Sooooo. I've always been a bit annoyed with how Mikaela was written off in the movies. Understandably, she had to go. But I wished they would have handled it a bit better. Instead of, "mega hot chick dumped your ass." I guess they thought it was IMPERATIVE they give Sam a new love interest/damsel to save instead of just saying Mikaela's off in college, or fuck, visiting relatives. Because the first two movies focused SO MUCH on their relationship, and just seeing it brushed off so lightly is an insult to me. They don't have to stay together, but they could have handled it better. But, nope, let's open the next scene with a shot of Carly's ass.
Anyway, so, I felt it was my ~destiny~ to write a fic that explains their break-up. And how it's much more complicated than the lack-of excuse/reason the movie gave us. I also wanted it to be something very hard for them. As I said, the first two movies were about getting and staying with the girl; Mikaela risked her life for Sam and all that, etc. I don't want to write them breaking up over stupid shit.
But, enough rambling. Here it is.
Title: And the Sun Will Set for You
Rating: PG-13 (maybe a mild R?)
Warnings: profanity, mild sexuality, mild/moderate violence, canon character death (though character does not die IN canon), blanket spoilers for the entire movie trilogy; fic takes place before and after the events of DotM
Summary: Sometimes, no matter how strong you are, it is okay to let go. Sam/Mikaela, Sam/Carly
Notes: Thank you so so so so much, phaelsafe. She was kind enough to go through all the nitty gritty of this fic and beta it for me. She gets my endless gratitude for putting up with this story and myself.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
If any of the italics are off, blame this site. They tend to fuck 'em up.
"For once in my life, I was given the warning instead of being warned about."
"Wha - ?"
"My dad seems to think you're a troublemaker."
"Oh... Well, I mean. I guess being heroic is the same as trouble making."
"He wasn't all that serious. He's just been... weird lately. We've always been close, but now he seems to be shadowing me a lot. Not in a crazy, possessive way, just like he wants to make up for lost time, finally."
"That's a good thing, though."
"Yeah. I don't think he bought Will's story about our adventure in Egypt. But then again, he's not willing to upset the law for another year in a tiny cell."
"But I bet you Bubba misses him."
"Please! But in any case, we were chatting over dinner and he just brings you up out of nowhere. I told him we're pretty close and he seemed a little annoyed."
"Dads are like that."
"I thought the entire 'dad being all overprotective of his baby girl' thing died out in the fifties."
"But, I'm a regular rebel without a cause."
"Sure, Crybaby. Let's get the Autobot symbol tattooed on your back. Help increase your hardcore edge."
"As long as we put a crying clown and some roses around it, we've got a deal."
"Can't blame my dad too much. You're a disaster waiting to happen, you know."
"Good girls like bad boys."
It was utter carnage.
Chicago had been torn down and dragged through the mud - and that was putting it mildly. There was debris everywhere; the streets (or whatever remained) coated with shattered glass, ruins of buildings and homes, cars twisted and turned inside out. Tall buildings were now broken titans fallen to Tartarus, and the sky was polluted with thick clouds of smoke and ash. Survivors were crying, shaking, pulled from the debris or their ruined shelters. Every US government force, from the military to the navy, was there to help.
Sam didn't know how he felt. He could only remember the movies he watched as a child; the cartoons and films where victory came at little cost. When you won, everything was supposed to be good. Sam was supposed to feel happiness, relief, and jubilation. He felt nothing instead. He was relieved Megatron, Sentinel, and many of the Decepticons were dead, granted, but mostly he was scared - scared, unsure, shocked. He almost didn't believe any of this was real, or that any of this had actually happened.
Sam chose a spot away from the working soldiers and Autobots. He watched as men and Cybertronians ran by, seeing to the weak and wounded. Though he was sure he'd broken a couple ribs, maybe sprained his wrist, Sam insisted that the medics tend to the seriously injured. He would be fine; he could wait.
He looked up and spotted Carly. She was squeezed between the arms of her frightened, relieved parents. They were sobbing and yelling and she was managing a smile as tears tracked down her dirtied face. Told them everything was all right, she was okay.
Sam had been informed his parents would arrive shortly. They were some of the few bystanders who were allowed into the battle zone. Most of city had been cut off from the outside world, patrolled by soldiers. Entrance was denied to anyone unless matters concerned families or vital information, and even then they were reluctant to let people in.
Sam didn't know how his parents would react. They were probably used to this by now: their son saving the world and almost dying. He was pretty sure they'd scream and curse him out before throwing their arms around him and telling him how much they loved his "stupid, stupid dumb ass".
He had asked to be alone for a bit just to think and calm his head. Lennox swung by to pat him on the back, saying Sam had done his job, and that if he wanted to, he could leave. However, Mearing and a few other government officials insisted he stick around for interrogation. Since his car was totaled, and he wasn't about to go wading through all the destruction to his probably smashed up apartment, he really didn't mind waiting. At least Mearing wasn't hounding him for questions just yet.
Sam glanced at his hands resting in his lap. Examining his palms, he smiled. Cuts crisscrossed through the dirt encrusted on his fingers. His right thumb was stiff and nearly unmovable. He supposed this was better than dying like last -
"Sam!"
That was a voice Sam had not expected to hear. He bolted upright with a startle, groaning as his back cracked with the sudden movement. He wasn't hallucinating from all that dust he had inhaled, however. Running his way was Mikaela, dressed in a neat chocolate brown suit with concern clear in her bright blue eyes.
"M-Mikaela?" Sam sputtered.
Mikaela caught her breath before sweeping in to hug him. "Sam! You're all right!" she exclaimed. She stepped back a split second later, eyes wide. "I - Did I hurt you? I didn't mean - Are you okay?" Her hands flew to his arms, feeling for any protruding bones or injuries.
Sam laughed, maybe a bit too amused for the situation. "Mikaela, I'm fine," he said. He reached out and touched her hands. She was quivering. "Wh-what are you doing here?" He felt breathless in surprise. It wasn't necessarily bad, however.
"I saw your face on the news. And I didn't need any further evidence to know you were playing hero of the world again," Mikaela answered.
"Yeah, well, destiny calls," he smirked. "But how did you get in?"
Mikaela smiled. "Well, since they're not allowing any flights in or out of Chicago, I called up an old friend and made some arrangements." She glanced aside. Sam blinked and then looked beside him; Simmons was nearby, giving the young woman a dirty, dirty glower. He pointed two fingers at his eyes, at Mikaela, then back. Mikaela winked and the fuming agent pushed himself out of sight. "It took some convincing, but I told him unless he wanted a couple photos of a waitress, a man in drag, and a certain drunk ex-Sector Seven agent with friendly fingers at an afterparty in Egypt leaked..." Mikaela quirked her brows and held up her phone.
Sam glanced at the picture she had saved, almost unhinging his jaw. He pointed at her and shook his head. "Oh, you," he said and scowled. "You are evil. You are... Queen Maleficent levels of wicked."
"Not surprised you've seen Sleeping Beauty."
"To be fair, I'm not the one blackmailing poor megalomaniacal bastards."
