face plates twisted like someone being gutted alive.

"I know. I'm...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Elita. I didn't anticipate the search taking this long."

"Don't say sorry!" Elita wriggled off Optimus' feet and grabbed onto his wrist plating. "Sorry is a stupid word people say when they mess up. It's not gonna count until you back it up, so don't go into stasis lock!"

Then she burst into tears and hid her face against his stomach. Her teardrops ran down the metal like dew. He clutched her hands, trying desperately to protect her while she cried.

"Elita-"

"I'm scared," Elita said.

"Me, too." He managed to free his left hand and stroked the top of her head. "I guess that means we both have to be brave."

"You stole that from Doctor Who."

"Mmhmm," Optimus twirled the messy French braid he wove into her hair that morning. "I'm not asking you for a promise, I'm giving you an order. As a Prime, I order you to be brave, Elita. Be as brave as you know how to be."

"I'm a Prime, too." She sniffled and sobbed, "So as a Prime, I order you to stay!"

Optimus wrapped his other arm completely around her in a firm, yet gentle hug. "I wish I could follow that order. Unfortunately, I don't have a choice. We've known this situation was a possibility for a long time."

"It's stupid," she croaked, "It's stupid and unfair."

"I know, sweet-Spark."

The whole exchange nearly tore Mikaela's bones out of her skin. Optimus might get killed far out in space, alone, cold and forgotten, and they would never know.

"How long do you have?" asked Elita.

"No later than oh-one-hundred."

At that, Elita reached for his shoulders. Optimus scooped her up like a feather. She hooked her legs around his waist and clutched him in a hug that would suffocate someone with lungs.

Optimus cupped the back of Elita's head in his palm and shifted his weight from foot to foot. He comforted her that way when she was a baby. It happened by instinct, like the universe created him to be her dad.

"This is difficult," Optimus murmured. "The Doctor said it best on TV- I have a duty of care. As your dad, it's my duty to make the universe a safe place for you. I will fight anyone who stands in my way of achieving that goal."

Elita pressed her face against his shoulder. "What if I die of old age while you're gone? What're you gonna do then?"

Few things evoked such a strong visible reaction from Optimus, but the mere mention of Elita's eventual death did it every time. His face plates twisted and his mouth drew up in a grimace. The expression passed quickly.

"What do you want me to do if that happens?"

Elita rubbed her eyes. "Do you still have the photo album in your glove box?"

He nodded once.

"Look at it every day so you don't forget what mom and I looked like. Then show it to aliens in a trillion years so they know you're not making crap up when you talk about us."

Mikaela ducked her head. Optimus' optics tilted in a wan smile. That was such a typical Elita response.

"If that is what you want, I will do it."

She held up a hand. "Pinkie promise?"

He freed a hand and hooked his pinkie around hers. "Pinkie promise."

They gave each other a light kiss on the mouth. Elita's eyes glistened with hope.

Mikaela felt like an intruder on their moment. She pushed off from the wall and quietly slipped upstairs into her bedroom. The hope she saw in her daughter's eyes blossomed into a silent resolution as she entered the bathroom and removed her makeup.

Optimus would come back during her lifetime. Maybe sooner, maybe later. Looking forward to that transformed her sorrow into something bearable. She set her discarded earrings in their box and turned off the light.

Wind wafted through the open deck door. Mikaela closed and locked it before she laid on her stomach across the bed.

She meant to plan for the future, but she fell asleep instead and dreamed of a black hole that erased it.

.o

Present...

Pea-sized hail stampeded the roof. Thunder bounded west to east. Raindrops mixed among the hailstones. Wailing wind blasted everything at the ground in a pale mist. The downburst threw a tantrum outside the hopper window until its parent cloud dragged it away. Petrichor trailed in its wake.

Elita slid the steel toolbox off the cedar chest. The heavy lid groaned on its hinges when she shoved it open. An orange gift box lay nestled between two dusty cowboy hats. Pen scribbles surrounded the lid.

"Mom, turn on the light."

Mikaela hopped up the basement stairs and flipped the switch. Stabbing whiteness broke the gloom. Elita sat on the rumpled sleeping bag and turned the box around in her hands several times. Optimus always drew dots instead of scribbling to test pens.

Elita yanked the lid off the box and flipped it over. All it said was give this lid to Ultra Magnus. She moved aside the ratty dust rag in the box, revealing the Matrix of Leadership.

Mikaela covered her mouth. "Oh."

Seeing something so perantique cradled in Elita's young hands pulled the distant past into the immediate future. The Matrix levitated itself six inches above her palms. White electrical energy shot off its center and engulfed her skin.

"El!" Mikaela gasped.

"I'm fine, mom. Whoa..." Elita's eyes widened. "It said 'hi' to me."

Mikaela jumped when the Matrix emitted a high-pitched clank. The central section spun vertical and compacted inward like the AllSpark Cube. Its pointy outermost ends stretched into two silver rope chains. They writhed, found each other and joined together as a solid piece.

The clicking ceased. Gravity took over.

Elita caught the newly miniaturized Matrix, which now fit perfectly on her palm. She donned the pendant and pulled her braid out from underneath. The charm dangled against the bottom of her chest. She tucked it under her shirt, and there it would stay.

"I guess he wants me to hang onto it for him in case he..."

Mikaela avoided voicing the same possibility. "He'll want it back when he's done with the Creators."

Nodding, Elita rubbed her eyes and silently trudged up the steep cement stairs. Mikaela grabbed the box lid and followed, shutting the light off on the way.

Elita reached for her book about Arthurian history and flipped it open. She sat on the sofa, one hand rubbing her stomach.

"I see you found the box."

The smooth tenor voice startled years off Mikaela's life. She spun towards the sound.

"Mags! Geez!"

"Whoops," Ultra Magnus rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't like using his human-sized bot hologram as often as Optimus did. "Optimus asked me to look in on you when his signal went dark. He left a message for me to decode."

"Hey, Mags." Elita slapped her book closed.

"Elita," He tipped his head politely to her.

Mikaela covered a yawn and passed Ultra Magnus the orange box lid. He laid it horizontally on his palms while his optics scanned left to right, then right to left.

"Hm...his Rustian grammar is still off." His brow ridges relaxed in a neutral line. "Simply put, Optimus states the Matrix of Leadership may be the most powerful artifact in the universe. It is too dangerous to be lost in space with him, so he asks you, Elita, to be the Matrix Bearer in his stead. He hopes it offers you the guidance it has offered him."

"I swear it said hello to me." Elita unzipped her hoodie and peered at the necklace. She curled her lip and yanked the zipper back to where she had it. "What's Rustian?"

Ultra Magnus approached the sofa where Elita sat.

"Rustians are a race of Cybertronians indigenous to the Sea of Rust, which is similar to Earth's deserts and plains. Their matte, rusty appearance was distinct because the protomatter they came from was coated in rust. What makes Rustians unique is they had zero contact with the rest of Cybertron for six million years, so they developed in total isolation. You can safely say they are Cybertron's 'Native American' population."

Fascinated, Mikaela perched on the arm of the sofa with her arms crossed. "So what happened to them? Did they get taken over by outsiders?"

"Almost. It's a long story."

And Mikaela knew it wasn't a nice one when shadows fell across Ultra Magnus' optics. "The Rustians' first contact with outsiders was the Primes, whom they began to revere as benevolent gods able to appear and disappear at will. They believed the Primes to be so beautiful that they created songs and dances specifically to praise them.

"And then, like a storm, one of those Primes rained destruction on the Rustians like none had ever seen-"

"The Fallen," Elita spat the word as a curse.

Ultra Magnus nodded solemnly. "The Fallen almost wiped out the first Rustian generation to ensure no other Primes arose. The Rustians had never seen death before until the Fallen, and they didn't understand why he brought death into their presence. The Fallen frightened the remaining Rustians so completely that they created art and music to appease the god they thought they angered.

"Peace settled over the Sea of Rust again, just in time for another generation of Rustians to arise. That generation faced the Great War, and their status as an isolated people ended the day Megatron plowed through a village and told his troops to take the Rustians' resources.

"Many Rustian clans came together to face the Decepticons, but they were painfully outnumbered because they still hadn't recovered from the Fallen's attempted genocide. An Autobot convoy arrived and their commander found himself in a standoff against the Decepticons with the Rustians caught in the middle. The Autobots were outnumbered as much as the Rustians, but their combined numbers evened the score, so to speak, so they teamed up against the Decepticons.

"History describes the convoy leader as standing back to back with a Rustian warrior against a backdrop of fire. Neither bot understood what the other said at that point due to the language barrier, but they recognized each other as allies, and together they drove the Decepticons off the Sea of Rust.

"After the battle, the Autobot and the Rustian who fought back to back figured out how to communicate with each other. It took a long time, but they were both persistent in breaking the language barrier. The Autobot insisted that he had no desire to change the Rustian's way of life or erase their culture, yet he knew the Decepticons had no qualms about doing so. He didn't want that to happen, no matter the cost.

"He asked the Rustian warrior to help him defeat the Decepticons and restore peace to Cybertron. The Rustian warrior saw a familiar greatness in the Autobot and believed his presence was an apology from the gods, so he said yes without hesitating. From then on, the Rustian population was regarded as members of the Autobot army."

"Wow," whispered Mikaela.

Elita was equally spellbound. She leaned forward, wide-eyed and nosy as ever. "Did you hear about that in history class?"

Ultra Magnus' optics gleamed mischievously. "Nah. I was the warrior, and Optimus was the Autobot."

Her jaw dropped and her eyes almost popped clean out of her skull. Realization lit her face. She grinned, slapping the sofa backing. "That's why you sound weird when you speak Cybertronian! I thought it was a regional accent. Like...I dunno...a southern drawl."

"Nope, that distinction belongs to Optimus. Megatron, too, though he disguises it. Every bot raised in Simfur has a drawl that never goes completely away." Ultra Magnus tossed the box lid in the air and caught it on his fingertip.

"Anyway, back to what I was saying, the Rustians invited Optimus to immerse himself in our way of life. He lived with us, lived like us, for a very long time. In turn, he took me to Iacon and I immersed myself in his way of life. I lived with him and lived like him for a long while. It was very educational for both of us.

"Rustians were no less developed than the Autobots when the two populations met. We had technology the Autobots did not, and the Autobots had tools we did not. Trade routes were established and a cultural exchange began. Neither race forced the other to assimilate, it was all voluntary.

"Optimus asked me to share the Rustian language with his Autobots because he saw its obscurity as an advantage. Rustian is extremely complex in both spoken and written form, and a non-native speaker has no hope of learning it by downloading it off a dead bot's processor. It sounds like gibberish to outsiders and our text looks like a bunch of dots. It's perfect for pass-phrases and message encryption, so I was happy to oblige. In return, Optimus taught the Rustians how to speak and read the Autobot and Decepticon languages.

"Look back in history at Autobot listening posts and you'll find a Rustian was stationed there. We spied on Decepticon chatter and we repeated their messages to the Autobots in Rustian on the same channels."

