Merry Christmas. Feliz Navidad. Good afternoon. I hope this isn't too cliché and late.
. . .
Still being in-box was difficult. For one, you couldn't blink. You couldn't talk a whole bunch, either (Rattrap pitied all the Bluestreaks in the world), for fear of some kid overhearing and finding out about the secret prematurely. The other reason it really sucked was it was boring.
Imagine you're sitting in a box.
Imagine you're hanging by plastic twisty ties covered in plastic in a six by four by eight box for days on end, with nothing to do but count the number of Walmart employees that had an R in their names that came into the Transformers section.
So far, there were twenty seven.
I feel like saying, "I hate this job. I quit," but it's not a job.
Rattrap couldn't tell you how many kids had wandered into his aisle, picked him up, looked at him, turned the box over to look at the back, and then put him back on the shelf.
Fraggin' kids.
Some of them weren't that bad. At least they put me down right side up.
It was the ones that put him upside down that were so annoying. You can't read very well upside down.
Other people couldn't anyway, but he was fairly good at it, if that gives you any idea how long he had been there.
But you know what was coming soon? Black Friday. Rattrap had overheard a loose Optimus Plush telling some movie verse Bumblebee about it.
It was a complete stampede for prices really, really low, but what Rattrap was more worried about was what specifically would happen to him. With what Plushie had said, it was going to be a madhouse. Apparently, he had been there last time and survived the onslaught. Served the ugly looking Prime plush right. Left for a year on shelves. (Rattrap had a grudge against Primes of all sort, no matter what continuity, but even he couldn't tell you why.)
In the last minutes before the much looked forward to and dreaded Black Friday sale, Rattrap prepared himself, mentally and physically.
There was the sound of sliding doors being slammed against, again and again. A thousand voices chattered, groaned, and complained outside- Rattrap could hear them all the way in the Transformers aisle.
There was one last employee (a muscled young man, probably around college age) that came to check on the toy aisles. He looked positively wrought with nerves. (The Optimus Plush couldn't say he blamed him.) After his disappeared, to his register, it would begin and from then on, it would be chaos. Complete and utter chaos that was worse than anyone could imagine.
A bell went off. The doors slid open.
The moving wall of bodies was set on a collision course with his aisle.
Mental preparations be darned- the Beast Wars toy was terrified.
There was a short haired woman with a puffy navy blue winter coat leading the horde. She stuck out from the rest.
She was running toward the aisle, heading straight for him. Oh, yay. Line for death by stampede starts here!
The womans snatched up two toys, him and a 2007 movie Jazz.
Unfortunately, when the rest of the crowd caught up, the poor woman was shoved forward and Rattrap went flying under one of the wall shelves. He locked optics with the Jazz and unconsciously memorized the face, even though he knew he would probably never see him again.
He was feeling about the same level of apprehension as Rattrap did.
Rattrap was terrified of getting stomped on and cracked. All he could do was watch helplessly through the metal shelves' diamond cut holes as the shelves above him were emptied in the time it took him to count to twenty. In the middle of the seeming faraway disorganization, Rattrap vaguely wondered what happened to the Jazz.
Anger bubbled up inside him. Of all the freakin' things that could have happened. I was so close...
His box lay there for who-knew-how-long, particularly miffed at the store staff. How could they not notice it? Rattrap considered yelling for someone, but dismissed the idea. Too risky.
Out of boredom, he counted the seconds, the minutes, the hours. Questions haunted him. How long had he been there? Would he ever be bought? Would the end of this nothingness ever come?
Shadows danced across the clear plastic when someone walked past.
That was all Rattrap had to look forward to each "day"- dancing shadows.
Frag my life.
. . .
On one such "day," there were two pair of footsteps coming towards him from different aisles.
One sounded like soft rubber sneakers, like well-worn exercise shoes. The other sounded harder, newer.
One pair, he could tell, turned and so did the other. They ran into each other. One was sent sprawling on the floor, if the small shriek and the sound of a body hitting the white tiles was anything to go by. Several boxes hit the floor, too.
"Oh, sorry. Let me help you with that," a man's voice quickly tried to help.