Mikaela shrugged innocently. "People just aren't very charitable these days." She stashed her phone back in her pocket."But I'm so relieved to see you're okay. And alive." She smirked. "I was beginning to forget you were practically invincible."
"Pretty much."
"By sheer dumb luck."
"Heeeey."
"Mikaela?"
The two looked aside. Carly slowly approached them, hesitant. She smiled at the brunette upon recognizing her face. "It is you!" she said, surprised. "How'd you - "
"Long story," Sam interjected.
"You must be Carly," Mikaela said. She offered her hand. "It's nice to meet you. Sam's told me a lot about you in some of his emails." She winked at her ex. "All of them good and wholesome, mind you."
"The same goes for you," Carly chuckled. She took Mikaela's hand, gave it a firm shake. Looking between the two, Carly sensed no jealousy or tension, but she could tell Mikaela wanted to speak with Sam alone. Carly brushed blond hair from her shoulder and stepped back. "Well, I better get my parents in order. They're trying to find Optimus to give him a big scolding."
"It was nice to meet you, Carly."
"Same."
Sam waved at his departing girlfriend. "I'll be with you in a bit," he assured. Carly nodded and left with a cool, quick stride.
Mikaela watched her go, tilted her head. "Nice ass," she commented.
"I know, right?" Sam said with a snicker. He nodded at a stairwell that led up to an empty parking lot; one of the few buildings that remained relatively intact. "Let's go chat somewhere private, yeah?"
"As long as you don't try anything."
Sam placed a hand over his heart. "Scout's honor."
III
"I won't be gone long."
Sam looks up from his computer. His girlfriend enters his room, hands behind her back. "Huh?" he replies intelligently, blinking.
Mikaela rolls her eyes. "You weren't listening to a single word I said," she snorts. She takes a seat on the edge of his bed, just behind him. "From the top: My dad wants to go on a road trip this weekend. We're gonna be gone for about two weeks, but we'll try to get home before you head back to college."
Sam turns his seat around, bumping knees with the brunette. "Road trip, huh? To where?"
"It's a road trip, Sam," Mikaela says with a smirk and slaps his knee. "We don't have a set destination." She looks to the glowing monitor. "But he said he'd like to see the Grand Canyon. Told me the last time he went, I was only six."
Sam smiles. "Ah, bonding."
"As for me," Mikaela purrs, hand to chest, "I guess I just don't care where. Was gettin' kind of bored with the same old scenery after our big adventure in Egypt."
"What made him want to take this impromptu road trip?"
She shrugs. "I don't know," she replies. "I think it was after our conversation a couple nights ago. About you."
Sam's eyebrows climb. "Oh?" he snorts. "Thinks I'm hogging you?"
Mikaela laughs. "Maybe," she chuckles. "But his excuse is he's had this planned for months in advance. Jerry's gonna watch the shop while we're gone." She bit the corner of her lip, shining with gloss. "Is it all right if you watch Bones while I'm out? He's fine on his own, but if you could maybe stop by every other day or so, check up on him."
"Will do," he assures, "I'll make sure he doesn't paint the walls yellow in revenge."
Mikaela giggles. "And you," she says like a mother and reaches to grab a short bang of hair. She tugs it. "Will you be all right?"
"Of course!" Sam whines. It doesn't help his case. "I'm pretty much stuck here or at my parents'. Not going anywhere or doing anything special." He stuck up his nose. "But... I guess I'll survive without you."
"Don't cry on me," Mikaela teases and he scowls.
"Remember: I'm invincible," Sam states.
Mikaela chortles. "A real life superhero, all right," she says. She brushes her hands up his cheeks, feels them instantly warm to the touch. "I just... I know it's been a couple months since that entire fiasco, but Optimus said there've been a few new Decepticon arrivals..."
Sam places his hands over hers. "We'll take care of them, don't worry," he reassures and drops his forehead against Mikaela's. "It's you I'm worried about."
"Is that so?"
"Who knows if some big handsome biker with a 'mother' tattoo and douchey beard in leather will steal you away!"
Mikaela rolls her eyes. "I'm into dweebs. You know that." They both laugh as she gives him a gentle swat upside the head. The two go quiet before leaning in again, eyes shutting as their lips lock. Mikaela twists her fingers into his shirt as she kisses him, his hands hesitantly lingering on her hips. The kiss doesn't last long, but it still leaves them a little breathless. Mikaela smiles with slight apprehension. She's beautiful even when she's worried. "Promise me if you absolutely have to go take down some psycho Decepticons, you'll keep safe and stick to 'Bee or Optimus?"
"I've had enough close encounters with Decepticons, trust me," Sam smirks. He nuzzles against her cheek. "You promise to be safe, and don't drive into the canyon or something."
Mikaela slugs his shoulder, and he flinches and flails back. "See you in a couple days, dweeb," she says and climbs to her feet. Sam watches her walk to the door before she stops and turns. Her smile is radiant. "I love you."
Sam feels like the luckiest man in the world. "Love you, too."
Sam and Mikaela retreated to the parking lot above. It was mostly empty, save a few cars that managed to ride out the battle. They walked slowly, side by side, but not too close. Their footfalls crunched against the gravel, against a background of soldiers shouting orders and helicopter blades thumping in the sky.
"I'm sorry if this is all a big inconvenience for you."
Sam blinked. "What? No!" he scowled. "I'm glad you're here." He shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders rolling forward. "Just wish we could have caught up on more, uh, 'normal' terms."
Mikaela smiled, her eyes on the street. "Truth be told, I debated on not coming at all," she explained. She finally met his gaze, and he could see she was uncomfortable; not unlike the years before the fall. "I mean, we sort of stopped communicating over a year ago. And," she paused, her eyes turned away before continuing, "it was me who never responded to your last email."
"Hey, don't think like that," Sam replied. "Just because we haven't spoken in a while, doesn't mean you aren't still my friend." It was weird calling her 'friend', even now.
Mikaela looked slightly relieved. She was knitting her fingers together nervously. "But I wanted to tell you... That email," she murmured, "it meant a lot."
Sam smiled. "Good. I'm glad."
It feels like the months before they reached their end. Mikaela is distant; she doesn't speak much and when they're alone, she seems hesitant to do or say anything. She doesn't call him as much as she once did, doesn't visit as much as before. Their conversations drift into silence, and are usually short. Yet, every time he suggests something remotely like a break, she quickly starts talking about something, anything, to steer his mind from such a topic.
Mikaela can't hide it. She's tried, but she doesn't want to try anymore. She's tired, and she doesn't want to pretend anymore. She rarely smiles. When they walk side by side, Sam feels as though the rift between them is as wide as the Grand Canyon.
Sam took a page out of her book. "Hey, so, what's with this?" He gestured to her suit. "I mean, the teacher look is hot on you, but - "
"Job interview."
"Oh? Some big company?"