Grinning, Mikaela scratched the back of her head. "Damn, Mags! You're a robot Navajo code-talker!"

Ultra Magnus proudly lifted his chin. "Pretty much."

Elita bounced slightly on her sofa cushion. "Ooh! Say something in Rustian? Please?"

"Sure." Ultra Magnus straightened with his hands clasped behind his back. "Bah grol akraagh dim atwi. Roughly translated, I said, 'I like your smile.'"

Elita covered her mouth, giggling. "Your name sounds Cybertronian. Autobot, to be exact."

He tapped the box lid against her head. "My name is a fortunate pronunciation combined with Rustian naming conventions. Ult Ra Mag Nus. Say it the way you normally would, and it comes out as Ultra Magnus. It means 'warrior elemental' and is a reference to an old story describing a Rustian who faces and overcomes the four elements- ground, fluid, flame and air."

Mikaela waved a hand and jumped into the conversation. "Whoa, man! This is wild. You hung around us for what? Twelve years? And you never told us this?"

"Well, it never came up until I mentioned it today." Ultra Magnus shrugged his shoulders as if it wasn't a big deal. "Scanning the Kenworth next to K-mart erased my rusty outward appearance, but I still have my Rustian accent and glyphs."

He showed them the dots engraved on his hands.

"Only Rustians have dot glyphs. Mine say freedom, justice, peace."

Elita peered at his fingers. She rested her hands on top of his and gazed longingly into his optics.

"Are you the only Rustian?"

His mouth plates quirked in a half smile. He shook his head. "No. Definitely not."

"Good. This was getting heavy. I-" Elita froze. "Oh, crap. Be right back. Tummy trouble. Gah! Sorry!"

She scrambled into the bathroom next to the basement. Two seconds later, she cracked the door and shouted, "Mom!"

Alarmed, Mikaela and Ultra Magnus rushed towards the bathroom.

Ultra Magnus got there first. He practically leapt backwards and turned away. Mikaela almost crashed into his back. It might've been funny if Elita's shouts weren't so emergent.

Mikaela poked her head into the bathroom. "What's up?"

Elita shoved her blue board shorts past her knees. A red blotch stained the entire gusset of her yellow underwear.

"My stomach hurts. I thought I had the runs." She hunched forward, rubbing her forehead.

Mikaela leaned on the doorframe. "Is it a dull, achy feeling that seems to grow and shrink?"

"Yeah."

"Congrats, it's cramps. How bad does it hurt?"

"Uh...about as much as having to poop, I guess." Elita cringed, "You didn't tell me I'll feel it ooze out. This is gross."

"You'll get used to it." Mikaela winced sympathetically.

Dissonant emotions rang across her mind. She delighted at seeing her daughter cross this developmental milestone. On the other hand, it closed and sealed the door on a physical part of her childhood. Knowing Optimus missed this moment by barely an hour rubbed salt into an already raw wound.

"The pads and tampons are in the cupboard under the sink. The Tylenol and Ibuprofen are in the medicine cabinet." She scooped up Elita's discarded underwear. "I'll bring you something clean to put on."

"Pick dark colors."

"Sure."

"Elita?" Ultra Magnus hedged, wringing his hands, "I-I thought I saw blood. Are you menstruating?"

"Shush, Mags!" Elita bellowed, causing him to raise his brow ridges.

Mikaela hid the bloodstained underpants inside the shorts and backed out of the bathroom. Elita slammed the door shut.

"Uh...sorry?" He tapped on the door. "I intended no offense."

"Go away!"

Baffled, he focused on Mikaela. She half-smiled, amused by his confusion.

"Mags, it's her first one. It's almost always embarrassing."

The poor bot was so out of his league! He glanced between the bathroom door and Mikaela's face. "Right. Uh... do you, uh, need my assistance in handling this?"

"Nah."

Mikaela edged into the kitchen. She dropped Elita's panties in a plastic basin by the sink, filled it with enough cold water to cover the bottom and added peroxide. Then she jogged upstairs to retrieve dark purple panties from Elita's underwear drawer and reached in the drawer underneath for her black pajama shorts.

"Thanks," Elita said when Mikaela brought her the clothes. Plastic packaging rattled behind the closed door.

Soaking Elita's underwear in peroxide and cold water lifted most of the bloodstain out. Mikaela tossed the soiled garment in the washing machine for a quick cold wash to finish the job.

The toilet flushed and the bathroom door swung open. Elita emerged, looking down at herself in dismay.

"I thought periods came after your boobs grew in."

"Um...er...oh, my." Ultra Magnus stared upward at the ceiling and looked ready to melt between the floorboards.

Mikaela bit back a rude snicker. "Don't get wrapped up in your body, El. You're more than boobs and hips."

"Easy to say when you're married." Elita rounded on Ultra Magnus. "And you guys have it easier. You just worry about who has the nicest optics."

"Hm...not entirely true." Ultra Magnus cocked his head. "Cybertronians have preferences, same as humans."

She balked. "You guys have types?"

"Mmhmm. Color schemes, specific body frames, personality traits and foreign accents, to name a few. I'm fond of someone who-"

"Hold on a sec!" Mikaela leaned across the kitchen counter. "You're Spark-bonded, and you didn't tell us for twelve years?"

Ultra Magnus gesticulated like an umpire calling a time-out. "No. No! Incorrect! Argh..." He face-palmed and peeked between his fingers. "We aren't bonded yet."

Elita clenched her fists as if somebody slapped her. Tears welled in her eyes. She sighed, flopped to sit on the sofa and wiped both hands down her face. "That's nice."

"It is." He said, straightening. "But I'm not someone who chit-chats about myself or my life unless it comes up in conversation."

"Really?" Mikaela slid off the counter and teasingly nudged his shoulder. She wasn't letting go of this delectable tidbit without making him squirm a little more. "Is it somebody I know?"

"Ah, no." Ultra Magnus side-eyed Elita before focusing on Mikaela. "He landed somewhere on Earth on Elita's fifth birthday. I told him to stay away from here for your safety. We talk occasionally over our comm-links, but we have not seen each other in person for a very long time."

Ooh, this was getting good. Mikaela scooted closer, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "What's his name? What is he like?"

A brilliant sunrise penetrated the gloomy clouds. Ultra Magnus' expression warmed with it.

"I won't say his name to someone else until I see his face again. It's a Rustian superstition. What I will tell you is he has an embarrassing inability to keep his hands to himself when we're together- and that is not a complaint. His personality is a polar opposite to mine. I love him and everything about him."

He shifted his weight leftward, playfully nudging Mikaela with his elbow. "And that is all you get from me about the matter."

Flustering prim and proper people never ceased to be amusing. Mikaela decided to ease off Ultra Magnus before the poor guy got ruffled to death.

Elita shoved her way between them.

"I feel like crap." Her voice cracked, "I'm going to lay down."

She swallowed her tears behind a stoic face and trudged upstairs.

"Elita," Ultra Magnus called after her, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" She slammed her door.

"I think I offended her." He blinked at the bang. "Is that normal menstrual behavior?"

Mikaela closed Elita's abandoned book and covered a yawn. "Pretty much. Imagine waking up one day with all your emotions on hair triggers and the gun shoots as soon as you touch it."

"That sounds incredibly difficult."

"It is." She yawned again. "But it passes."

Clouds obscured the sun again. Crows cawed somewhere in the distance.

"Don't feel obligated to stay awake for me, Mikaela." Ultra Magnus offered her a kind smile. "I apologize if I was abrupt about my love life. Fate has kept us apart for a very long time, and I miss him."

"It's fine, I know how you feel," Mikaela welcomed the excuse to go back to bed. "I'm gonna try to get some sleep, too. G'night, Mags."

She ascended the stairs and closed the bedroom door behind her.

.o

Morning traffic shone like stars against the tarry black asphalt. Early morning storm clouds evaporated to reveal bright blue skies above the buildings. Residential sprinklers sizzled and thirsty grass glimmered.

Music by Sophie B. Hawkins rang softly from the Silverado's speakers as Mikaela waited at a stoplight.

"...Oh, darling,
as I lay me down to sleep,
this I pray,
that you will hold me dear.
Though I'm far away,
I'll whisper your name into the sky,
and I will wake up happy..."

Cars across the intersection turned left. The light changed for her next. She tapped on the steering wheel, singing along while she watched the broad Volunteers of America building shrink in her rear view mirror.

Four magnolia trees lined the street near a long gray building. Mikaela activated her blinker and slowed at the driveway just beyond the fourth tree. One more twist of the wheel guided the Silverado across the parking lot of Joe's Garage. Gravel crackled under the vehicle's tires when she eased into her favorite spot outside the back service entrance.

"It's not too near for me,
like a flower I need the rain.
Though it's not clear to me,
every season has it's change
and I will see you
when the sun comes out again..."

She turned the key, silencing the radio and the truck's rumbling engine.

Her boss, Joe, leaned on the wall to finish off his coffee. Tall, strong and dark-skinned, he was a man of Kenyan descent. He kept his graying hair buzzed short. Stubble dusted his chin like the night sky. His long, practiced hands dwarfed the white Styrofoam cup he held between them.

"Good morning, Mikaela!" Joe's rich bass voice expressed pure warmth.

"Morning!" Mikaela smiled.

He grinned back, his white teeth and brown eyes catching the sun. "There's a real piece of work waiting for you to open shop."

Sweat broke out on the back of Mikaela's neck. Damn sticky July humidity. She took a plain hair band from her pocket and hastily tied her hair back in a sloppy high ponytail. "Oh, yeah? What'cha got for me?"

Joe arched a brow. "This one ain't worth spoiling. Go have a look-see for yourself."

"Oh, boy."

Mikaela crossed a short hallway of dingy-yet-clean offices to emerge inside the greasy smelling main garage. Two enormous industrial fans roared in the back corners to blow air towards the half-open garage doors. Mercifully, the doors faced north and didn't get blasted by the sun all day long.

Joe normally kept the two huge garage doors closed until they officially opened for business, but the humid weather turned the workspace into a stuffy, miserable oven unless he let last night's hot air out before sunrise. He wired a cheap LED sign to the outer strip of wall between the doors. Closed glowed in red letters and all somebody had to do was turn it off and open the garage doors to indicate readiness for customers.

Mikaela donned her tool belt. Its weight settled perfectly on her hips. Joe didn't care what she wore as long as it didn't involve exposed toes or anything dangly enough to tangle in moving engine parts. Today, due to the muggy heat, she wore a plain white scoop-neck tank top, cutoff jean shorts and black Doc Martens.

She switched off the LED sign outside and tapped the gray square button underneath. Both metal doors rattle-squeak-buzzed as they revealed the busy street outside. The other side of the intersection housed a Supercuts hair salon, a MacDonald's, a Wells Fargo bank, a Sit 'n Sleep mattress store, and a CVS pharmacy. Traffic noises were at their usual growing roar for eight o'clock in the morning. Not quite rush hour yet.

And the only car in the customer parking lot was a familiar plum Rolls Royce. Such a shiny car didn't belong among the mundane city surroundings.

