Title: The Cat in the Bag
Status: Finished. One-shot.
Warnings: None. You can read this to your mom if you want. 83
Disclaimer: Optimus Prime is not my character. Secretary Keller is not my character, and neither is Ron Witwicky. Blah blah blah. The other humans in this fic and the random Nighthawk of a Decepticon leader, however, are, and I don't mind if you use them in your stories if you feel so inclined. They're just random squishies, and the Nighthawk is just a random 'Con leader who took over after Megs was killed.
Introduction: This is one of those fics I wrote well before I decided to reopen my account. It could possibly take place after the first Bayverse movie, but it was intended to be set in an AU of its own. As it did mention original characters not my own, some alt modes and terms have been changed to scoot those characters out of the story. Otherwise, enjoy!
In so many ways, being an ambassador from one race to another was not so far a cry from the goodwill visits he had made to other segments of Cybertron back when their home world was still at peace with itself. For all the extensive planning and preparation that went into the ceremony and speech of the thing, the actual broadcast itself lasted not more than three hours, and that included the time allotted for questions from astounded audience members. News camera crews and select individuals from the media hand-chosen by the Secretary of Defense himself sat in neatly placed, uncomfortable-looking blue chairs all facing a single, tastefully decorated outdoor stage headed by a podium and a microphone. The weather seemed content to cooperate with them that day; not a cloud could be seen for miles around, and the wind whispered quietly over the ocean and around the great, blue monument of a human female loosely clad in robes around them, mingling playfully with the soft, curious murmurs of the crowd of faces and cameras and notepads that had filled the rows and rows of seats all along the lawn.
Secretary Keller's speech threw the audience for a loop from the very opening of his part in the day's excitement, but, as expected, nothing he could tell them would prepare them for the mixture of shock and awe and fear Optimus stood witness to as first he, then the massive, black Nighthawk beside him slowly bristled their respective Earth camouflage and revealed themselves for what they truly were - robot aliens from another planet. It was the first, definite evidence of life outside Earth, and the world sat on edge as their secret was revealed for the first time on public television. It was everything Optimus knew back home with a bit of spice in the mix, just to add something new to the game. For a moment, he was back on Cybertron again, reassuring his fellow Cybertronians that the new amendment would help make the streets a little safer to drive or showing his support for the research foundation.
But that had been the easy part.
Humans have a saying that sums up the date well enough. They say getting there is half the fun. In reality, blowing Project 51, as it had been dubbed, straight out of the water was hardly even the half of it. The months following the highly anticipated, world-wide announcement crawled by one painstaking day at a time, and Optimus stood quietly beside his own race and a number of humans working in tandem with them to make it all happen, waiting to see what would be the world's reaction to the Cybertronian presence on Earth. Some of them had a few theories in mind; many of them, as it turned out, were right. Optimus had been on planet too long, immersing himself in the local culture and beat of things to not have formed his own, well-educated guess as to what would happen, and he was not disappointed.
Curiosity flared up like wildfires all around the globe, and alleged photos and videos of the alien robots began popping up all over the internet over night, although one for every million or so was actually legitimate. People watched every car, every truck, every electric appliance as if they expected one of them to suddenly change shape and strike up a conversation. It amused Optimus to no end every time he saw one of them walk up to a car parked on the side of the road or a newspaper dispenser and poke or prod it or try to ask it questions. It did not amuse him when reports of random acts of vandalism and destruction of public property started blurring the media on a near daily basis mere days after the Project had been released to public documentation.
Whether in revenge for Mission City or out of pure, unadulterated fear, some humans had taken it upon themselves to try and kill off members of the Cybertronian race, and they began their crusade with car bombings and kidnapping and torturing refugees of Mission City itself for information. As the violence escalated in some parts of the country, the government stepped in to settle the fighting, and many Cybertronians, Decepticon and Autobot alike, moved to aid their efforts. So many months later, tensions had finally leveled out, but Optimus knew it would not end for years still. All of them knew it.