"I'm doing the interviewing," Mikaela chuckled. She shrugged and sighed. "Jerry said since we've given the place a new makeover, that perhaps I should interview the new guy in something nice. Instead of my usual oily stained Levi's and tank top." Both of them laughed softly. "I was on my way to the interview before I saw the news, and, well," she grit her teeth together and glanced at Sam, "I think I should hire the guy as an apology. Jerry called as soon as I landed saying he was still hanging around like a lost puppy."
"I'm sure that's nothing new for you," Sam snorted. She slapped his arm. "But honestly, I just went through a butt-ton of job interviews too." He groaned. "I finally got my ass hired. Go figure, my boss is crazy, and the company had Decepticon connections."
Mikaela's eyes fell to the ground. Her heels clicked softly against the dry, black tar. "Decepticons have a habit of popping up out of nowhere, at the worst and unexpected of times," she mumbled.
Sam winced. Shit. "Well, I know my job's secure, at least," he said quickly. "I let the guy take a peek at Bumblebee."
"Using your car to get men? I'd never thought you'd sink so low."
"Ha!" the boy guffawed. "It was an exchange for heavy duty, private information, okay." He frowned. He wanted to say he hoped Bruce was still alive but knew it was best not to discuss such... matters. "But it's a decent job. Desk job, so it's tedious, but... I'm sure you're still likin' yours." He grinned. "Mom and dad drove by your shop on their way here. Says it looks nice and you had plenty of customers."
"The shop is doing great," Mikaela replied. "And - " but before she could finish, "New Divide" began playing softly between them. They both stopped, Mikaela sputtering an apology as she answered her phone. "Jerry, yeah," she said, "what is - ?" her voice trailed off, eyes widening.
She was quiet, but Sam could hear erratic gibberish on the other end. he leaned in closer. "Everything okay?" he whispered.
Mikaela nodded and licked her lips. "Yeah, well..." her voice trailed off as she turned, back to Sam. He respected her privacy and stepped back, watched as she furiously argued with her guardian. Her tone was angry, frustrated, and her body tense, and Sam felt something dreary squeeze around his heart.
The second time Mikaela called Sam during her road trip, she was hysterical. Delirious and Sam could hardly understand her. He had been getting ready for bed when he received the call. It took a few minutes for him to finally calm her down enough to talk coherently. Mikaela was sobbing and her words were scattered and broken. But Sam clearly heard 'father' and 'Decepticon,' and -
The call from N.E.S.T. arrives during his attempted conversation with his raving girlfriend. Leo grumpily emerges from his side of the dorm and drops his phone in his roommate's lap. "Said they couldn't get a hold of you, so they called me," he grumbles before lumbering back to bed. "Freakin' chopped liver here, man..."
"Mikaela, Will's -" But she breaks out into a scream and he can hear familiar sounds of machinery, twisting and turning. Transforming. His girlfriend shrieks before her cries are drowned by gunfire.
"Mikaela, where the Hell are you?" He quickly hits the speaker button on Leo's phone and Will sounds ballistic on the other end.
"Sam!" the soldier shouts. "We've got a problem! Can't talk over phone, we need to meet - "
"Whatever it is, it can wait! Mikaela is - "
"Mikaela? She's talking to you?"
"Yes, and - wait, why is this a su-"
"You had better follow your buddy's order, kid."
Sam feels his blood run cold and flesh ripple with goosebumps. Mikaela is no longer speaking; he can't hear her. Instead, it is a dark, ugly voice, one that could only belong to a Decepticon.
"Who are you?" Sam demands, heart racing. "Is... Is Mikaela with you?"
"That should be obvious."
"What have you done to her?"
"Sam!" It's Lennox. "Sam, who are you talking to?"
"She's alive. For now. But... Well, I'll leave it to your comrades to explain everything."
The call ends with a click. Sam is frozen in horror and shock for a moment before he quickly dials Mikaela's cell. Immediately directed to voice mail. "Will," Sam spits at the second phone, "what's going on?" His other hand is redialing Mikaela's number, but it's futile.
Outside, Sam hears the sound of a car honking a familiar code. He throws himself at the window beside his bed and looks to the empty parking lot. A black-striped, yellow Camaro is flashing its headlights at him.
"Sam," Will's voice is solemn, "just get in the car."
"I'm sorry."
Sam blinked, knocked from his nostalgic daze. Mikaela walked back toward him, phone put away. She smiled weakly, embarrassed. "Seems there was a problem at the shop. One of our guys got in a scuffle with a customer." She sighed and shook her head, long fingers pressed against her bowed forehead. "The fact that he's an ex-con and all doesn't help the situation."
"Do you need to go back?"
"Not right now," Mikaela said to reassure him. "Jerry's got it under control." She smiled again - a real one this time - and placed her hands behind her back. "So, you were telling me what it's like working in a cubicle?"
Sam chortled. "Better than a grease monkey with psychotic employees." He knew she knew he was teasing. She even smirked in a playful manner. "How is Jerry, by the way?" he asked. "You know, besides putting up with a possible lawsuit or something."
"Jerry's doing well," Mikaela replied, bobbing her head. "He recently recovered from foot surgery," she explained. "Gladys actually just got on a Greyhound, I guess. She's got a sister who lives outside Chicago. She's hoping by the time she gets here, they'll let her in." Mikaela shrugged. "It was the only mode of transportation available, and I can't exactly use Simmons with her."
Sam snorted. "Suppose not," he said, "but... Are you still living with them?"
He remembers showing up at her house. Her father's house. She's still sporting a broken leg, and can hardly move the boxes and furniture. Workers do it for her. Sam tries his best to help out while keeping Mikaela company. She's obviously distraught and upset from being helpless and on the sidelines. She wants to be involved and offers her services, but they turn her down: doctor's orders say "no heavy lifting".
"I'd only get in the way, I heard one of them mumble," Mikaela says around a bitter, feigned-amused snort. Sam winces as he sits beside her; they each have a soda in hand and a plate of fruit rests between them.
"You never get in the way."
Mikaela is quiet for the rest of the evening. It's not just her uselessness that wounds her to the core, but the fact that she's leaving, moving out of the house she grew up in. She can't afford to live on her own. She hasn't received much from her father's life insurance, but it is enough to secure the future of their family owned auto-shop.
Mikaela watches as one mover carries a box labeled 'DAD'S TROPHY COLLECTION' to the truck. She excuses herself from Sam to call Jerry and let them know the movers would be arriving soon with her things. He knows it's an excuse so she can be alone for a few minutes.
Mikaela shook her head. "I have a small apartment just two blocks away from the shop," she said. "It's a little cramped, but I've been saving up to move somewhere nicer. It'll be a few months; still got time on my lease."
It was good to hear she had been moving up. It was good to hear Jerry and Gladys were still helping her out. Sam had worried they were too financially unstable to support a third member of their family. At least Mikaela still had someone she could call family.
Sam arrives shortly after Bumblebee picks him up. He rushes into the heart of the N.E.S.T base, escorted by a few soldiers. Optimus and ten other Autobots are in the debriefing room, Epps and a handful of soldiers beside them. "What's going on?" Sam demands as Will marches to his side.
"We need you to stay calm," Will says like the soldier he is. He pulls Sam over to Optimus, who looks terrified, angry, and miserable.