"Finally!" Max emerged from behind the strip of wall between the two garage doors.

Unlike yesterday, he wore an impeccable gray business suit with a satin silver tie and black shoes polished to a near mirror finish. He barged into Mikaela's personal space, took off his silver aviator sunglasses and tucked them in the inner breast pocket of his coat. His coffee breath was almost as obnoxious as his voice.

"My engine's cutting out and smells funny."

No preamble of hello or anything. Not that Mikaela minded- the less time she spent talking to the sleaze-ball, the better.

She placed her hands on her hips, fixed her eyes on Max's and rolled her shoulders slightly back. Her dad taught her how to show a man he didn't intimidate her. It came in handy a lot.

"How about starting it? Does it start?"

He sighed, rubbing his chin. Stubble scraped under his fingernails. "Look, no offense, but I want the best this place has."

She quirked her lips in a half-smile, "Well, you're looking at it."

"Oh." His bushy eyebrows furrowed. "You'll ruin those nice hands of yours doing work like this."

You ruined my husband's life while trying to kill him, you sexist jerk, Mikaela thought without letting her smirk falter. She cocked her head and realized he didn't know jack about cars beyond the basics.

"Nobody told me I had to keep my hands pristine just for you." She kept her tone playful. "Anyway, how about we take a ride and see if your car tells me what's wrong?"

Wind disturbed one loose strand of dark hair on Max's head. Only one, because gel slicked the rest back. He glanced down at the callus-free hand Mikaela held out to him and hesitantly passed her his car key. The plastic fob had a tiny, fairly recent family portrait. Everybody wore identical black turtlenecks and fake smiles. It looked so Stepford.

Mikaela twirled the key on her finger and eased into the Rolls Royce driver's seat. Leather creaked underneath her weight. The dashboard had a polished wood finish with the light brown color carrying on throughout the vehicle's interior. Everything smelled like new leather and vanilla.

The car shifted when Max entered the passenger's side. They both buckled their seatbelts in a series of clicks.

Joe waved as he entered the garage to answer the phone. Mikaela waved back before roughly sticking the key in the ignition and turning it. Bleach scents flooded the interior when the vehicle hummed to life.

She didn't need to know a car intimately to judge the state of its engine. Most fancy cars vibrated smoothly. This one shook like a jackhammer.

Yup, his engine is a mess, she thought to herself.

"You smell that?" asked Max.

"Mmhmm. Might be a fuel injection issue. Does it cut out when you're idling?"

"And when I'm driving! First was when I stopped in my driveway and the second happened as I was driving down the hill on Baker street. Do you know what's wrong?"

"I'll find out soon."

Mikaela shfited the car out of park and executed a smooth U-turn to exit the street-side driveway. Shakiness aside, it handled like a dream.

Once out of the driveway, she sped through the empty street. Max's eyes flew open wide.

"Y-You're going a tad fast."

"Nah. I'll show you fast."

Mikaela floored it. The speedometer climbed to seventy miles per hour. Engine vibrations tickled her wrists. Bleach smells wafted through the vehicle's interior. She sensed the stall brewing.

"There, it's about to cut out," said Max. "Slow down before we get ticket- look! The check engine light is on!"

"Relax! I'm stressing the engine to repeat the problem," Mikaela replied sweetly.

Traffic, dead ahead. She took her foot off the accelerator to slow down and blew through a yellow light.

Perspiration beaded on Max's hairline. Mikaela crossed into the middle lane without signaling and skidded to a jolting stop at the last red light before a major freeway onramp. People hated it when somebody's car died there.

The Rolls Royce rattled to silence as soon as the vehicle ceased moving. Mikaela placed the car in park and cranked the engine, but it wouldn't catch. She switched on the emergency blinkers when the traffic light turned green.

Horns honked. Cars veered around them. A lot of people saluted Max with their middle finger.

Mikaela said, "I'm pretty sure it's a fuel pump issue."

Max's lips tightened until his jaw muscles twitched. "How do you know?"

"Pretend it's your car having a heart attack. The fuel pump is the heart, and it's not working for some reason. The engine needs gas pumping in order to run. It'll be easy to fix if it's the fuel pump."

"What if it's not?"

"Then I'll have to keep digging to find out what's up."

"I have four cars. This one, a BMW, a Mustang and a Lamborghini." Max sighed, rubbing his chin again. "But something about a Rolls Royce is classy. This baby's my favorite, and she cost the most."

She... Mikaela felt her internal organs shrivel up in disgust. How unfortunate, she was about to sympathize with his worry, too! She shook it off and made it a joke instead.

"Don't worry, I'll get your little girlfriend fixed."

Max smiled halfway. "Too bad spouses aren't so easy, eh?"

Images of Optimus floating in space, unconscious and frozen, flitted through her mind. She narrowed her eyes, making their blue more intense.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Sherry goes nuts if she doesn't take her anxiety meds. Her parents were top tier religious crazies. They convinced her she was going to Hell because she's a girl. I heard 'em scream at her for an hour when she was two minutes past her curfew. They didn't let her have a life outside school."

Max's eyes lit up when he talked about his wife. "Then I came along and we dated in secret 'til she turned eighteen and split from her parents. I promised to protect her from the real evil that's out there. Sweet girl, but her parents didn't teach her how to be an adult. She's on meds and sees a shrink once a month to stay sane."

"Oh. So what do you do when you're not deployed?" Mikaela couldn't believe he aired his wife's personal issues like a casual conversation piece. Did he care about anything besides making himself look more heroic than the people around him?

He looked straight ahead at the traffic light turning red. "I'm a real estate agent. So, uh, can you try starting the car again?"

The tremor in his voice was music.

She cranked the engine again. No luck. It wouldn't turn over.

They sat through another light cycle. Horns blared. People yelled and cussed.

"I'm calling Joe for a tow." Mikaela freed her phone from her pocket. "This car's dead on the road."

Max's haughty demeanor melted. His flinch became a tiny life preserver in the bottomless sea of his sleaze.

"Can you fix it?" he asked.

Time to twist the knife.

"Maybe." Mikaela replied. She grinned saccharinely and called Joe for the tow truck.

Beside her, Max began to sweat.

Forty-five minutes and a tow-truck trip later, she discovered it wasn't just the fuel pump. The Rolls Royce's fuel tank was rusted, the hoses were shot and rust particles gummed up the filters. Mikaela barely avoided smirking at her handiwork as she dug around the engine to reach the fuel pump.

"Yep, fuel pump is shot." She held up a damaged hose. "See? Total mess. I better check the whole engine to make sure nothing else is gummed up like this."

Max covered his mouth, switched to pressing both palms against his cheeks as if to cover his eyes and hung his head. Finally, unable to take it anymore, he called Sherry to pick him up.

Mikaela continued her controlled rampage. Joe noticed Max's distressed pacing and chatted him up until Sherry arrived forty-five minutes later.

Of course, she pulled up in the bright red BMW Max bragged about earlier. She emerged wearing an airy peach blouse right off the fashion runway, crisp white slacks from a high-end store and uncomfortable-looking nude peep toe pumps. Diamond earrings costing more than a Disneyland trip dangled off her ears. Bright pink lipstick defined her thin, pointy lips. Gold cat-eye sunglasses with brown lenses sat perched atop her nose. Her bleached hair was pulled back in a tight bun.

"Hey, sugar," she said.

Max's eyes softened when he saw his wife. Sherry ignored Mikaela completely when she exchanged a kiss with him. She climbed into the passenger's seat of the BMW and hurriedly touched up her lipstick.

Mikaela tapped the driver's side window after Max got seated and belted in. She leaned forward enough to show cleavage and smiled innocently.

"You'll get a call from me or Joe when your lady is ready."

Max's eyes darted downward at her chest, then back up at her face. Sherry scowled at her instead of giving Max a what-for about his wandering gaze.

He slid his silver sunglasses on. "Sure thing."

Sherry's scowl turned into a weird smirk. The window rolled up, reducing her and Max to faceless silhouettes. Mikaela swore a layer of invisible grime coated her skin by the time they pulled away.

Repairs weren't going to gouge Max's wallet as much as she hoped, but seeing him worry about his superfluously expensive car was worth more than money.

Nothing Mikaela did to him or his precious stuff came close to the misery he caused Optimus.

Big picture. Think of the big picture. He's not even a mark on it, Mikaela told herself when she ducked under the shiny plum hood.

.o

A white Nissan Altima requiring a new battery, a green Volkswagen van hurting for fresh spark plugs and a motorcycle with bad pipes let Mikaela delay finishing Max's car until late in the afternoon. She hoped he spent the entire day silently freaking out about his precious Rolls Royce.

Her cell phone rang at eight o'clock- right as she slammed the plum hood down with more force than necessary. She wiped her greasy hands clean, left a few smudges behind when she cleaned up the chrome and grabbed her phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, mom," Elita said. "Are you off work?"

A strange note in her voice indicated this wasn't a typical phone call. Mikaela held the phone to her ear instead of putting it on speaker.

"Yeah, I'm about to leave."

"Be careful. Mags said TRF is snooping around in the forest. They're half a mile from the cabin, but he thinks that's too close."

Mikaela's heart skipped a beat. She kept her voice casual and automatically utilized their agreed-upon code talk.

"When did the exterminator say he's coming over?"

"Half an hour ago. He was coming back from patrol when he saw men in black military gear. They have rifles, mom."

A slow, deep breath kept her voice steady. "Where are you and Mags?"

"Mags is stuck by the empty lot at the bottom of the hill. They drove past him while he was testing the energon sensors."

"So he's out buying more of that nasty bug spray? Damn, how many roaches did you see?"

"He said he saw two jeeps, but there might be more he didn't see. I can't see anybody out the windows. Mom, I'm kinda freaked out."

Sweat gathered on Mikaela's upper lip. "Gross. Are there any roaches in the upstairs bathroom?"

Quiet shuffling noises started on Elita's line. Her breathing whooshed through the earpiece. "I'm checking out the upstairs windows."

The pause went on forever. Mikaela stuck her fingers in her hair and grasped her scalp to massage away a pounding tension headache.

"I can't see anybody through the trees. Should I go out on the deck?"

Joe entered the main garage and raised his eyebrows. Mikaela mouthed Elita's name to him and he nodded. She refocused on her phone.

"No. Stay in. I don't want the exterminator to know you're home alone. Oh! Did you put the chips in a freezer bag and seal it?"

"Did that before I called. Everything's locked. Should I hide in the basement?"

Mikaela told her where to wait. "You want to- no. No! El, don't you dare swing that crowbar at them. What's gotten into you?"

"Okay." More shuffling on Elita's end. Metal clanked in the background. "I'm heading to the garage now."

Mikaela maintained an outward appearance of calm. She twirled her cleaning rag.

"Good job, kiddo. Call me back if the exterminator shows up before I'm home. Tell Mags to stay away from the bug spray."

Elita snickered. "I'm in position. I'll text Mags what you said. Bye, mom, love you."

"Okay. Love you, too, El. Bye."

Mikaela pocketed her phone and passed Max's keys to Joe.