"It's okay," a woman's voice said easily. They would be so good together, Rattrap immediately thought.
What? Rattrap was shocked at his newfound girlishness.
As the man (presumably) tried to help her up, he added, "I'm John, by the way."
Rattrap dared to hope she had noticed the box under the shelves, judging by the silence. "...what's under here?"
The box that hadn't moved for what felt like years was nudged out of the darkness, and brought before a sitting woman's face.
Her dark eyes lit up (pardon the fitting holiday pun) like a Christmas tree. She turned to John. "Do you know how hard I've looked for one of these? My son has been wanting a Beast Wars Rattrap for years and I've never been able to find one! Thank you!"
She unceremoniously pulled him into a hug. "Sorry," she amended, quickly pulling away. "I'm Stephanie."
John was a little surprised at the hug, but hid his tinted red face behind a small smile. "It's okay. I work at the bank as Santa in my off time. I'm used to random people hugging me." He bent down and picked up the two other boxes, handing them to her. "You dropped these."
Stephanie gave him a bright little smile (Why am I acting like a complete idiot? I've dealt with men before!). "Thanks."
"So you're doing some late Christmas shopping, huh?" he asked, not really knowing what he was saying, only wanting to further the conversation.
"Yeah, mostly. I'm also getting another star to put on the tree. The other one ended up...broken," she finished lamely, tilting her head with an embarrassed smile. "Technically, it was Optimus's fault." She held up said toy.
The little girl inside Rattrap wanted to giggle at the amount of chemistry between these two, but ended up settling for a sly grin.
He was finally getting taken home.
Finally.
. . .
Stephanie was so frazzled. Not even college had been this bad.
This year, she decided, would be the year she would get Kyle a Rattrap. No more substitutes like Optimus Primal and the Megatron that always went yessss like a weird villain.
She had scoured every last thing she could think of, up to and including asking her cousin If he could go to BotCon to find a Rattrap (he was the closest to the city it was being held in).
He didn't. All of them were in terrible condition. Although, as a collector, he did find the rest of the IDW comic books he had been needing.
So Stephanie decided to check Walmart one more time. There was no Rattrap. As usual. Bitterly, she picked up Voyager Optimus Prime (which wasn't that bad of a toy) and a double pack of the cute little Robot Heroes (the Movie Jazz and Megatron pair).
But that was before she ran into John.
He was...well...she had to say, he was nicer than some of the guys she'd worked with.
As she talked more with him after she bought the impromtu Transformers set, she realized something: she would probably never see this guy again, dangit. She liked this guy! He knew she had a young son and still didn't treat her like she was a...that.
Stephanie was totally in love with him from the start. He was nice, friendly, and had a good sense of humor.
And he played Santa for little kids and wasn't a complete perv. That had to be worth something.
When she glanced unconsciously at the time on her phone, Stephanie nearly keeled over.
John noticed the sudden change in mood. "What's wrong?"
She started clearing the fast food table. "It's almost eight! I promised my son I'd be home to tuck him in!" Stephanie held a soft drink in one hand and the Transformers bag, purse, and star for the tree in the other. "I've had an unbelievably good time talking with you, John, but can I give you my number and we'll talk later?"
John was a little unsettled by the change in subject, but caught on quick. He wasn't (that) offended. "Sure." He whipped a pen out of nowhere and grabbed a nearby napkin.
Stephanie smiled in relief. "Thank you." She scribbled down the number, along with her name.
She turned to go, but John turned and asked after a split second decision, "What time?"
"Around nine!" she called back over her shoulder, hurrying out the automatic sliding doors.
Around nine.
John really couldn't wait for around nine.
. . .
Stephanie drove home, checking the time every two seconds on her phone (for more than one reason, too).
When she pulled into her driveway, her mother's pretty silver Equinox sat waiting for her. Stephanie parked her Prius next to the curb.
She slipped her hands through the loops of the bags, using one hand to text her mother she was home.
I see your car outside. Stephanie saw her face briefly through the kitchen window. Wait until I get Kyle to his room.
Okay.