Yanking his arm free, Sam practically screams, "Stop bullshitting and leaving me in the dark!" He looks at the Autobot leader. "What is going on?"
Optimus frowns down at him. "Sam," he whispers, "what you are about to see may disturb you..."
"What's happened? That's all I wanna know."
Will and Epps exchange glances before looking to Prime. The Autobot nods and a transmission is played on a large screen. It's the sound of Mikaela's snarling that grabs his attention. Sam turns around, and what he sees makes his heart stop in his chest.
On the screen, there is a large Decepticon. There is also a clear view behind him. Two humans are bound to the wall by their hands and feet. One is Mikaela, fighting in her bonds and demanding release. The second is Mikaela's father; he looks unconscious, hanging from his chains, but every few seconds he groans and twitches.
"Greetings and salutations, Autobots and little fleshy pets," the Decepticon snickers. "My name is Flatline. And I'm sure I don't have to introduce the two humans behind me."
"Let my father go!" Mikaela snaps.
Flatline chuckles. "The female is rather feisty, but the male is old and weak," he purrs. "He does not take kindly to the blows." The two have been severely beaten. Mikaela's left eye is swollen shut and her jaw bruised. Blood is crusted around her mouth and down her left arm, but she continues fighting. "But let's get down to business, shall we? It's all rather simple: you have information I want, and I have something you want. So, logically, an exchange is in order."
"What does he want?" Sam gulps. "Ask him what he wants."
"We can't," Ironhide grumbles, "this transmission came in the form of a message. One-sided." He bristles. "We don't know how long ago this was filmed."
Sam feels sick, nauseated.
Flatline continues: "I have supplied the coordinates where we shall meet. Optimus Prime is to bring the information. Alone. Should there even be one other escorting him, you will find yourself one less human." He turns and flicks Mikaela's father, who startles and gasps.
"Fuck you!" Mikaela shrieks. "Leave him alone!"
"Before I close this message, I believe this chatty female has a few words for you," Flatline says.
The camera turns on Mikaela's desperate eyes and it sends shivers down Sam's spine. "My father - come get my father!" she cries. "I don't care what happens me, but he doesn't des-!"
"That's enough from you," Flatline says and her screams fade in the background. "You have until 21:00 to deliver the information. If you are but one minute late, I will kill one of these humans. And, checking my chronometer..." He pauses before his bleeding red optics widen. "Oh, well, look at that! It seems I sent this message two minutes after the deadline I posted! Silly me!" He shakes his head with a lighthearted chuckle. "But since I've all ready made the arrangements, I'm keeping to my schedule and my threats. Too bad this means you'll be one human short." The Decepticon raises what looks to be a blowtorch, the fire burning wild and hot. He turns it toward Mikaela's father.
Mikaela is caught between shrieking and pleading for mercy.
"Since this is my error, if you arrive, say, oh, twenty minutes or so after receiving this, I won't kill the female," he says, giggling. "But she might find herself missing an arm or leg."
"Don't touch him!" Mikaela cries, her voice cracking hoarse and raw. Her face is covered in dirt and pouring tears. "Leave him alone! Kill me! Kill me!"
Flatline ignores her and moves the torch closer to Colin. He shivers beneath the heat, but does not wake completely. "You should leave now," the Decepticon hums, "while the female can still feel her limbs."
The transmission ends, cutting off Mikaela's deafening scream.
Sam scratched the back of his head. "It's good they're helping you out," he mumbled.
"Yeah," Mikaela replied. "They've done a lot."
And he wishes he had too. Then maybe they wouldn't be where they are now.
It takes time before he finally believes it wasn't his fault, that no one but that bastard Decepticon was to blame. But still, Sam feels as if he's obligated to do something. That he brought Mikaela into this. He's left speechless by the terror he has seen. It is worse beyond colliding the Allspark with Megatron's soul. Beyond dying in the cruel, hot sand, and floating helplessly in limbo.
He can't argue and doesn't know if he even should, but he's trembling and time seems to blur as he waits angrily. There is nothing he can do so he screams at other soldiers and yells at the Autobots; they do not blame him. Ratchet is busy trying to keep Ironhide from shooting down the walls.
When Optimus returns, he brings back two things: one is Flatline's head, and the other is Mikaela. He kneels to let Will and Sam pull her from his palm. She's unconscious, and Sam believes her wounds are superficial until he sees her left leg. It's almost mangled and bleeds profusely. As the medics rush her to the emergency room, Sam has to chase after them. He catches up and squeezes her hand.
"You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna be fine," he whispers quickly, and his eyes burn with tears. He wants to hold her, oh God, he wants her to wake up and see how much he loves her; to believe him when he says she'll be all right; that he wanted to be the one to kill that son of a bitch - to make him suffer.
He can hear a small exchange between Optimus and Epps as he scrambles with the medics and soldiers and Mikaela out the room.
"Her father...?"
"It was too late."
Mikaela kicked up a small pebble. "How is Bonecrusher?" she asked suddenly.
Sam took a moment to gather his thoughts. "He's good, he's fine. Fat and happy," he chuckled.
Mikaela beamed. "That's good," she said. Her smile weakened. "I'm sorry I pushed him on you."
"Oh, pfft," Sam snorted, "it's no problem. I've become a host to all sorts of critters." He wondered if Wheelie and Brains had managed to find shelter somewhere during the battle. "And trust me, of all the animals, he's the best and easiest to maintain."
Mikaela nodded. "I was thinking about getting another dog when I moved to my new apartment," she sighed, "but I'd feel too guilty." She chuckled. "I'd ask for Bones back, but he's probably living the high life with you and Carly."
"He enjoys the belly rubs, but I think you can provide him with those, too."
"I can guess which of those 'critters' of yours is the highest of maintenance," Mikaela purred, cocking a brow.
Sam chortled. "Carly holds up her own. She pretty much keeps things from going batshit insane," he explained. His eyes brightened. "And, hey, she's potty trained, too!"
Mikaela laughed. "I expected a Barbie doll from what you told me," she smirked, "but... I like her." She tilted her head back with a sly smile. "You can keep her."
Yes, Carly made sure he kept his head screwed on right. She kept him from going insane when the days were long and hard. The nights when he came home still jobless, she'd be there waiting, some times with tea or an ear willing to listen to his woes. It felt good knowing there was someone keeping him alive, rejuvenated but grounded.
But it makes him sad to think he might have failed with Mikaela.
She's broken. And not entirely in a physical sense. Her leg is useless right now, but over time, the doctors say she'll make a full recovery. All her wounds beyond that would heal, some within a few days or weeks. She sits in a wheelchair now, her bandaged leg propped up in front of her. And while she's not at base much anymore, today she has come to visit Sam.
"The funeral is tomorrow. I know this is short notice."
Sam slowly takes the invite from her. A picture of her father, smiling, is stamped on the top. "I don't know if you could make it," she says. "We'll be holding a service before we scatter his ashes at the Grand Canyon." Her smile looks tortured; her bruised eye is not as puffy as it was two days ago. "Will says he'll provide you with transportation if you need it."