"Sorry, Joe, I'm gonna have to skip that dinner invite. My place is crawling with roaches. Elita is freaking out." She kept up the charade by shaking her head. "Kids, gotta love 'em. Mind telling your husband it's not his cooking?"

"Roaches give Rishi the willies. I'll tell him about your little problem in full, gory detail."

"There you go. Make the poor man squirm."

Joe blessed her with his rich, gentle laugh. "Will do. I'll call Max and lock up after he gets his car. Have a good night!"

It was awesome to have an understanding boss. She smiled at his kindness.

"G'night, Joe. Thanks."

Mikaela unbuckled her tool belt and threw it on the shelf labeled with her name. She jogged through the hall of dingy offices.

Dusk turned the sky shades of orange, gold and blue. Absolutely the worst time of day for driving visibility- everything was silhouettes or gleams of light off shiny surfaces. Red taillights and white headlights sliced the dimness. Yellowish street lamps created dim amber pools on the streets and sidewalks.

Mikaela opened her driver's side door. Humidity trapped the day's hot air in her truck. Getting in felt like entering a bathroom after someone took a steamy shower. Her steering wheel had a fuzzy pink cover, which kept it from searing her hands. Buckling her seatbelt didn't require touching metal. Hot air blasted through the air conditioning vents when she started the engine. She peeled out of her parking space without waiting for it to cool.

Rush hour wound down. Traffic didn't clog the busier streets, but hitting all the red lights when she wanted to get home tested every last nerve she had.

Time rushed forward without her.

An eternal twenty minutes' drive took Mikaela away from the city's edge. Streetlights thinned until they disappeared altogether, leaving her with the stars and darkening western horizon.

Pine scents wafted through the air. Fewer cars populated the road. Mikaela drove straight towards the dark shadow of the forest ahead. Trees soon surrounded her. She switched over to her high beams.

Ultra Magnus idled in a service driveway at the very bottom of the hill. The dirt field behind him was a pumpkin patch in October and sold Christmas trees in December.

He flashed his right blinker twice. She did the same in acknowledgement.

One turn later brought forth tree trunks, pine needles and the gray two lane road. A black military jeep sat nestled among the bushes. Its occupants were nowhere in sight.

Mikaela switched back to regular headlights as she rounded the last corner. During the day, that final turn brought the cabin into view. At night, it was invisible if the lights were off. Elita wisely kept everything dark.

Mikaela shut off her headlights, pulled into the driveway and put the truck in park. No tattletale tail lights to give her away. She took out her phone and sent a text.

I'm in the driveway.

Elita manually lifted the garage door enough to slip underneath and gently lowered it after she passed. Her black hooded tank top and matching bike shorts made her a moving shadow when she stopped to unroll the black soft top tonneau cover over the Silverado's truck bed. She hauled herself into the passenger's side, dropped her dark blue backpack on the floor and swiftly fastened her seatbelt.

"I brought the caltrops."

Caltrops- fancy little devices for destroying tires. Mikaela fashioned them out of wood blocks with five long nails hammered all the way through. Their design kept one nail pointed up after being tossed or dropped. She painted them all dark matte gray to make them harder for a pursuer to see.

"Good job." Mikaela reversed out of the driveway. She didn't switch on her headlights until she turned the first corner. "Look around, do you see the soldiers at all?"

Elita craned her neck to peek out both the driver's and passenger's side windows. "No. No flashlight beams, either. I think they're wearing night vision goggles."

Mikaela kept her expression casual upon passing the jeep parked in the bushes. Once beyond it, she activated the Silverado's rear backup camera. "Yeah. I was afraid of that."

Her heart skipped a beat when she spotted another jeep idling at the curve in the road ahead. That wasn't there before. She took a slow, deep breath through her nose. Keeping herself calm allowed for clearer thinking.

Nobody tailed me all the way home. I rotate my routes. I watch my back. Maybe Max recognized Optimus' voice. Maybe his spoiled bitch wife told him I talked to Optimus. Why else is this happening now?

Mikaela glanced at her side mirror. Just in time to see the new jeep's headlights come on.

"Mom, that jeep-"

"I know, El. Hang tight. We can't afford to do anything stupid."

She turned right onto another road that curved sharply left. It passed through a protected forest hiking trail and reconnected with another street leading either into the city or back onto the cabin trail. Sometimes she used it during her route rotations.

Mikaela went slightly over the speed limit as she reached the street. Then she made a seemingly illogical left turn onto the bridge going north over the dry riverbed. She followed a straightaway among the trees until another left circled her around onto the winding road leading to the cabin again.

The jeep appeared in her backup cameras after she bypassed the cabin. Now the jeep nestled in the bushes turned on its lights and joined in.

"We're officially being tailed," said Mikaela.

"Crap," Elita muttered. "Can we lose 'em?"

"I'm going to try. Grab our hats and get the caltrops ready."

Elita dragged her backpack onto her lap and reached into the glove compartment. She pulled out the black Adidas cap for herself and handed Mikaela the brown mesh trucker's hat.

Mikaela tapped the button that lowered Elita's window. Balmy air spiraled in around the coolness coming from the vents. She slowed at the first gentle curve in the road. Trees obscured what lay ahead. Evening transformed the landscape into carbon black silhouettes against starry oceanic blue.

"Okay, El. Grab a caltrop and stick your arm out the window as far as you can. I'll tell you when to throw it."

Elita did what she was told. Mikaela's palms began to sweat when she saw a third jeep emerge from a hidden gap between two pine trees. She kept her speed civil as she followed the road. Visibility in this area was awful at night, but she knew exactly where the gentle curve became a sharp bend ending in a straightaway.

"Okay, Elita...throw!" Mikaela stepped on the gas when she rounded the bend.

Elita flicked the caltrop backwards like a bride tossing a bouquet.

BANG! One jeep fishtailed off the road. Elita hurled two more caltrops. The remaining jeeps got wise. They slowed down and dodged.

But the delay gave Mikaela a few precious seconds to accelerate. Hikers climbed into a black pickup truck parked beside a boulder. They yelled at her for whipping by them.

She rolled up the windows reduce drag. Air stopped roaring into the truck. She honked her horn twice as she zoomed past Ultra Magnus, twisted the steering wheel and drifted the Silverado onto the south-facing two lane road.

Ultra Magnus pulled out of his hiding place driveway and drove slowly, mimicking an oblivious trucker fresh off a delivery.

"Want me to throw more?" asked Elita.

Mikaela shifted gears. "No, we'll screw up innocent cars."

Her phone vibrated. She wriggled it out of her pocket.

"Elita, get that."

"It's a text from Mags." Elita swiped her thumb up the screen. "He can delay the jerks for five minutes. He's jamming their signal so they can't call anybody."

The narrow road ended at the overpass bridge leading into the city.

"Perfect. Hang on, kiddo!"

Mikaela adjusted the stick shift, stomped on the gas and let it rip. The Silverado's speedometer needle climbed to ninety miles per hour. She switched on her headlights. Dotted lines on the asphalt became a white blur.

Mikaela's jangled nerves slowly cooled. Seeing street lamps prompted her to slow down. The Silverado practically coasted downhill. She was still speeding, though it wouldn't grab too much attention.

Her phone buzzed again. Elita's voice was thin when she read it. "Mags says the jerks just passed him, but they're tailing the hikers. I guess they didn't get our plates."

"My dad used to say overeager people make stupid mistakes like that-"

"-so use it against them to save your life."

"Yeah. We're going to be okay, El."

Mikaela gunned through an intersection just before the yellow light turned red. Somebody blared their horn. She hung a hard right and drifted into the driveway of Joe's Garage.

Closed, just like she expected.

Joe trusting her with a key became a blessing in disguise. She unlocked the facility's back door, flicked on the hall lights and raced into the main garage to open the big doors. Then she sprinted back to the truck, drove around and pulled inside.

She punched the "close" button to drop the doors again.

"Elita, go shut the back door. Turn off the lights in the hall, too."

"Okay." Elita's flip-flops pattered on the cement floor.

Mikaela ducked into the employee bathroom adjacent to the main garage. It had a dingy street facing hopper window, and it allowed just enough illumination from street lamps to see without turning on the bright interior light.

Ultra Magnus headed straight through the intersection. The innocent Silverado full of hikers- a brand new one, judging by the lack of formal license plants- made a left. The two jeeps followed it out of sight.

"Door's locked. Mom?"

"In here, El."

Elita's footsteps slapped towards the bathroom.

"Oh, thank God!"

She sprinted into a stall and slammed the door. Plastic packaging rattled. She used the toilet, flushed, reappeared and washed her hands.

Mikaela's heart rate settled down. Her fingers trembled from the adrenaline jitters. Nausea soured her stomach.

Humid air got muggy without a fan or air conditioner to dispel it. She removed her hat and turned on the sink to splash cold water all over her sweaty face.

Elita wandered out of the bathroom. She found a dirty old halogen lantern under a worktable. Its pale blue-white glow gave just enough illumination to avoid tripping on equipment in the main garage.

"Mom, what are we gonna do?"

Mikaela left the bathroom without drying her hands. "Head northwest."

"Why can't we go back to the cabin? They didn't come near it."

"Cop-logic. They know we live in the area. They'll stake it out and wait for us to show up if they think we have to go home for supplies."

"This is crap," said Elita. She hurled her hat on the ground and crossed her arms, scowling. "I thought Decepticons were going to put us on the run, not other human beings! What's wrong with this planet?"

"People are sheep." Mikaela shrugged. She leaned against the Silverado's grill.

"They're stupid!" Elita kicked her hat, picked it up and threw it into the open passenger side door of the Silverado. Her upper lip pulled tight against her front teeth. "Those jerks won't learn the difference between Autobot and Decepticon sigils! 'Oh, hey, let's just shoot them all!' Damn it!"

"El, language." Mikaela pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. The adrenaline comedown left her mentally and physically exhausted.

"I don't care! Have some more! Fuck, bitch, shit, ass, hell, damn!" Elita slammed the truck door with all her might. Her voice rose in volume to fill the garage.

"The human race is great at crapping on every good thing it gets! We screw ourselves all the time! We look at history, say it'll never happen again and then we make it happen again! This is stupid, mom, and we're all paying for it!"

Telling Elita not to swear wasn't a battle worth fighting right now. Mikaela sighed, struggling against the desolate reality they faced. Memories of car chases, gang members, shady neighborhoods and police cruises tumbled across her thoughts. She never wanted Elita to feel uncertainty like that, yet here they were.

"I hate this!" Elita's rant continued. "I'm a Prime, like dad, and I can't do squat! I have to sit here! What can I do by sitting here?"

Those words struck like bullets. Mikaela rounded on Elita and grabbed her shoulders.

"What can you do? You can stay alive. That's all either of us can do right now. No, listen." She smoothed Elita's messy hair. "When things like this happen, I always ask myself 'what can I control in this situation?'"

"Tch."

"Look, El." Mikaela held up her keys. "I have this truck. I have you. We have Ultra Magnus. We have supplies to keep us going for awhile. We can run, and we can hide. But there's one more thing we both need to control."