Then there had been a religious cult. Oh, was that ever a shock. Of everything he had been in his life and everything he was at his core, this was the one time Optimus had adamantly tried to refuse the humans anything. Guardian, he was. God, he was not, and the whole concept of it made him more than a little uncomfortable.
Fortunately, he and his liaison were of one mind on the matter. Unfortunately, the freedoms the American society afforded its citizens also afforded them the right to praise anything they saw fit. While some of the more delinquent members of his race absolutely ate up the attention, the cult had agreed to keep their practices within the boundaries of what was acceptable, and the Autobot general was left to politely tolerate his unwanted "divinity." He made every effort he could to avoid its members where he found them and tried to discourage questions on the matter after it was clear he would not acknowledge the group as his followers.
As time wore on, the newness of his living, robotic race finally began to die down. Hate crimes had all but vanished as the human race came to realize promises given that day were not spoken from behind pleasant masks, but from honest intentions; or perhaps they had come to accept that their own government was serious about protecting this endangered species. (The rights activists had had a field day when that particular issue came under debate.) A medium between the two vastly different, incredibly similar species had been, for all intents and purposes, firmly established, and it nearly had become as so many had hoped and dreamed it would be. Their efforts had finally paid off.
Five months later, the humans of Tranquility came and went as if nothing of the sort had ever happened. Life for them was as it had ever been save the occasional suspicious glance at a nearby mailbox or something of the sort. Surprisingly enough, for all of his public appearances on the local and national newscasts, few of the customers seemed to notice the uniquely painted Peterbilt sitting at the edge of the parking lot, off to the side and out of the way. Most of the regulars had come to recognize him, of course, and many even welcomed the general's presence among them; he often took periods of stasis here, and it was a joy to see friendly, human face again once Ron Witwicky's shift ended for the day, if obligations allowed the Autobot a physical presence at the business. Optimus had found a comfort zone outside the base, much to a certain green Humvee's delight. It beat listening to Ratchet lecture him about getting out in the wind and the sunshine every once in a great while, though while he tended to enjoy his visits, it was not always a welcoming experience.
As if the world had chosen that day to send him a frank reminder of his balancing place in society, a frightened and upset young voice fell upon his audial sensors all at once. The child was not more than five or six years of age and very much alone; Prime needed not the coarse readout of his physical scan on her body to realize this. She had wandered into the parking lot far from the office buildings in search of the mother her small voice kept calling out to, to no avail. The only other being to hear her at that time of day was none but the lone, living Peterbilt watching her silently from the next aisle over, and Optimus could not abandon the youngling to cry for a parent not there. Surely the woman was searching for her daughter. Any caring parent would be, and although he could never claim her as his own, neither would he leave the girl to her fright until the two were reunited. With barely a thought, the Peterbilt activated his holomatter emitter and a kindly man with no name, no identification suddenly appeared, walking slowly around the corner toward her. The child broke into a fitful jog and soon appeared around the bend of her own accord and here, she surprised the great general as she turned her tearful attention first to the hologram, and then to the semi truck behind it.
The hologram paused in its tracks; Optimus was not certain what she might do now and feared he had scared her with his imitation - if her expression was anything to judge by, he most certainly had. But then she took a cautious step toward him and another, head turning frequently back to the hologram with wary eyes as though she was afraid it might come after her. At her mouth, one tiny finger worried at her parched lips; she clearly had been walking outdoors for some time. The holomatter human took a step away from her, smiling in what the alien robot had come to understand as something amicable and, he hoped, approachable, offering her soft words of encouragement in a voice that both was and was not the Cybertronian's own, but the little female did not trust this strange human. The semi truck had her focus from the beginning, and Optimus could only sit quietly, watching her through his sensory array as she boldly, inch by inch, made her way right up to his front bumper.