"Did he offer to fly you and the others out?"
"Yes," Mikaela says, pauses, "but I turned him down. There won't be many people besides Jerry, Gladys, a few coworkers, and myself. You, too, if you decide to come. I have enough money for a ticket. Jerry says he'll pay for the hotel." She sweeps a lock of hair behind her ear, and Sam can see the rust gold of a fading bruise. "If you can't come, that's okay. Your parents are welcome too, if they can make it."
"Of course I'm going," Sam insists. He spent most of the week at her bed side, with her wherever she went. This was no exception, and she is happy to hear this as though she believed he would turn her down. "I'll come with you. I can book a flight, too."
"But Will says he'll take you home after."
"You're staying in Arizona a few days after the service, right?" Sam asks.
Mikaela nods.
"Then I'm staying with you," he insists. Mikaela looks surprised. "Where you go, I go. I'll get a room next to you or close by. Fly home with you, if I can, or catch another flight on the same day."
Mikaela frowns. "You don't... have to..." She looks down at her lap. "Jerry and Gladys will take care of me if - "
Sam reaches out and takes her hand. He squeezes and they lock gazes. "I'm going with you because I love and care about you," he insists. "Not out of obligation or pity. I want to be there."
Mikaela studies his eyes for sincerity. She finds it along with loyalty and love. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears, and she licks her lips before whispering, "All right then. Stay with me."
The funeral is simple. Mikaela was right; not many people turn up. Sam counts a little over twenty. They're all coworkers, a couple friends (all the rough and tough biker type, though he sees two of them are actually weeping), his parents, and even her father's former parole officer.
Sam catches up to Jerry and Gladys. Jerry is tall with crinkles around his hazel eyes; he looks young for his age, thin yet well built. There's friendliness in his gruff voice. Gladys is the same height as Mikaela; she's fair in looks with frizzy red hair and wearing a plethora of jewelry. She's soft spoken and her voice trembles when she speaks of Mikaela's father.
Mikaela is sitting gracefully in her wheelchair, though Sam can see her muscles are all tense. There's no expression on her face, which is covered in heavy makeup to hide any remaining bruises. Her black dress is simple and long to conceal her casted leg. Her hands fold in her lap, and it takes all of Sam's effort not to touch her; he feels, despite how stoic and strong she looks, she is fragile enough to break.
Mikaela, Jerry, and two of the biker friends speak of fond memories of Colin Banes. Mikaela is the strongest when she talks and manages to keep her composure during the eulogy. Gladys is sobbing into a tissue; Judy is giving her soothing back pats, her own cheeks stained with tears. Ron has his head bowed, staring blankly at the ground, and after the funeral is over, he'll approach Sam, hug him, and say, "Know your mom and I love you, always will." He won't explain why he says this now, and Sam won't ask him to. He knows.
Though the funeral is simple and the priest's words almost feel recited, it is beautiful in a way only saying goodbye can be. Unfortunately, there was not much of the man to be uncovered. His remains were mostly destroyed by the time N.E.S.T. was able to get inside Flatline's locked and sealed ship, but there are some ashes to spread, at least. The others know only that he died in an accident: his bike caught on fire; killed him in a crash. It's so tacky and shady but they eat it up because the alternative is worse.
And to the backdrop of beautiful desert sunset that bleeds orange, red and yellow across the desert, Sam steers Mikaela toward the Grand Canyon's edge. She holds the urn in her hand, and for a moment she is hesitant to let go; for the first time during the funeral, tears fall and she lets the ashes soar along with the warm summer wind, carried to the valley below.
They watch until the last speck of dust has gone beyond their vision, beyond their reach. Somewhere books speak of a place the living cannot go. No one says a word, but Sam can hear Gladys's sniffling behind them some yards back.
"I don't feel anything," Mikaela says. Sam looks down at her. "I thought I'd find closure, or at least... acceptance; that I'd figuratively let go when I literally let him go." The wind blows tendrils of brown hair into her face, and her eyes squint against the glare of the setting sun. She slowly brushes her bangs aside and continues, "But I suppose emptiness is just as figurative as it is literal." Her eyes are lowered, face shadowed.
Sam places a hand on her shoulder. He's glad she doesn't shatter. "It won't be easy, not for awhile," he tells her honestly, "but I'll help see you through it."
Mikaela wants to smile but she's so tired. She doesn't react to his words, his love and promises, but she does slide her fingers across the hand on her shoulder to show her appreciation.
The two made their way to the edge of the parking garage where an open staircase spiraled down to the next level. The rails were still secure, and the platform was stable. From there they had what would usually be considered an excellent view of Chicago set against the fading sun; but currently, there was nothing but devastation as far as the eye could see.
Mikaela's heels click-clacked against the pavement as she stepped out onto the platform. Sam fixed himself in the corner between the durable railing and wall. He watched the brunette approach the twisted bars, look out to the ruined city. Her eyes squinted against the dull sunlight as it filtered through the dust of two adjacent, toppled buildings.
"The last time I was here, it was so beautiful," Mikaela said. She drew in a sharp breath. "Now..."
"She'll get back on her feet," Sam assured her. He folded his arms and smirked. "She's too stubborn to stay down for long." He sighed. "City's like that. Bit of a bitch, but God she's gorgeous."
Mikaela grinned back at him. Half her face was glowing in the dull light. "You sound like one of my exes," she teased.
Sam chuckled. Below, he could spot Optimus as he spoke to a handful of Autobots. "We'll be fine," he said.
"Let that be the last near-apocalyptic event we have," Mikaela smirked. "At least if there's going to be another end of the world scare, give the US a break. Take it to Antarctica or something. Plenty of room there to beat the shit out of each other."
"I'm sure the penguins would be very upset."
Mikaela smirked, shaking her bowed head. Her smile was playful but soft. "It feels like it's the end. Of all this insanity," she breathed. Her slit eyes looked to the north. "Dunno how to describe it. I don't wanna jinx it. When everything starts to feel like it'll be okay, shit tends to just-" she made an explosive gesture with her hands "-boom."
Sam laughed at her demonstration, but it was all too familiar, her words, that the shadows crept back through distant memories.
Mikaela's progress is erratic. Yet predictable as in no one was surprised. She's got various ways of handling her emotions. She's only human. Some days, she won't talk about the incident with her father. She doesn't tell anyone what took place that night, in fact. Even Sam is unaware. But she says it happened while they were en route to Arizona, and the Decepticon somehow knew her connection to the Autobots, to Sam... There, she usually trails off because she doesn't want to get angry at the innocent. She doesn't want to be mad at Sam who is always with her now like a second shadow.
Some days, it's all she wants to talk about. She talks about the past, memories with and of her father. All of them are positive, but some are bittersweet; usually, she gets angry at herself for bringing the latter up. Sam listens quietly and does not think she is rambling because he's her therapist, and that wouldn't be appropriate. It doesn't bother him, however and it's not like Mikaela would agree to see anyone else about this anyway.