Elita grimaced and let her head thud lightly against the truck bed. "Yeah, what?"

"Ourselves." Mikaela half-smiled at the irony. Wrestling a tornado into submission sounded easier than asking a girl on her first period to reign in her emotions.

"How about I 'control' the situation by kicking everyone's butt?"

"Heh, there's a time and place for butt kicking, and this isn't it."

"Then tell me when- oh, God."

Elita covered her mouth and ran into the bathroom. Mikaela silently counted to thirty before following her.

"When's the last time you took an Ibuprofen?"

"This morning. Why am I puking?"

"Hormones, kiddo. Don't they suck?"

"Yeah!" Elita heaved into the bowl again. "Mom, no offense, can you leave me alone?"

"Sure. Just a sec."

Mikaela padded back into the shop, sifted through her duffle bag and returned with a bottle of Ibuprofen and a chocolate chip granola bar. She set them on the silver shelf under the mirror.

"Hang in there, El. The first two or three days suck the worst."

"Good to know."

More retching coughs followed. Mikaela fought back a sympathy gag and quietly retreated into the main garage.

.o

Tapping scrapes woke Mikaela. Something seemed different, but her sleep-addled brain couldn't wrap itself around why. Her back ached from laying her sleeping bag on the hard cement floor. She drowsily checked the time on her phone. Three in the morning.

Fresh scratching noises. Now it clicked. The bathroom light was on and Elita wasn't curled up in her sleeping bag.

Yawning, Mikaela padded towards the bathroom. The buzzing fluorescent bulb in the ceiling blasted her dark-adjusted eyes with harsh whiteness. She closed them until her forehead stopped wrinkling in protest.

Green Cybertronian glyphs covered every flat surface within Elita's reach. Elita stumbled along the far wall with a green Sharpie. Her scrawling hand didn't miss a beat.

Mikaela rubbed the crust out of her eyes. "El?"

Elita didn't respond. She panted so loudly her breath echoed off the walls. Her hand moved as if pulled by an unseen force. She sketched a figure on the outermost toilet stall wall- something akin to a deranged Disney princess with upswept hair and a dress made of tentacles.

Mikaela recognized the glyphs Elita wrote around the woman.

Deceiver. Traitor. Liar. Ruin.

Elita dropped the marker and faced the trash can. She smacked her lips. Her hands tugged at her shirt. Drool spilled from her mouth. The whites of her eyes shimmered between her fluttering eyelids. Why wasn't she snapping out of it? She always came to after she stopped writing!

"Elita?"

No response.

Mikaela clapped her hands by Elita's ear.

Nothing.

She smoothed Elita's hair and bolted to grab her phone. A second later, she raced back into the bathroom, shot a quick video and sent it to Ultra Magnus while frantically texting him for help.

Ultra Magnus materialized his hologram by the door. Elita didn't acknowledge him. He cupped her face between his palms, passed a hand over her brow and rested the other on the back of her head. Still not satisfied, he positioned his fingertips above her cheekbones and ears as if initiating a Vulcan mind meld.

"Oh...wow."

Mikaela's stomach muscles knotted up. She chewed the tip off her thumbnail. "Is she okay?"

"Mmhmm. I'm detecting a lot of synchronous gamma waves. She is listening intently to something, and it's not us."

Servos whirred when he fixed his optics on Mikaela. "This is not a typical glyph attack, but it is not harming her either." He refocused on Elita's face. "Here she comes. Get ready, she's angry."

Elita wrenched herself free of Ultra Magnus' hands, spun on her heels and faced the drawing on the bathroom stall.

"That bitch!" She sprang at the picture and punched it so hard the toilet paper dispenser inside rattled. "Stupid, ugly bitch!"

"Elita!" Mikaela grabbed her daughter from behind and pulled her back. "El, c'mon. It's okay."

"No! She lies and tells people she made the Cybertronian race! She confuses people into believing her and manipulates them into working for her! I gotta call dad and tell him!"

"No! Honey, you can't."

"Let me call him!" Elita kept swinging at the air.

Ultra Magnus wedged himself between her and the artwork. She charged at him. He caught her by the shoulders and brought her closer in a tight hug.

"I heard you guys talking, but I couldn't-" She sniffled, clinging to him. "How long was I messed up?"

Ultra Magnus looked down and cupped the back of her head. "You were unresponsive to us for over three minutes. Speaking of glyphs..."

His brow ridges knit when he peered at the left-hand corner under the hopper window.

"Elita, you wrote out an old legend."

"I know," said Elita. She pulled free of his arms and sat against the wall by the door. "I was told to write it, so I did."

Mikaela knew enough Cybertronian to get the gist of random sentences when she read them. Finding the first word of the entire story eluded her. Cybertronian text had a convoluted grammar structure that depended on what they wrote about.

Stories required a reader to go from left to right the way most human languages flowed. But Cybertronians didn't indent anything in their stories. New "paragraphs" were denoted by starting a new line and reading it right to left. Dialogue appeared as vertical columns read from the top down or the bottom up, and the direction a reader went first depended on which way the text before it flowed. It was the stuff of nightmares for linguistics teachers.

Ultra Magnus slid his hand sideways, pointing. "Twelve Knights served Quintessa billions of years before Optimus or Megatron existed. She presented herself as a Prime to trick people into doing her bidding. The Knights created to serve the Primes noticed she used the Staff for her own benefit instead of aiding others and realized her Primacy was a ruse. Her thirst for power did not align with that of the true Primes.

"The Knights took the Staff and fled into deep space to prevent her from harming future life in the universe. Where they went wasn't recorded directly, but legend says...where was that part?"

He tapped his fingers against his chin and scanned the wall below the mirror.

"Ah. Legend says the Staff is hidden on the back of Unicron, Cybertron's ancient foe."

Facing them again, he concluded, "That is the 'too long, didn't read' version. Nobody knows what Unicron looks like, where he is or if he really exists at all. A famous Cybertronian horror story states he wanders around the galaxy and eats planets."

Elita massaged her temples. "So he's a robot Galactus?"

"Uhh...no. His description in the story says his alt-mode is a planet. Imagine a hybrid of Pac-Man and the Langoliers."

Mikaela snorted at a mental image of Pac-Man with giant buzz-saw teeth. It stopped being funny when she considered a planet-eating robot might be as big or bigger than the Earth.

Ultra Magnus glanced around at the defaced walls. "This hiding place is compromised."

"Sorry," murmured Elita. She got up and trudged into the garage.

Mikaela maintained her silence until she saw Elita's phone light up. She grabbed Ultra Magnus' arm and hauled him to the far end of the bathroom.

"Be real with me, Mags. Is she okay?"

He faced her and confidently squared his shoulders. "Ratchet's notes state that AllSpark knowledge is bubbling up as her brain forms connections. It makes sense that a lot of rapid growth means stronger surges of information."

She massaged the back of her neck to defeat a brewing tension headache. "Is this how it's going to be forever, or will it stop after puberty?"

"That...I can't say. Ratchet was killed before he finished his theories about it."

Well, that figured. Mikaela bitterly wondered what other uncertainties life intended to throw at her.

"Okay." She brushed past him to splash cool water on her face. "El and I are gonna head northwest to Tranquility, my hometown. The original Autobot team used an old auto parts warehouse as a hideout. We ditched it while I was pregnant with Elita. Hey, can you see if it's still there?"

"Let me check a few websites." Ultra Magnus ducked his head and planted his hands on his hips. "Mmhmm. Found it. Somebody turned it into a auto repair garage like this one, then vacated it. The property around it is empty as well."

"Small town businesses don't last like they used to." Mikaela grabbed two paper towels from the dispenser.

"May I offer advice?" asked Ultra Magnus.

"Go for it."

"Abandon your truck and allow me to transport you and Elita to your new location. TRF may be patrolling the area under civilian cover. They will scrutinize each gunmetal gray Silverado they encounter. Every stop for fuel or other necessities puts you at risk of capture."

He had a point. It still made her groan. She just finished making payments on that damn truck.

"Okay. I'll round up Elita." Mikaela tightened her lips. Survival was more important than material items. "But first, I need to use the toilet. Some privacy, please?"

"Of course."

Kicking the stall door shut eased her pangs of frustration. She used the toilet, washed up and headed out to an uncertain future.

.o

"...The wild dogs cry out in the night
as they grow restless,
longing for some solitary company.
I know that I must do what's right,
as sure as Kilimanjaro rises
like Olympus above the Serengeti.
I seek to cure what's deep inside,
frightened of this thing that I've become..."

Of all the music Ultra Magnus chose to blast, Africa by Toto wasn't a choice Mikaela expected. Not that she minded- it was funny listening to him and Elita shout-sing the chorus at each other.

"...It's gonna take a lot to
take me away from you!
There's nothing that a hundred men
or more could ever do.
I bless the rains down in Africa!
We're gonna take some time
to do the things we never have!
Ooh ooh..."

Mikaela played an imaginary keyboard during the instrumental bridge. She sang along the next time the chorus came up because it took her mind off the unknown looming ahead.

Ultra Magnus hastily assembled a playlist of the cheesiest songs he knew. Elita shrieked with laughter when he played Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up.

"Mags, are you Rickrolling us?" asked Mikaela.

"Of course. Certain things must be done."

Elita snickered. "Mom, you're talking to the robot meme king."

"Excuse me?" Ultra Magnus huffed in mock offense. "I am a meme connoisseur."

She wriggled in her seat. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really!" He paused at a red light. "By the way, Elita, Mikaela..."

"Hm?" Mikaela glanced at the rectangular driver's side mirror.

"All your base are belong to us, because you both lost the game."

"AUGH!" Elita face-palmed. "Do not want."

Mikaela slapped his steering wheel and cackled. "Are you gonna give me a glass of wine to go with that cheese?"

Ultra Magnus chuckled at that. "Nope. No drinking while pretend-driving."

The light turned green. He cruised up the onramp and merged into the freeway traffic. Tined concrete growled beneath his tires.

Comfortable quietude replaced the silliness. Mikaela reflected on what took place before everybody hit the road.

She abandoned her Silverado in a Target parking lot six blocks southeast of Joe's Garage. Spite prompted her to rip the license plates off and chuck them down the storm drain under the curb. Then she removed all personal accoutrements from the sun visors, rear view mirror and glove compartment. The tents were too unwieldy to drag around, so she left them in the truck bed.

Elita checked in, around and under all the seats for any identifying items that got lost over the years.

Ultra Magnus swung his doors open on a new, uncertain future. Elita and Mikaela hopped in without hesitation. Their duffle bags found a new home in the storage space under his sleeper mattress.

Dumping the Silverado was the right decision. The creepy black jeeps stopped next to Ultra Magnus at an intersection three blocks west of Target. They went left, he hung a right.

Mikaela yawned. Heading northwest was scenic, yet uneventful. She watched a gold and orange sunrise via the rear view mirrors while Elita dozed in the passenger's seat.