One amazingly fragile fingertip that had before been at her mouth moved inquisitively through the space between them to rest upon the smooth, chrome-like alloy of the Peterbilt's grill. Intrigued, Optimus let his holographic creation fade away, his attention focused solely on the youth before him. So young, and yet so brave. He did not dare try and speak to her, lest he risk scaring the poor child away. There were a million and one reasons why a big rig cab held more appeal for her than a friendly member of her own species, and Optimus could settle on none of them. The hologram was human, but not a friend to her, and therefore not to be trusted as human parents often taught their young. The girl had an unusual liking for trucks, perhaps from her father's influence. However he had come to attract her, he had, and whether or not she knew what he truly was, he did not need to know. As long as she was content to stay and examine him, he could easily keep watch over her until her mother came for her.
Once she had satisfied her urge to reach out and touch him, the child stood back and tilted her head up to stare up at the general's massive front end, at the red crest proudly emblazoned in place of the Peterbilt logo. Her finger slowly moved back to her mouth again, red rimmed eyes just as wide as could be.
"Can you talk?" she suddenly asked, tiny white teeth working away at a knuckle. Optimus, bemused by her probing, spent several moments considering if or not he would responding at all. As things were, anything he would do might push her away or pull her closer to him, but she was so young and unfamiliar, he could hardly gauge what her reaction might be. If he stayed silent, she might remain where she was, but he could not guarantee himself that she would stay if she thought him just another truck on the road. Outright speaking to her could do just as much harm and frighten her away to places he could not follow, but there was a chance all might work out well and he could engage her in conversation hopefully as long as was needed.
At last and with no small amount of hesitation, Optimus Prime responded, voice gently emanating through the vox unit buried deep under his hood. "I can talk as long as you'd like," he said to her, letting an edge of comfort work its way into his words at the sudden look she adopted. "You've nothing to fear from me, dear one."
He almost found himself regretting that decision in the next instant; the small human's eyes grew wider than he thought possible as she gave a minute start upon hearing the semi speak to her. She had not quite expected to hear this. Once again, the general fell silent, hoping to atone for his own boldness, and to his relief, it worked. She did not run from him. Several moments and light teeth marks upon her finger later, she did, however, open her mouth to question him again.
"You're the Mister Autobutt from the tee-vee?"
Optimus could not help a broad, mental smile at that. He did not stay his vox so long this time before answering her, his amusement lacing his tone. "Yes, I am. I am an Autobot."
Her return was immediate, his reciprocation encouraging her. "Momma says you're bad for us. Is 'at why you're here?"
Pleasantly enough, she had forgotten all about the hologram human and was now transfixed to this alien being she had seen and heard only in news broadcasts. Whatever it was her mother had tried to teach her, the child obviously did not seem inclined to believe as she sat herself down to listen to his side of the story. In a way, he found it somewhat pitiful that one so young as she could not believe her own parent, but her curiosity or mistrust or what it was was not anything he would protest. It had opened a new door for her, an insight into a new world her guardian did not want to see. Optimus could not help a minute twinge of guilt at his attempt to impress upon her young mind the intentions of his race despite her mother's teachings, but he would not deny he was glad for the opportunity. In time, she would grow and learn to make her own decisions about his kind. How could anyone blame him for wanting to show her another side of the coin? He could not quite justify himself with the excuse that it would keep her entertained for a time, but he did, and she listened intently, as a moth drawn to a light in the dark.
So, he spoke to her, as long as she would hear him, keeping his scanners and senses keenly attuned to the comings and goings around him, still searching for the mother little Emma (this was the name she gave him when he introduced himself) had so recently forgotten. It was during one of these scans that he discovered the man and woman exiting the cluster of buildings nearest to them. By their clean, pressed clothing and appearance, he wondered if they were employees, perhaps on their way home after a long day's work, but they were not faces he had seen here before. At least, they were clients, or even visitors. He was certain he had not witnessed them enter the structure, but there was not only the one entrance. They were not of the ideal human breeding age, but were not old enough that reproduction was impossible; Optimus wondered if the female was Emma's parent. Before he could activate his hologram to approach them, the male took notice of him and took interest in the red and blue semi right away. He paused beside his companion, watching the Peterbilt with something unreadable across his features; the woman then saw him as well after following her friend's line of sight. She, unlike the other human, regarded the titan of a truck with what Optimus had come to know as apprehension, and he took to this with worry. Of all the things he needed to happen that day, a pair of adult humans fending him violently off of a youngling he had been but entertaining while they waited for her wayward parent to appear was not one of them.