But there are some days where it's not silent or emotional. It's a storm, a big fucking storm and Sam gets a call at one in the morning. When he sees it's Mikaela, he remembers the incident and quickly answers, immediately inquiring if she's okay and with someone. She's drunk and cackling, totally opposite from the shrieking and crying he feared, and she tells Sam that she and her friend went to a bar and she drank too many beers and after a long, long, long and heated argument, her friend left and what a jerk! And I'm all alooooone- pick me up, please? Dun wan' bovver Gladdy.
Sam does and it's a train wreck - he refuses to acknowledge how Mikaela looked when he picked her up, and how she acted like a complete moron. The argument afterward that ended with her throwing an empty bottle at Sam's car ('Bee, in fact) as he drove off. Gladys answered the door to her furiously sobbing. It was embarrassing and shameful for them both.
They make up awkwardly, and it all seems to be going back to the usual fragile and benign atmosphere before a local news station starts showing photographs lifted from Flatline's transmission of a beaten and bloody Mikaela and her father, weaving these grotesque, extremely private photos with a false story about Autobots being to blame, being irresponsible and careless of human lives. That's when whatever progress Mikaela had made went down the shitter.
Mikaela is infuriated and feels betrayed. She has every right to feel so. She screams and curses her fucking leg because she feels paralyzed and unable to show the true extent of her rage. She knows - everyone knows - those photos had been leaked from someone in N.E.S.T. The clip of news is frozen and paused just as it switches to full view of one picture of Mikaela writhing in her bonds looking utterly horrified. Mikaela does not cry, she just rakes her hands through her hair and screams that whoever is responsible for this can rot in Hell, can die, hope you fucking find yourself beneath the foot of a Goddamn Decepticon!
And while she's assured countless times they'll find the culprit and speak to the news station, Mikaela cackles bitterly and tells them the damage is all ready done; they can't turn back time, and while the government can try to delete any traces of the clip, they can't erase memories. Soon people would point and stare and pity her on the street, and she's already bound to a fucking wheelchair with her leg in a cast sticking out like a sore thumb for everyone to sigh and shake their head at. Poor, poor girl, they'll all say and think.
She tells them to find the fucker. She tells them if she sees them, finds them, she'll kill them. Everyone knows she's not kidding. And for the rest of the day, Sam cannot get her to come out of her room. Gladys calls him around ten to say Mikaela finally came out to eat but she won't speak a word but maybe come back around tomorrow.
The progress Mikaela has made was erratic. Now it is shattered.
"Thinking positively," Sam mumbled a moment later, "that's good, though. That's good. I mean, it might not be much, but... It's something."
Mikaela turned to face him. Her head was haloed by the sunlight. "I wonder if there are other Decepticons, here or back on Cybertron. Most likely," she mused. "If they finally realize it's a lost cause, or if they're just going to drag this out until no one is left standing." Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked to the pebbles circling her heels. "It'd be foolish to believe you got them all. The place looks such a mess, you'd think entire fleets were destroyed. And, I wish that were true."
No, they didn't kill them all. But they did find him. Gregory T. Johnsan. He was new on board, an operative whose job had started only a few days prior to the incident with Mikaela and her father. People thought he was a good guy who kept to himself, when in fact he was really just desperate for cash. Any news, anything that could be dug up from these aliens would pay well. The news station gave him thousands for the footage, and when they confront him, Gregory says it was all worth it, people needed to see the true extent of this war's harsh realities, but there's guilt in his voice. Somewhere. Will can sense it but disgust overpowers him.
Mikaela is informed of Gregory's capture, probably by another quiet little mole. It's not Sam who's giving Gregory a piece of his mind. Instead he's being held back by Epps and another soldier before he can do anything stupid.
Then Mikaela shows up, hobbling against a crutch, and she flies into the interrogation room. The crutch strikes Gregory upside the head and sends him crashing to the ground, and then Mikaela is screaming and threatening him most incoherently as she shoves Sam away. Even crippled, she is strong, and her determination and pain is like pure muscle. She staggers to Gregory on the floor and beats him with the crutch, her good foot stomping maniacally against the bastard's groin until he's weeping like an infant.
Sam and Will try to pull her back, but in the scuffle and struggle, she loses her balance and the crutch slips. She and Sam hit the floor. Mikaela is a tangled mess: her hair clings to her face, she is soaked with sweat, and sobs wrack her frame. She's crying for her father; she doesn't care about herself, but her father's memory is humiliated and his pride is ruined and it makes her sick. Sam and Will help her back up, threading arms beneath hers. As they take her out the room, she turns and spits in Gregory's face and says to enjoy his sauna in Hell. Epps manhandles the aching and terrified operative to his feet and smiles pearly whites as he tells him all about the charges that'll be pressed for what he's done, not just to Mikaela, but also compromising the fucking government. They take him out the back door because Ironhide's howling fury about killing the human if he sees him.
Outside, Mikaela throws up and Sam sits with her until she's calm again. He tells her what's going to happen to Gregory, but he knows it won't satisfy the anger she feels. Optimus steps out and kneels before the two. Assures them Gregory is gone and on his way to the officials and any evidence or copies of the news report have been destroyed. Mikaela just smirks and mumbles something before demanding to be taken home.
"This war feels eternal, doesn't it?" Mikaela asked.
Sam nodded. "I had hopes that, finally, my life would settle down." He laughed. "Yeah, right."
Mikaela frowned. She didn't say what was on her mind, but Sam knew. She wanted to apologize-for getting what he has wanted for years. Peace and normality and the war far behind in the past. He walked up to Mikaela and swung his hands behind his back. "But dammit, now that I've got a job, I can't afford to be running these hero expeditions anymore. I have to keep to a steady sleep schedule now!"
The brunette giggled. "I hope so," she said. The two stood side by side again. "The last thing you need is more rock 'em, sock 'em evil alien robots that transform into shit in your life."
"It would be for the best."
Sam understands completely.
When Optimus summoned him to this impromptu briefing, Sam is surprised to see it's only him, Optimus, Ironhide, Ratchet and Bumblebee - the core, the heart of the Autobots. They all came to a conclusion that is best, Sam agrees. "She is a strong woman," Ratchet says and sounds sad, "but if she is pushed any further, I fear for her stability."
"Mikaela should return to a normal life," Optimus adds. "You just as well."
"I want that more than anything," Sam breaths. "For her life to be normal. To be happy. Safe."
"Which is why she should cut all ties with N.E.S.T," Ratchet mumbles, "with us."
Bumblebee makes a sad noise and drops his head. Sam knows how much Mikaela means to the Autobots. She has been a loyal friend and soldier. But Ironhide has not spoken a word, lingering like a shadow in a corner and watching the others with fixed blue optics. "I don't think she'd necessarily mind stepping down," Sam says, "but... To stop seeing you all... You're her friends."
"And that's why it must end," Ratchet states.
"We are her friends," Optimus agrees, "and our existence will only serve to remind her of her tragedies." He sighs. "Perhaps one day we may meet again. When all is settled and the war is over. Some of us may not be alive to see that day, but at least she will be stronger."
"Let go, let go," 'Bee's radio sings.