Northbound traffic thickened as the sun climbed. Mikaela noticed a group of rowdy fresh-faced yuppies carpooling in a blue PT Cruiser. They sped up to keep pace with Ultra Magnus. The blonde fellow in the back passenger side seat looked up pumped his arm. Ultra Magnus tooted his horn twice. The yuppies hooted and hollered.

"Huh?" Elita woke up at the horn. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Ultra Magnus replied, "Just entertaining a few earthlings."

The vibrating rumble ceased as asphalt replaced tined concrete. Hills and mountainsides gave way to brick sound walls, blue skies, buildings and street signs. Changing elevation created pressure in Mikaela's ears. She plugged her nose, closed her mouth and gently exhaled. Her ears popped, relieving the discomfort.

Salty beach scents wafted on the wind. The blurry sapphire line of the ocean sparkled in the distance.

Mikaela enjoyed the fluttery acceleration of cruising down the off ramp.

A sprawling three-story white building existed where Bolivia's Finest Quality Used Car Lot and Petting Zoo used to be. It had a solid cement foundation and artistically sloping walls decorated with triangular mosaic patterns. Digital signage labeled it as Tranquility Shopping Mall between flashy advertisements.

"That's new," Mikaela pointed out the mall.

Elita sat up straighter. "Whoa."

"The town has expanded," said Ultra Magnus.

Colorful tract housing lined the southern outskirts like molars in a giant's jaw. Clean, freshly-laid residential streets suggested they were built within the last five years.

Green street signs and modern light poles punctuated the sidewalk. There used to be a small shanty town along the railroad tracks bordering Tranquility. Clean gray gravel and a junkyard stood in its place, a harsh reminder that time was a tsunami sweeping the past away.

Ultra Magnus stopped at the busy intersection in front of the mall. People crossed the street, entered the buildings and moved for those who exited. Scintillating cars filled the broad parking lot.

"That's huge," Elita said.

"Probably expensive as hell, too," Mikaela grumbled.

Ultra Magnus lurched into motion again when the light turned green. He eased right onto the street containing Mikaela's old high school. Home of the Tranquility Toucans and one of two high schools in town. She barely recognized it through the gray painted wood panels, black trim and white lockers. Once upon a time, the buildings boasted hideous mustard yellow stucco walls with brown trim and dark green lockers. The school's nasty colors earned it the nickname Tranquility Turds. Now it looked like bird poop splattered on a car.

"Somebody find the designer and slap him," she muttered.

"Ick." Elita wrinkled her nose, "That's bad."

"I match that color scheme," Ultra Magnus huffed.

"You don't have the black," Elita pointed out. "Plus, you're white and silver. That's pretty. White and gray is drab, like a hospital room."

"Or a casket," Mikaela snickered. "What color is your boyfriend?"

"Ouch." Ultra Magnus snickered. "This will sound odd to you, but I don't know. I haven't seen him since he scanned an Earth vehicle."

Mikaela kept teasing him. "Well, is he taller than you? Shorter? Stocky, thin?"

Elita's face iced over at the turn in conversation. She crossed her arms and stared out the window as they headed northwest towards the older industrial area.

He flashed his left turn signal. "Definitely shorter than I, and quite agile."

"Is that all you're going to tell-"

"Mom," Elita rudely cut into the conversation. "Is that the warehouse on the left?"

Mikaela narrowed her eyes at her daughter's boorishness. "Excuse you. Yes."

Wooden utility poles flanked the parking area, which encircled the warehouse like an asphalt moat. Nails, paper scraps and graffiti still decorated them. Dirt fields separated by chain link fences and vacant storefronts surrounded the abandoned warehouse. Industrial business wasn't doing well.

The old warehouse, a rectangular three-story A-frame building, had a dark blue metal exterior and a chipped white trim. Solar panels and a gray rain gutter lined the rooftop. Drainage spouts poked out from all four corners of the building. Their placement made the structure resemble an awkward quadruped. Each spout emptied into dips that carried rainwater towards the street. Windows situated at the warehouse's second story level lined the north and south walls to allow daylight in. Empty electric signage hung above the twin steel roll-up garage doors. Two gold-tinted floor to ceiling picture windows framed them like watchful eyes. The windows and paint job were 'new' additions.

"Wow." Mikaela breathed. "El, scout around for an opening. You're smaller than me, you might be able to squeeze through and let us in."

"Why can't Mags use his hologram?"

Ultra Magnus' air brakes hissed as he pulled past the front of the warehouse, backed up and parked with his grill twelve inches away from the right hand garage door.

"I will if you can't locate an entrance," he said.

"Tch, fine."

"El," Mikaela grasped Elita's arm and looked her in the eyes. "What's your problem?"

"Nothing's my problem, mom." Elita pulled free, scowling.

"Then drop the attitude."

"I don't have one!"

Mikaela kept her expression neutral. "Okay, why are you yelling?"

"Because you're acting like I'm mad when I'm not. Now I am!"

"Okay, you're unhappy. I get it." Mikaela counted to ten internally and calmly utilized Optimus' favorite line for this situation. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No! It's none of your business! Get off my case!"

Elita hopped out of Ultra Magnus and disappeared behind the warehouse's east wall.

"Sheesh." Mikaela brushed off the sting of Elita's abrasiveness.

"Pre-teen angst must be difficult," said Ultra Magnus.

She rolled her eyes and nodded. "It's hell."

"She is crying behind the building. Should we approach her?"

"Nah." Mikaela checked the time on her phone. "She doesn't need us piling on her. She's going through a lot right now. Let's give her fifteen minutes. I'll check on her if she doesn't calm down before then."

Elita took ten.

Both steel doors retracted in a series of whining clanks. The lights inside the building were on. Elita stepped back and wiped her hair backwards off her shoulders.

"This place runs on solar power!" She called. "I turned on the AC and the lights. The toilets work, too."

"Nice work, kiddo."

Mikaela exited Ultra Magnus' driver's side. Cool air blasted her face. Metal, oil and dust scents brought back childhood memories of helping her dad work on cars. She inhaled, passed through the gaping doorway and looked around.

An old tow truck like the one she hotwired in Mission City sat forlornly beside the second door. Four side by side two-column lift systems denoted the exact center of the gray cement floor. The north wall was home to several orange and silver bulk storage shelves with wire decks. Two engine blocks, air filters and a half dozen tires were their sole contents. Hubcaps of varying sizes dangled on hooks screwed into the south wall. A strong six foot butcher block workbench occupied the northeast corner, and the rickety cupboards above it held ragged tool belts and crusty grease-stained rags.

"El, did you see any graffiti anywhere?" asked Mikaela.

Elita crinkled her nose and shook dust out of her hair. "Nope, but there's a ladder in the back and a little trapdoor on the roof. I guess it's a fire escape or something. I had to do some Mission: Impossible shenanigans to get on the catwalk and get down here."

Ultra Magnus eased inside. His Kenworth disguise reconfigured until he stood upright in robot mode. As usual, his antennae popped up last. He tapped his foot on the floor to test the acoustics while the segmented door rattled shut behind him. An approving smile narrowed his optics.

"I like this. It's roomy, and the outdoor sounds are damped."

Mikaela glanced past his head at the drop ceiling concealing the silver duct work. That was new. Suspended open strip light fixtures dangled off enormous steel beams. They came within six inches of Ultra Magnus' antennae. Industrial ceiling fans separated the lights into clean rows. She wondered if she could knock the ceiling panels down by hurling her shoes at them.

"Hey, Mags, poke that ceiling tile above you. What's it made of?"

"This?" Ultra Magnus prodded it with his finger, which tilted it loose and caused it to drop onto his head. He jiggled it in his hand before putting it back in its proper place. "They're PVC. I suspect they were put here to control noise."

Elita jogged up the spiral staircase in the northeast corner. It led to a long catwalk stretched along the east wall. "These are the stairs I used to get down. Were they always here?"

"Yup." Mikaela gestured at the square modular office underneath the catwalk. "But that's new."

The modular office was little more than a tiny eight foot by eight foot metal cube built against the northeast corner. One solitary window broke up its stark white walls and looked out into the warehouse.

She peeked inside, glad to discover it had a functional overhead light. Four rectangular cardboard boxes full of packing peanuts lay open by the door.

Wild ideas ran through Mikaela's mind. She emptied the packing peanuts on the floor at the far end of the tiny room, spread them out until they formed an even layer and crushed the boxes flat. Now she had a space for laying out the sleeping bags. It wasn't perfect like an air mattress or a bed, but better than lying on bruising cement.

She exited the modular office and checked the tool belt in the cabinet. Two heavy wrenches were all that remained. Good for use as weapons if necessary.

"Hey, Mags?"

Ultra Magnus looked away from the massive windows. "Yes?"

"Pass me our bags?"

"Oh! Sure." He lifted his left chest plate, pulled open the panel underneath and produced the requested belongings.

"Thanks." Mikaela took everything off his hands.

The wrenches found a home between the sleeping bags.

Mikaela checked out the bathroom nestled in the east wall. There were three beige stalls on the north side- two small ones and a big one with bars for disabled people. All three had working toilets and toilet paper. Three square white pedestal sinks occupied the south wall. The ancient shower got replaced with three showerheads arranged around a pillar like a high school gym locker room. A frosted glass wall provided privacy. What used to be a tiny sliding window for letting the steam escape was now a Jalousie with a crank.

She missed the warmth of the pale green tiles and charming seventies details. Everything was sterile white with beige accents. Modern chrome and sharp angles replaced the old, round fixtures. It looked like a hospital bathroom, and it reminded her that time didn't care about nostalgia.

Footsteps bounded down the spiral staircase with all the grace of Godzilla tap dancing through Tokyo.

"Mom, where are we sleeping?" Elita yelled.

"You don't need to yell," Mikaela replied. The bathroom acoustics rang like a bell.

Elita poked her head in. "Okay. Where are we sleeping?"

Mikaela showed her. "Our boudoir."

"Nice." Elita whistled. "So, what now?"

"What now?" Mikaela glanced up at Ultra Magnus, who sat in the exact spot where Optimus used to. "We survive."

.o

Four days passed.

Elita and Mikaela spent them cleaning the areas of the warehouse they intended to use. They didn't get it spotless, but their movements ceased stirring clouds of dust.

Mikaela kept getting texts from Joe. She answered exactly once, stating she skipped town to avoid a stalker ex, and ignored the rest. Elita grabbed that fib and ran with it to explain to her friends why she wasn't home. This, of course, led to a flurry of concerned responses. She finally shut her phone off because it kept buzzing.

"Slag," Ultra Magnus muttered on the fifth day.

Elita looked up from her phone. "What's up, Mags?"

"I just detected a TRF transmission. My identity is compromised. They know the make and model of my vehicle mode. And..." He squinted, "They found your abandoned Silverado. They don't know where we are."

"Great," Mikaela groaned. "Let's hope those assholes don't figure out where we ran. We're toast if they see you driving around."

"No need to worry." He raised his brow ridges, smirking. "It's Saturday. There is a truck show scheduled for the park east of here. I will have no problem scanning something new without being noticed."