Being a secret Santa Claus made Stephanie feel like she was a secret agent, as corny as it sounded.
Mom should have had him in his room by now. Time to sneak in.
The cheap silver flip phone was stuck in her front jean pocket and she climbed out of her car, shopping bags and all.
. . .
"Hey, sweetie," Stephanie poked her head into his room. It was cluttered with a few Transformer toys, too many Hot Wheel race cars to count, and dirty clothes.
A little boy, about five years old, immediately sat up, grinning like it was Christmas (which it was, but that's beside the point). He had Stephanie's eyes and hair. "Hi, Mommy!"
There was some feeling that warmed Stephanie's heart every time she was called "Mommy."
"Were you good for Grandma?" she asked. Of course he was. He was always a little angel. (Insert snort.)
"Uh huh. I was extra good, cuz Santa's comin' tonight!" He bounced up and down excitedly, smiling broadly.
"That's right. You better get to sleep before he gets here or else you won't get presents!" Stephanie faked a gasp.
"'Kay, Mommy!" Kyle gave her a kiss on the forehead and promptly laid down to wrap the thick comforter around himself.
She gave him a hug and a kiss. "Sweet dreams, Kyle," she whispered as she exited the room, turning off the light. "I love you."
"You need to go to sleep, too, Mommy. Or else Santa's not gonna get you presents." He pulled the blanket a little tighter. "Love you."
That warm little feeling...she loved it almost as much as she loved her family.
. . .
Stephanie went back into the living room, where her mother was waiting at the door. "Thanks again for babysitting, Mom," the younger brunette said, giving the other a hug.
"You're welcome, hon. I don't mind seeing my grandson. I'll see you later tomorrow, alright?" The elder opened the door and closed it with a wave.
Stephanie went to the kitchen, wanting some sort of hot drink with no caffeine...She rooted through her cabinets, looking for the hot chocolate.
A miniature jet landed on her counter. Starscream faked a girlish voice as he transformed and laid on his stomach, head propped up with both hands. "So, how's it going?"
Stephanie rolled her eyes and resisted the temptation to flick his helm while she retrieved the milk from the fridge. "Nothing much. Guess what I got Kyle." She grinned. "You're so going to guess it."
"Well," the toy Seeker held the word in the air, "I haven't seen you this hyped since that other guy, so...you found a Rattrap?"
Stephanie nodded, smiling a little wider. "It was under the bottom shelf at Walmart,. Covered in dust. It looked like it had been there for years."
Starscream's logical mind came to an odd conclusion. "So why what were you doing laying on the floor looking under the bottom shelves, again?"
"I..." She looked down at her mug sheepishly. "...fell flat on my face."
"When..." Starscream made an and? gesture with two fingers. Stephanie took a sip of cacao to put off answering for another moment.
"When...nothing."
"I ran into this guy." She was so not going into her all-of-the-sudden crush on this stranger.
"Uh huh." He had an extremely...I-definitely-know-what-happened-now look on his face, along with a sly grin.
"We just talked," Stephanie went on, cracking under the blush-prone stare.
"Uh huh." Starscream still had that grin on his face.
"Stop staring at me like that!"
"You gave him your number. He's going to call you, isn't he?"
Damn. When had the annoying little piece of plastic learned to read her so well?
Oh, you know, maybe when he sat on my shelf four hours on end with nothing else to do but watch me and my mannerisms.
He took her silence as positive. "Can I answer the phone? Please?"
"You're an...ugh." But she set the phone on the counter anyway and turned away, sipping the hot chocolate.
"But you love me anyway, don't you, Tiffany!" Starscream was beside himself with a case of the giggles. He loved messing with her and she knew it.
"Be quiet." Another roll of the eyes.
"If that's what you really want, Hannah, then I shall never say another word."
Starscream knew how to be annoyingly ironic. He looked through the contacts in her phone while never stopping the constant stream of words. "I'll be so quiet you won't even know I'm here. I'll be so quiet not even I will know I'm here, Barbara." He got louder with each passing sentence. "I'll be so quiet-!"
"Starscream. Be quiet."