"We cannot let her pain consume her. We are her friends, as you said."
"I..." Sam runs his hand through his short, sandy hair. "I'll talk to her about it."
"Despite what some bleeding hearts may tell you, you never completely get over losing someone."
Ironhide emerges from his vigil and moves slow and calculated. He glances down at Sam.
"They are scars that never heal. You face them everyday, from the moment you wake til the instant you sleep," he states. "You will grow stronger and you will learn to move on. But it never goes away, the ghost." His optics soften. "Mikaela should feel no shame backing down. I am stubborn as I am reckless, but I know when there is a time where you must mend and heal." He looks back to his companions. "We all do not want to lose Mikaela, but we fear we're losing her now. And soon, if she does not take care of these festering wounds, she will even lose herself."
The memory of the conversation, and the depressing glow in the Autobots' optics faded as Sam spotted the scar along Mikaela's neck. She was talking, but her words blurred like white noise in his head. The scar had linked thoughts and words into action and conclusion just then, brought back memories of the final moments. The beginning and the end, all together.
Sam has been planning on returning to his normal life. He's got to hit the books for a sociology test next week. But of course, there's always interruption; he can't have peace for more than a couple days at best. It's mostly his doing, this time; the Autobots had not asked him to come along on their scouting, but he's hesitant to head back to studying and Mikaela is grocery shopping with Gladys. So why not help 'Bee out should any Decepticons supposedly lurking in the area show up? He promises not to get involved, will serve only as ground support. Besides, it's only about a ten minute drive from home anyway.
Mikaela calls him a half hour into the search. "Are you coming over?" she asks. She's sorting through plastic bags, he can hear in the background.
"Yeah," Sam says. He's being honest. He said he'd stop by on his way to his dorm. "But I probably won't be there for another hour or so."
"Got better things to do?"
Sam winces. "No, just finishing a few things up."
"Like what?" Mikaela asks. She pauses. "You're not with 'Bee, are you? You said you were going to distance yourself from N.E.S.T." Another pause. "Until after the test."
Sam feels terrible. Not just because he was going back on his words and promise, but also for the lying he must do so as not to upset her. He motions for 'Bee to keep quiet. "No, I'm with Jason," he lies. Jason's the only friend Mikaela doesn't know well enough, can't call to verify his story as true. "Helping him patch up one of his bikes."
"You? Fix a vehicle?"
"Bicycle, thank you," Sam snorts. "I won't be much longer."
Mikaela is hesitant. Sam fears she's seen right through him. "... Drive safely," she says finally, "and." Another strange pause. "I love you."
Sam smiles awkwardly. "Yeah, love you too."
And then two minutes approximately after hanging up with the girl he loves and lied to, a group of Decepticons burst onto the scene and start wreaking havoc. It's a fucking disaster, more than Sam and the others had anticipated. He's forced to find shelter, but it's not so easy.
One of the Decepticons so happens to be human-sized, an ugly twisted twig of metal that reminds Sam of that creepy little Frenzy. And once it finds someone its size to play with, the only human around within miles, it giggles like a psychopath and chases down its new toy.
'Bee and the others have their hands full. Sam's on his own. He dodges and runs from the Decepticon for the most part. He's pretty fast, but so is the freak. It feels like hours he's been running from the psycho-con, but at least Optimus has taken out one of bigger problems. Time becomes hazy and he's not sure what's going on, but a N.E.S.T 'copter is trying to chase off a news station helicopter above and the loud thumping of their blades is hurting his ears. His blood feels like it's pumping to the rhythm.
The Decepticon finally corners him and Sam is forced to put up a fight. He grabs a broken pipe and swings like an idiot at the little robot, trying to keep it away. The Decepticon lashes long talons back, but the human manages to hold his weapon secure. He even gets a blow in, one to its ugly screwed up face.
Sam is vaguely aware that 'Bee is trying to communicate with him via the radio on his belt. The Autobot is saying something that comes out in disjointed showtunes. "Little busy!" Sam screams before leaping aside to avoid a gash to the belly.
The fight continues. Maybe the past battles have made Sam a seasoned soldier. He can hold up his own now. He's almost got leverage over the crazy bastard. But just as he's about to knock its head off its pointy shoulders, the Decepticon curls up into a spiked ball and rolls at him. Sam shrieks and dives aside, hitting the pavement. He twists onto his back, goes to get up but too late; the Decepticon is looming over him with a sloppy, spit riddled grin. There's a blade sharp enough to cut fucking steel extending from its wrist, and it's pointed directly at Sam's right eye, just two inches away from touching the pupil.
Sam thinks he might die. Thinks he's dumb for thinking 'might.' He thinks he's even more stupid for not having just gone back to the dorm and studying for the test. He wants an average, normal, robot-free life, and yet he's still an action-thirsty little kid. Why study when you can play with the big boys?
No, he knew, deep down he knew, this was his way of ending these adventures with a bang.
One final go 'round.
The Decepticon is describing to the human the many ways he's going to torture and tear him apart. It's all in Cybertronian gibberish, but the tone and wicked little giggles are perfect translations. He tries to keep the bastard's eyes on him, hand inching out for a shard of glass. Anything to fight back, though he knows it'd be futile in this position.
"Hey!"
Heads turn and both Sam and the Decepticon are shocked to see Mikaela leaning against the alley wall with her leg in a brace and a grenade launcher in her hand. She winks behind the crosshairs, yanks back the trigger and the Decepticon's scream is choked off by the explosive wedged inside his mouth. He flies back and Mikaela shouts for Sam to run; he scrambles and jumps just as the bomb goes off, leaving the robot now a pile of wreckage.
Sam watches as smoke billows from the corpse, bits of the nearby wall caught in the wave raining on the Decepticon's grave, adding insult to injury. As he turns, he debates which scares him more: the Decepticons or the burning lava hot glare in his girlfriend's eyes. Her chest is heaving and it is obvious she had overexerted herself to get here. Her lips are clenched but quivering and her glare is coated with a glaze.
She wants to cry but she also wants to scream. Instead she throws the grenade launcher on the ground, and Sam jumps. Mikaela says nothing as she picks her crutch from off the sidewalk and hobbles away, just angry enough to block out the dying chaos around her.
Sam is faintly aware this is it.
"Simmons mentioned Ironhide's passing."
Sam cleared his throat. He bowed his head, nodded once. "It was... It was a shock," he murmured. "I mean, war's war and it was maybe, probably just a matter of time, but..." He squinted. "It wasn't a soldier's death."
Mikaela frowned. "Yeah," she agreed. Her frown tightened. "He deserved a more honorable death." She sounded more hurt than she let on. Despite their parting of ways, Ironhide was still a dear friend to her. She lifted her head, shook back a few loose bangs. "I'm sure we... you've lost many more." Mikaela could only imagine the numbers, the ways they met their demise, and it made her stomach somersault.
"They were all heroes," Sam insisted.
"Yeah." The brunette looked ashamed. "Unlike me."
Sam scowled. "What did I tell you about saying that, Mikaela?" he half-snarled. His eyes reflected genuine anger. "We both intended to leave that day. To go on with our lives like normal human beings. I came back more out of necessity than personal desire."