Neither seemed to notice the child sitting on the concrete in front of him until they weaved their way through a row or two of parked cars toward the Cybertronian. Maybe the recognition drew them closer, maybe it was the little girl's gleeful laughter as he directed a small hologram of a butterfly to tickle her nose with its tiny feet. Once they were near enough and could see the girl, the male grinned, as did his companion shortly thereafter.
"Well, I'll be," he laughed. "Never thought I'd see something like this in all my life. The Optimus Prime, sitting here, playing with a kid."
"So this is what you do all day long," the woman added. Emma twisted her small body around to look at the new strangers, both alarmed and curious all at once again.
Optimus breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief; they were not here to harass him in the youngling's stead after all. "In truth, this is a first for me," he explained quietly. His monarch flitted silently through the air above Emma's head, unnoticed. She had abandoned her new plaything to watch the man and woman, but made no move to approach the either adult. More importantly, neither did she give any outward sign that either of them were anyone she knew. "We discovered each other purely by accident, this child and me."
As Emma had before them, the older humans stood back in amazement at the mechanical being there, practically babysitting this lost little girl. There was something so charming about it, something that perhaps they had seen on the televised public relations ads and news articles here and there that this small act of goodwill cemented in their minds. In the next few moments, through very little encouragement of his own, Optimus knew their names and professions and even the general area in which the two of them lived. He, Carter Peterson, had worked a firm for sixteen years and, despite a frequent warning humans gave each other against courting coworkers, he had been dating her, Martha Sommers, for half that time. They were engaged to be married at the turn of the new year, and Optimus congratulated them, genuinely pleased to hear it.
He was also pleased to see little Emma had taking quite a liking to Martha in just such a short time. Once Martha learned the child was lost, maternal instincts took over and she went to the youngling with ways the human race could teach his own in time, but Cybertronians would never be able to truly emulate. Their forms were not so soft, not so warm and gentle as were the human body and voice, as much as they might try to be. They were more suitable to the hard, unforgiving metal creations they could easily choose to hide themselves inside.
Still, when confronted with the hologram and the machine, Emma shied away from the imitation without knowing it was no more than false flesh and clever programming.
"So," Carter said after a short time, one hand rubbing at his chin in thought as he watched his friend lift the child so that she could reach out her hand to touch the Autobot crest. The general's frame groaned softly as he pushed a pair of struts to the limits of their function to tilt his nose down for her. "Mind if I ask you a question, big guy?"
"Not at all."
"I've read some of the interviews and all that so I know about the Cube, but I've gotta ask you. Why here, in Tranquility?"
"This was where we first came to Earth," the general explained, carefully leaving out certain details. "It is as good a home as any, and I have human friends here who, I suppose, convinced me to stay, as it were." He did not mention the incident at the Hoover Dam, although for all the witnesses there had been to Starscream's arrival and Megatron's departure, it was a mood point anyway, and he did not mention Sam Witwicky, the human youth-turned-unwitting-savior of not only his own race, but of Optimus's as well. The boy deserved recognition, he deserved praise and thanks at the very least, but after all was said and done, he had insisted his name not be mentioned anywhere, and Optimus respected his wishes. As a sort of celebrity in his own right, the general understood well the pressures of near-constant public exposure, and Sam had had adventure enough to last him a lifetime, or so he had jokingly explained. Life was comfortable for him, but with college looming on the horizon, he did not need more on his plate than he could handle.