"Okay, then." Mikaela folded her arms. "Go get your new look. I'll take El grocery shopping."

"Mom, seriously?"

"Our food's getting low. We can't camp out with Subway, Little Caesar's and MacDonald's. The people working there don't know we're on the run. They'll say they saw us if someone flashes our photo at them."

"She has a point," said Ultra Magnus.

Elita groaned. "Fine. Lemme change before we go."

A half hour later, Ultra Magnus set out to acquire a new vehicle mode while Elita and Mikaela took a bus across town. Going far from the warehouse would make it harder to keep track of their exact movements.

A quick look at Google Maps showed an Albertsons where K-Mart used to be. Mikaela double checked her shopping list and hoped the prices weren't outrageous.

The bus finally reached its destination. She nudged Elita, who slurped on a red cherry-flavored Blow Pop.

Sweltering air and gasoline fumes blasted in when the bus doors squeaked open.

Elita put the sucker in her mouth and exited the bus. Mikaela followed her, yawning. Packing peanuts weren't a mattress replacement. She longed for a proper night's sleep and wondered how Elita managed it.

The summer air was an invisible fleece blanket slapping everything in its path. Wobbling heat waves danced above the colorful vehicles parked in front of Albertsons. Radiated sunlight turned the cement and asphalt into a frying pan.

The bus pulled away with a loud pop-hiss. Gas fumes swirled behind it.

Sweat beaded all over Mikaela's face and neck. "Hm, I have a coupon for peas, two for-"

"We're not getting canned peas again," Elita groused while they strolled towards the store, "They're disgusting."

Mikaela pocketed her phone. "Oh, c'mon, they weren't that bad."

"I'll scare all the priests in town with my puke if I have to eat peas again." Elita pretended to gag herself on the Blow Pop. "You can have 'em, but I refuse."

"Okay, Miss Ramsey," Mikaela fought another yawn, "What do you suggest instead of peas?"

"That's easy." She took the lollipop out of her mouth and grinned with red candy-stained teeth. "Get corn. Corn goes with everything."

An elderly man hobbled back and forth near the store's main entrance. His dirty brown jacket and torn green sweat pants hung loosely on his body. He had dark, leathery skin that highlighted his frayed white hair like a beacon.

"The end is coming! Get right with God before it's too late!"

He noticed Mikaela and swung a cardboard sign into view. It said: Prepare for the Rapture!

"We're good, thanks," said Mikaela. She brushed past the man to grab a shopping cart.

Two college girls wearing McDonald's polo shirts exited the store. The old man repeated his warning at them. They laughed, ignoring him.

"Crazy old geezer," said the taller girl.

"Totally." The shorter girl pulled keys from her pocket. She glanced back, "Call us up when you get sane, old fart!"

Mikaela saw Elita's shoulders tighten. She took hold of her arm and whispered in her ear, "Don't."

Elita dumped her unfinished sucker in the trash can outside the automatic doors and followed Mikaela towards the store.

"They made fun of him."

"He has problems." Mikaela welcomed the cool breeze as they entered Albertsons.

"And that's a reason to laugh at him?" Elita sneered.

"No, but there's nothing we can do for him." Mikaela was too sleep-deprived to argue about this, so she reached for the quickest way out. "Look...we're not in a situation to worry about random people we don't know."

"Okay, mom, whatever. Let's go shopping."

Mikaela let Elita's response bounce off her instead of dig in. She shoved the cart forward into the health and beauty aisle to grab toothpaste. They had it on sale- two for the price of one. She took two.

Take My Breath Away by Berlin came on over the store's speakers. Mikaela spent the days trying not to think about how much she missed Optimus. That song made it impossible. She cracked and fobbed the cart off on Elita.

"I have to use the restroom."

"Mom?"

"My stomach's upset. Here's the shopping list. You shop. I'll find you when I come out."

Mikaela power-walked to the back of the store and charged into the ladies' single-user restroom. Clean peach walls and a fruity smell flooded her awareness. She locked the door, leaned against it and glared at her reflection in the mirror across the way.

Tears broke free despite her efforts not to cry. She clasped her hands behind her head and paced around, letting the emotional tsunami engulf her.

"...watching every motion
in this foolish lover's game.
Haunted by the notion-
somewhere there's a love in flames..."

Would she feel it if Optimus died out there? Or would she carry on with her life, oblivious that his ended?

Was he awake yet? Was he hurt? Was he scared?

Mercifully, the song on the radio ended and released her from the torrent of emotions. She used the toilet, washed all evidence of crying off her face and took three slow, deep breaths.

Okay, I can do this. I can DO this...

The door creaked loudly on its hinges. Mikaela backed out while using her foot to stop it from slamming.

A shopping cart almost ran her down as soon as she emerged into the store again.

"Elita, I thought I told you to-" She faced the cart and faltered.

The man wore black mesh basketball shorts and a clean gray T-shirt with a crossed-out portrait of Donald Trump. Black block text underneath spelled, He will not divide us. A plain gold wedding band adorned his left ring finger. Unkempt brown hair and a scraggly beard concealed his features, but there was no disguising his large, haunted hazel eyes or boyish voice.

"Mikaela?"

Mikaela couldn't believe it. Of all the places, he was here. She cocked her head and smiled.

"Sam."

Sam chuckled. "You don't age at all, do you?"

"Not externally," she teased, "How's life?"

"I keep a low profile...but it's good. Carly's great. I'm a dad. My boy turned ten last week."

"Really? Is the fam shopping with you?"

"Heh, no. But- hang on..."

Sam pulled out his I-phone and showed her the family photo on the lock screen. Christmas, judging by the red, green and white outfits. Carly had her blonde hair cut in a curly bob and Sam wore a slicked-back ponytail. Their mischievous son inherited Sam's eyes and Carly's blonde hair, which he styled into spikes.

"His name's Spencer, but everybody calls him Spike."

"Spike Witwicky...it has a nice ring to it." Mikaela grabbed her phone and sent Elita a text. "Hang on one sec. Let me get my disaster master to come here."

"How old is she now?"

"Twelve."

Nodding, Sam moved his cart out of the main foot traffic path. Mikaela noticed the black socket and silver pylon of a prosthetic left leg. She focused on her phone to avoid staring.

A minute later, Elita skidded up to them with half the shopping list's worth of stuff in the cart. "Hey, mom. Hey...person!"

"Hi." Sam's eyes twinkled. He grinned, his teeth vivid white against his dark beard. "Wow, her eyes are the same color as his."

"It's uncanny, isn't it?" Mikalela smiled with pride and wrapped her arm around Elita's shoulders. "Elita, this is Sam. Sam, this is Elita."

"He's that Sam?" Elita wiped her ponytail off her shoulder and put on her best troublemaking smile. She extended her hand for a handshake. "Hi, Sam! Nice to meet you."

"Elita," Sam accepted her hand, "Thanks. You, too."

Watching them shake hands was like seeing the past and future collide.

"I saw your leg. That's cool." She squeezed his hand before letting go. "I hope you haven't had any accidents related to robots lately."

Mikaela groaned internally.

Sam glanced down and lifted his prosthetic leg. Mischief gleamed in his eyes.

"Car crash in Hong Kong. I don't tell people the part about giant robots causing it." He glanced at Mikaela, and she didn't miss the wryness in his smirk. "The good news is I haven't had any 'incidents' with robots since."

"Ouch. Here's hoping you stop being a magnet for trouble." Elita gave a little wink and salute. "I'm still shopping, so I'm gonna run. Nice meeting you, Sam."

"Same," he nodded.

She zoomed off towards the center aisle of the store, her brown flip-flop sandals clop-clopping with each footstep.

Heat pooled in Mikaela's cheeks. "Sorry. She's nosy and mouthy."

"She's a cute kid." Sam rested his elbows on the handle of his cart and lowered his voice, "How's Optimus?"

The nagging ache Mikaela thought she left in the restroom woke up again. This time, she battered it down.

"He's okay, hopefully."

"Hopefully?"

Three rowdy boys sprinted past. Their mother hollered at them in Spanish and they stopped to wait for her. Mikaela stayed silent until the family passed.

"He went after somebody in space."

Sam shook his head and picked at his fingernails. They were bitten to the quick. "The poor guy can't catch a break, can he?"

"Nope."

"Hm. How's 'Bee doing?"

"I don't know...I haven't seen him in a long time. I hope he's okay."

"And everybody else?"

Only two of original the five bots they met fifteen years ago were still alive. What a sobering thought.

She sighed. "We lost Ratchet."

"Aw, man, really?" His eyes widened. "What happened?"

"Murdered. Optimus found out when he saw Ratchet's head being melted down in a lab. The Wreckers are dead, too."

"Damn."

"Yeah. NEST disbanded after Chicago. Some of them went to a new organization, Cemetery Wind. That broke up into the Transformers Reaction Force."

She rubbed her nose, hesitating. "Sam, TRF comes after people with any connections to Cybertronians, and they make them disappear. El and I are on the run from them right now."

"Gotcha. I never saw you." Sam looked down at his prosthetic leg. "They arrested me last year. Lennox talked them into letting me go after I told them I lost contact with the Autobots after Chicago. They still don't know how I really lost my leg."

He rubbed a hand through his hair. The way he stared off into space was too reminiscent of how Optimus blanked out. Mikaela hurriedly switched gears.

"So, how are your parents?"

He snapped back to reality, blinking.

"They're- uh- they're great. They moved to Texas last year. Carly, Spike and I are flying out tonight to see them. Mom's having a milestone birthday on Wednesday. Dad's planning a huge party. I'm kinda thinking of moving out there permanently. The job market here sucks, so I hope I'll have better luck in a big city like Houston. Carly has connections there, so...yeah."

Sam's parents were prone to being over the top and it sounded like that hadn't changed. Mikaela tried not to think of how they turned angrily on her when she got pregnant with Elita. They never found out who her real father was.

"Oh, yeah. What're you trying to get into?"

"Prosthetics engineering. I designed this leg. The foot moves if I flex my thigh." Sam lifted his prosthetic foot off the ground and tilted it up and down. "I'm working on one that rotates the ankle and moves the toes around like a regular foot."

She raised her eyebrows, impressed. "Wow, that's cool."

A text lit his phone. He read the message and glanced up.

"Uh...sorry. Um, Carly's sending me last minute travel stuff to buy, so I need to split. She worries."

Mikaela understood exactly how that felt.

"I'll let you go." Her expression softened. "Nice seeing you, Sam."

"Yeah. Same here." Sam smiled, yet his eyes were forlorn. Or was that the way his face worked?

He spoke again when she turned to leave.

"Hey, Mikaela?"

"Hm?" She peered over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry...um..." He scratched his nose and ruffled his beard, "...for the way I left you at the cabin without saying anything. I panicked and made a dick of myself."

Regret pulsed down Mikaela's spine. She was the one who fooled around behind his back. He offered his heart, and her actions broke it. Telling herself she tried and failed to put Optimus behind her didn't quell the guilt.

And she had to live with that for the rest of her life.