Mikaela was quiet.
She is just as quiet now. It's been almost a week since they last spoke. Since the incident that nearly cost Sam his life, if Mikaela hadn't saved his ass. Sam has tried, but she blocks him out. Won't answer his calls or let him inside the house; has Jerry see him out when he swings by the shop. Then she and Gladys go to visit Gladys's sister outside Chicago and the literal distance does not have the same sting as the emotional one driving them apart.
To his surprise, she calls him. Mikaela asks to meet him at the base. She is there all ready thanks to Mudflap. She doesn't say why she's there, why she needs to talk to him, but Sam is not surprised when she finally tells him.
For a few minutes, they sit in silence in the empty hanger. The door is open and framing a beautiful sunset. It's almost romantic; it doesn't fit the mood at all. Like the wrong piece in a puzzle. Mikaela is in her wheelchair and Sam is sitting on an oil tank some feet away.
They have spoken, despite the quiet.
Mikaela speaks again. "I didn't get the grant," she says. Sam looks at her, surprised. "Well, that's a lie." She smirks and looks down. "More so I did get it, but I turned it down. I decided, college life really wasn't meant for me." She smiles crookedly. "I'm happy working at the shop."
Sam dares to ask: "Are you, or are you just holding on?"
She seemed ready for such a question. "I thought about it. Both," she says, "and I still don't know."
"Why turn down an opportunity if you decide to seek new ventures in the future?"
Mikaela chuckles. "With my record and the incident with the news station," and she's still sensitive about that topic, "I'm not sure if anyone would hire someone the likes of me." She smiles at Sam. "Unless Simmons wants to do another record cleaning." She pauses and looks hopeful, but afraid of disappointment. "You intend to leave this, don't you?"
Sam nods. He's not hesitant. "I'm going back to college, and then I'm going to carry on from there without the war on my back." He shrugs. "I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't miss some of it, but..." He trails off. "It's for the best. I need this. You do, too." He knows Ironhide had spoken with her about their conversation with the others before their rendezvous. He's happy to see she has agreed.
"I'm sorry."
Sam flinches. "Don't be."
Mikaela wipes the edges of her eyes. "I don't want to break up with you this way," she sniffs. "Not when I promised I'd stay by your side. Not when I said I'd follow you wherever you went." Her hands are a little shaky. "But over time, and... For a while. I don't..."
"What happened last week, when you... saved my life," Sam murmurs, "I saw it. I saw the exhaustion in your fury." She looks only slightly alarmed. "You couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't... lose someone again... Not like that." He sits forward. "Don't apologize. I'm the one who suggested we let go."
Mikaela nods. "I thought about breaking up with you so many times this past week. I felt selfish, but then I felt justified." She sniffs a second time. "I didn't want to break my promise, but I didn't want the only other man I ever loved in my life to die right before my eyes."
"I never felt you were obligated to stay by my side," Sam reassures. "And even if I did, the obligation is gone. Because I'm leaving this war behind as well. The moment I transfer to Chicago is the moment I wash my hands of this mess." He snorts. "Optimus has got dozens under his command now. More soldiers have been recruited. I think we're good to punch in our cards for the final time. I know it's what he wants- What everyone here would want us to do."
"Now if only Will could follow suit." But that's impossible. And she felt sorry for his wife and kid. Both oblivious and having to live with a stranger keeping secrets. Mikaela steers the wheelchair aside and over to Sam. "Yet if feels like we should stay together, now that we're leaving the danger."
"We're both emotionally drained," Sam states, "we both need time. Apart and away." He slips down from the barrel. "We don't have to say goodbye, however. It doesn't have to end, not everything."
"I love you, Sam Witwicky," Mikaela says and she starts to cry, "but you're right. Fuck it all, but you are." She recomposes herself quickly. "I can't love you when I can't find the energy or desire to do so." She bites her lip. "It hurts, but... It's for the best."
Sam chuckles. "We're gonna be okay," he assures and takes her hands. Caresses thumbs along her knuckles. "And I love you, too. Breaking up doesn't mean the love ends, right? Or is that too girly?"
Mikaela sputters laughter. "Just a little," she teases. She squeezes his hands. "Promise me we'll stay in touch. It's bad enough I have to leave Optimus and the others behind."
"Call or email or snail mail or Dixie cups."
"The long distance charge would be immense with those cups."
"Probably."
Mikaela gives his sleeve a tug, and Sam understands, as always. He helps her up, keeps her balanced in his arms. She places her hands on his cheeks, and meets his eyes. She smirks and then kisses him; fleeting, but eternal as a memory.
"You're still a dork."
"And you're still too mushy."
The two have returned to the empty parking lot, heading for the stairs below. "You should stay around a bit longer," Sam insisted. "Say hi to everyone. They're due for a break soon, anyway."
"I don't want to intrude," Mikaela replied. "I would stick around and help, but Jerry's all ready livid I took the plane here without his knowing." Her grin quirked. "He's become something of an overprotective father. Not that I mind, really." And who could blame him? She wasn't just stopping by to see a friend. She was stopping by to see a friend in the middle of a disaster zone.
"That and you'll get your suit dirty," Sam teased.
"I wouldn't mind if it weren't a rental," she snorted.
As they were about to descend the stairs, Mikaela reached out and took his wrist. Sam blinked, turned to face her. There was that look in her eyes, fear of a response she couldn't anticipate. "Are you happy? With your life. Your apartment, your girlfriend, your boring desk job?"
Sam chuckled. "I am happy," he said. He was being sincere. "And..." He pulled his hand free, placed it softly over hers. "Are you?"
Mikaela considered his question. She finally smiled again. "Yeah." She sighed heavily. "Things could be a lot better, but... I'm okay."
"And... do you...?"
"I do. But perhaps now, more as a friend."
Sam didn't wait for the echo of his question. "We're the same, then."
The tension that had lingered since they set eyes upon one another, after so many years, was gone now. The air cleared, and it was warm. They were both happy, both healing and recovering. There were no recollections or any indications of tragedy on her body, the faint scar along her leg now puckered pink and barely visible. Sam may have been dirtied and covered in debris, cut and bruised, but he had a wonderful girl waiting for him and parents screaming and hollering at soldiers to see their son downstairs. Mikaela was not alone; Jerry and Gladys, a secure job she was happy with, friends and, perhaps someone she felt was inappropriate to bring up waiting for her anxiously to return safe and sound.
Mikaela gave Sam's hand a small tug. Sam still understood, just like those years long gone by. She didn't need him to hold her up now, not physically, not emotionally. Mikaela stepped forward and placed her hands on his cheeks; she met his gaze. She would then lean in and kiss him, and sometimes it would be soft and gentle or passionate and long. As she moved in to fill the space between them, Mikaela tilted his head down and caressed his brow.
And what's past is past and this is present and for all the tragedies, at least they can say they are okay again.
END
A/N: Title is a lyric from the song "Shadow of the Day" by Linkin Park. Felt it was fitting.