"That so, huh? Never heard that." The man laughed softly as Emma curled her lower lip over the teeth in her jaw to proudly stick a finger at the bare soft spot on her gums where a baby tooth had fallen out recently. "Well, I'm glad it worked out for ya. Sounds like you like it here-"
"Oh my God, get away from my baby!"
Optimus had been watching the woman work her way around the parking lot on the far side for a full minute before any of the humans noticed each other. The look of relief that crossed her features initially left the Peterbilt hopeful, but as she closed the distance between herself and the group situated around him, that expression melted away into something dreadful, and he remembered what little Emma said to him earlier about her mother's nervous warnings. Apparently, she remembered him from the news as well. The general did not bother with his holomatter alternate; the frightened woman knew him for what he was and would not listen to it.
"Ma'am, your child is just fine," he gently attempted to reassure her. "She was lost and scared, but she is alright now." But the woman was in a panic and would hear none of it. Emma began to whimper as her mother broke into a run, frantic to retrieve her daughter from them. Within a tense, agonizing minute, the worst of the ordeal was over. Carter and Martha implored the woman to calm down and listen, but Emma was carted away, wailing as her mother screamed threats of lawsuits and arrests for kidnapping over her shoulder through tears of her own terror. In her mind, she had very nearly lost the youngling she had carried and raised that day to an overwhelming force she could not hope to combat. As he watched her flee, Optimus could not help but pity the woman. He knew that hopelessness, that anger and helplessness first hand. From her, there was no sympathy, no understanding, nor was there any willingness to offer it. Here, he saw before him clearly two very opposite sides of the spectrum he had been bargaining with ever since his race had first set foot upon the planet's soil: the wonder and horror of the human race.
Carter and Martha could only shake their heads and watch, as helpless as the foreign semi beside them, while the blue Volvo sped out of the lot and disappeared down the street. The man removed one hand from where he had propped it against his hip in a frustrated huff and rubbed the palm across his forehead with a bark of a humorless laugh. "Can you believe that lady? 'Deportation,' she says. I feel so sorry for that kid."
"Hun, don't be mean. Some people just are gonna be that way." Martha moved quietly to her fiancé's side and hugged his arm. After a moment, her gaze turned to the red and blue Peterbilt who had not so much as flinched throughout the entire incident, nor said a word since the child had been ripped from their company. "You okay there?"
"I'm fine," Optimus responded quietly. "I thought this might happen, but I do reflect your sentiments, Carter. I am concerned about the child."
"Think we should call the cops on her? Freaking out and driving like that, it can't be safe. Might get herself into a wreck." A light, harmless slap on the shoulder from a disapproving fiancée silenced him, albeit begrudgingly.
"No, I do not believe the police need to be involved," Optimus said after a moment's thought.
Carter looked down at the ground and nudged a pebble with the toe of his shoe and sighed. "Well, hell. I'm sorry about that, man. Wish she would've just stopped for five minutes and looked at was was really going on here, but... Guess ya can't win all of 'em."
"You needn't apologize. She was doing what she thought was right in her mind."
"Could've handled it better than she did." To that, Optimus could say nothing, and so he let his the soft hum of his engine speak for him.
It was not much longer before the couple turned to take their leave of Optimus as well, on a vastly more pleasant note, and soon afterward, Ron appeared to keep the Autobot general company for the duration of the trip back to the Witwicky residence. Optimus listened to Sam's father relate to him the highlights of the day as he automatically drove himself down by-now familiar streets and thought back on Emma and her mother. How very different the girl's upbringing was and would be from Sam's. Humanity might never completely overcome its fear of the Cybertronian race, he knew, and if it did, he did not imagine it would be anything he might live to see. They were both a species that could barely learn to live with its own kind at times, but it left something more to work toward, another goal off in the distance yet to be achieved with no clear path leading to the end result. In that, there was always hope, and hope was slowly, surely, blessedly becoming something they could all easily have and hold onto once again.