"Okay. When are you going to wrap presents?"
"Once I get finished talking to John."
There was a heavenly pause in Starscream's words. Stephanie dared to hoped to think he would be quiet for a few minutes.
"...can I still answer the phone, Brittney?" Strarscream asked, full knowing the answer.
"No!" the woman snapped, incredulous he would ask. Friggin' Seeker.
In an act of utmost irony, the phone chose to ring. Or rather, play a section of "You Got The Touch!" by Stan Bush.
Starscream flashed Stephanie a wicked grin.
"Don't you dare," she warned, reaching for her phone.
"Who, me, Alexandra?" But, of course, he pressed the green answer button anyway and ran off a pre-prepared speech in an imitation of a seventeen-year-old girl. "Oh. My. Gosh! I cannot believe you would come crawling back to me!" If Stephanie hadn't been glaring at the speaker, she could've sworn it was an actual hormonal teen talking. "It's only been an hour, Ivan! The least you could do is wait until tomorrow! You know what? Just don't ever speak to me me again! We are over!" He changed voices to a recording of an automated male computer voice, keeping a tight grip as he flew out of Stephanie's attempts to retake her phone. "Your call has been cut by an automatic voice messaging system. Please try again later."
And then he snapped the phone shut with an air of finality. When Stephanie saw her love life was going to be pretty barren, she hung propped her forehead up on her elbow. "I hate you.
"You still love me, Roberta!" Starscream set the phone on the table in front of the poor, dateless woman by her (now cold) mug. "If he calls back after that, he's worth it," he informed her smugly, giving the phone an affectionate pat.
Stephanie looked up at the mini jet in confusion, a thought that hadn't occurred to her passed through the brain-mouth filter. "Who gave you permission to judge any of my possible future boyfriends?
"You did."
"What?! I did not!"
"Yes, you did. After you broke up with the black-haired dude that looked like a hippie with short hair."
"I was high off of Red Bull and I hadn't slept in weeks!" she protested.
"Well, that didn't stop you from giving me permission to do what I did as a side hobby anyway." There's that smile that I hate so- "Besides, who do you think put out the rumors in college-"
"Starscream! You're the one that did that?"
He turned sheepish and tried to change the subject. "You're forgetting about John."
"You're such a pain. How did I end up with you?"
"I believe it was after someone said, 'I want this one, Daddy!'"
. . .
Let it suffice to say that John called later and Stephanie denied any existence of a teenager in the middle of a rather impromptu breakup with a boy named "Ivan." Starscream didn't fail to notice that Stephanie hadn't laughed like that since...well...she hadn't ever laughed like that.
After the call ended (well after midnight), Stephanie started wrapping presents and putting them under the tree. The first to go under was Rattrap. He was going to be opened last.
Starscream had toned down the sarcastic comments afterwards and settled with poking fun at her newfound crush while he tried finding the Scotch tape.
. . .
Kyle rolled over, not wanting to get up for a moment. His dark eyes widened and he shot out of bed when the date dawned on him. He ran into his mommy's room, which was made absolutely adorable by the Christmas-themed footie pajamas he had on. "Mommy! Wake up! Wake up! It's Christmas!"
The little ball of energy was gone by the time his mother was sitting up and sleepily rubbing her eyes.
"To this day, I will never understand how little kids have more energy than I do," Starscream quipped from atop a bedpost.
"Easy." Stephanie groaned. She was so not a morning person. "They're less annoying and don't stay up until three. Go make sure he doesn't open any presents before I find the memory card to the recorder." She shooed him off.
"Okay, Lissette!"
. . .
Stephanie and John started dating soon after; Starscream messed with their relationship (to Stephanie's never-ending dismay) until the two were married. John didn't find out until afterwards.
His reaction was...a little more than amusing for Starscream.
. . .
Random Furmanism: WELL AND TRULY. IT IS OVER - FINISHED!
Ah, (I FEEL LIKE A GIRL) I've finally finished it. And posted it. This was done a few years ago, but I've just been...forgetful. And busy when it comes to the holidays. Hmm. Maybe I should start posting on time, like a normal person would...
TZ