The teen girl Mikaela was when she loved Sam shone through her blue eyes. She faced him and reached out despite the lump in her throat. Sam's eyebrows tilted upward at the gesture. He came forward without hesitating. They embraced tightly.

"I'm sorry, too." Small, useless words, but she had to say them. She gave him a light squeeze. "Take care of yourself and your family, okay?"

"Yup." His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat to play it off. "Take care of yours, too."

"Will do."

They stepped apart, exchanged wan smiles and departed in opposite directions.

Mikaela resisted the urge to look back. Sam's apology opened a wound of her own foolishness that didn't need any more prodding. Moving forward was the only way to stop the bleeding, so she walked away. She felt his eyes on her until she ventured into the canned food aisle.

Elita careened forward and barely stopped the cart in time to avoid a noisy collision. "Oh, there you are." She held up a package of prunes. "I was about to run up to you with these."

"That's one way to kill a conversation." Mikaela swiped the package from her. "Put them back."

"Can we get some oranges? Please? They're on sale."

"Okay, get a bag."

The price total wasn't too outrageous. Mikaela paid with cash. Everything fit into four doubled-up plastic bags. Two for cans, one for the oranges and toothpaste, and one for Kotex pads and paper towels.

Summer waited outside the doors like an unwelcome brick wall. Elita returned the shopping cart to its station. Finally, she learned- usually, she abandoned carts by the door.

"Christ is coming," cried the old man.

Elita paused. "Mom, lemme borrow five bucks?"

"Why?"

"Just...please?"

Sighing, Mikaela set her bag of canned goods down and pulled a five dollar bill from her pocket. Elita disappeared into the store with it. Moments later, she emerged, looked into the old man's eyes and handed him a large Aquafina bottle.

"Here. It's too hot to not have water."

"I can see Christ in your eyes," he said to her.

She cocked her head and replied, "Jesus loves you, too. He'll pick you up when it's time."

"And you." The man beamed, his old face wrinkling until his eyes squinted. He only had one front tooth. "I'll see you in Paradise."

Elita nodded once, smiled and brought Mikaela the change for her purchase. Sweat glistened on her cheekbones. Her plastic bag rattled when she picked it up. Behind her, the old man gulped from the water bottle.

"Everybody's treating that guy like a joke because he's got mental problems." An indignant frown wrinkled her brow. "Whoever laughs at him laughs at dad, too."

They passed the cart station. Mikaela glanced back at old man with new eyes.

Optimus appeared to babble nonsense whenever he muttered at his intrusive thoughts or talked himself out of a flashback. His nightmares made him appear psychotic or delusional, and he had zero memory of his 'sleepwalking' incidents. What would he look like to a stranger who didn't know his story?

"Be ready! The end is near! Make peace with God!" The old man's shouts faded into the distance.

Elita tied the handles of her grocery bag in a knot and swung it while she walked. Mikaela's phone buzzed. She transferred a bag to her left hand and found a text from Ultra Magnus.

On my way to retrieve you. Watch the overpass.

"Ultra Magnus is on his way." Mikaela pointed at the overpass.

"I hope he picked something cool."

Heat waves turned everything beyond the freeway overpass into a rippling mess. Mikaela squinted at something white gleaming in the distance. She recognized the truck's make by the locomotive-inspired hood and 'grinning' silver grill.

"Don't worry, he did. Here he comes!"

Elita almost dropped her bag. "Oh, my God! Is that a LoneStar?"

"Yup."

The glimmering International LoneStar hung a U-turn at the stoplight and pulled up to the curb. Autobot symbols still marked its mud flaps, and a small red one resided on the grill in place of a logo. The passenger door swung open, revealing warm wood finish paneling on the dashboard, tan cloth-covered seats and a silver Autobot symbol on the steering wheel.

Mikaela whistled her approval as she ducked through the open door and climbed across to the driver's seat. Ultra Magnus' interior had an amazing new car smell. Cool air wafted through the vents to keep the summer heat at bay. She set her grocery bag on the floor behind her seat and aimed an air vent at her face.

"Whoa, nice sleeper!" Elita said as she hopped in her seat and laid her bag between her feet.

"The mattress is memory foam, and the storage space underneath is still there." Ultra Magnus shut the passenger door and pulled away from the curb. "I have better shock absorbers, too. Can you tell?"

"Yeah." Elita buckled her seatbelt. "The road is a mess of alligator cracks, and I barely feel it."

Mikaela noticed the smoother ride, too. She grinned and wiped the sweat off her forehead.

They arrived back at the warehouse within half an hour. Elita rushed inside to open the main garage door and switch the air conditioner on. Mikaela carried all four grocery bags in since Elita forgot to grab hers.

Air brakes hissed when Ultra Magnus rolled through the garage door. A popping noise preceded metallic clicking. Silver hands swung forward and rested flat on the ground. Both sides of his hood wrapped around as his forearms. The sleeper roof split to become his shoulders. His undercarriage and rear fenders formed legs. He rose onto his legs once they took shape. Mikaela glimpsed his spinning transformation cog pulling everything towards his abdominal cavity. His front bumper and grill slid up his torso to be his chest plates. Finally, his head popped out of his back and did an unnerving Exorcist spin as it flipped up and anchored itself between his shoulders.

Ultra Magnus' elaborate Cybertronian and Rustian engravings stayed in exactly the same places as they were before. He 'wore' his mud flaps like a breechcloth. Bits of grill replaced the windshields on his oblong chest plates, which fit more snugly against his torso. Tires constructed parts of his shoulders, hips and calves. His flat ear finials had slightly wider antennae than before. The Mohawk ridge atop his helm formed a diamond shape above his brow instead of an oval.

Prominent white brow ridges replaced the plain silver ones he used to have. His rectangular nose came straight down his face like it did before, but now it had a vertical groove in the center. Layered V-shaped plates bridged the space between his nose and helm. His mouth plates remained as three segmented panels that behaved a lot like human lips, and the white strip on his chin resembled a soul patch.

"Well?" Ultra Magnus spread his hands. His V-shaped plates behaved exactly like human cheekbones.

"You look so..." Elita grinned mischievously, "Capaldi!"

He arched a brow. "Uh..."

Mikaela decided to help the poor guy out. "You've got eyebrows like Peter Capaldi."

"Perhaps I should Google him." Ultra Magnus blinked. "Oh." He laughed and slapped his hand against his brow. "The resemblance is completely unintentional."

"It's the perfect look for you." Elita giggled, covering her mouth. She scrounged up her grocery bag, dug her thumbnail into an orange and picked at the peel.

Ultra Magnus chuckled and sat down in the northwest corner. Sunlight shone on him through the window. "My joints are much smoother, too."

Elita teased, "You're old, that's why new armor feels better."

He scrunched up his face. "I'm only twice Ironhide's age!"

She tossed her orange up and down. "Ironhide was a billion years old! Therefore, you're old!"

"I don't gauge myself by your numerical standards, you uppity human."

Ultra Magnus swiped the orange out of mid-air. It looked like a marble clasped delicately between his thumb and index finger. The inner surfaces of his fingers were the embossed stainless steel that became his toolbox lid and cab entry step. Very non-slip. That orange wasn't going anywhere until he wanted it to.

"Hey!" Elita grabbed for the orange, but he held it just beyond her reach.

"Cybertonians get old when we fall into disrepair..." Half his mouth tilted upward in a smirk, "...so you don't get to call me old until I'm rusty and creaky."

With that, he dropped the orange. Elita gasped and scrambled to catch it.

"Okay, you're not old." She got the peel off her orange and popped a slice in her mouth, grinning. "You're ancient."

"Argh! Honestly, Elita..."

Mikaela hid in the bathroom so they wouldn't hear her crack up.

.o

An uneventful week passed. As boring as it was, Mikaela and Elita agreed that boredom beat being interrogated or imprisoned by people who wanted all Cybertronians gone.

Ultra Magnus took long drives around town to scout for signs of TRF in Tranquility. His trips fortified the illusion of a bigrig heading out for deliveries. He never returned via the exact same route more than twice.

Mikaela and Elita tagged along one late evening to break up the warehouse monotony. Ultra Magnus followed Mikaela's directions to an industrial back alley between factory buildings.

She got out with Elita trailing behind. They stood side by side on the damp asphalt. Steamy wet pavement, oil and cardboard smells surrounded them.

Her mind flashed back to a gleaming Peterbilt 379 emerging through a white cloud of steam and transforming into a twenty-eight foot tall red, blue and silver robot in front of her eyes. She remembered how the robot studied her face before focusing his attention on Sam. And then, that voice...

"Are you Samuel James Witwicky, descendant of Archibald Witwicky?"

"Mom?" Elita accidentally spoiled the recollection.

Mikaela blinked as if emerging from a dream. "This is where Sam and I met Optimus and the Autobots. Seems like a million years ago, now."

"Did dad scare you the first time you saw him?"

"They all did, sorta. It's not every day you see a bunch of vehicles turn into robots."

Elita scuffed her shoe on the pavement. "Dad says I wasn't scared when I first saw him."

"You weren't." Mikaela ran a hand through her hair and smiled, ducking her head. "Two seconds after you were born, you grabbed his finger and stared at him like you already knew everything about him."

"Dad said his life never felt the same after that."

Turning, Mikaela gazed into Elita's eyes. They glimmered like smooth river stones in the dim light. Sometimes she couldn't believe the tiny baby she gave birth to had entered the twilight years between childhood and adulthood.

"I know exactly how he feels," she murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind Elita's ear. "I love you, kiddo."

Elita's serious features melted into a smile. "Love you, too, mom."

Mikaela pulled her in for a hug and a playful noogie. "Hey, Mags, can we swing by one more spot before we go in for the night?"

Ultra Magnus rocked on his wheels. "Of course. Which way?"

"East."

Thirty minutes later, Mikaela peered out at a park surrounded by Leyland Cyprus trees. The playground had swings, slides and a jungle gym. Rows of plastic picnic tables gave parents a place to roost while their kids played.

It looked so different, yet one thing remained the same.

Mikaela took her sandals off and climbed out into the night. Cool, soft grass caressed her feet. She closed her eyes, and for a few seconds she imagined Optimus' porcelain-smooth armor pressed against her cheek.

"Wow."

"Wow?"

"You're so warm. I...thought you'd be- ah- cold."

"I raised my surface temperature to one hundred-point-five degrees Fahrenheit for your comfort. Am I too hot for you?"

Footsteps rustled the grass. Mikaela hurriedly wiped away the tears in the corners of her eyes and faced their source.

"Elita, you're standing on the spot."

Elita cocked her head, her impatient expression softening. "Where you and dad first danced?"

Nodding, Mikaela smoothed her daughter's hair. "Everything started here. He asked me to dance. I said yes."

A cool breeze rustled the grass and trees. Elita grinned as she plopped onto her back. Her amusement was short lived, however. She sat up slowly, her eyes riveted on the western sky.

"Mom? Mags? Do you see that?"

"I was waiting for you to notice," Ultra Magnus replied.

"See what?" Mikaela followed Elita's gaze. Her blood ran cold.

There were two crescent moons.