Ultra Magnus is not one for idle chatter. In fact, he's not one for speaking at all. In the hours after your departure from the destroyed gas station, neither of you has said a word. You did emit some sounds early on, however, mostly sniffles as the panic and the fear that you'd felt during the ordeal finally caught up with you in force. You'd wept as quietly as you could, wiping surreptitiously at your eyes and nose with the sleeve of your coat. In between bouts of tears you occupied yourself by staring out the window, because it felt way too weird to let your eyes wander around the truck's cab. Around him. For the same reason, you are sitting pressed up against the passenger side door, unwilling to take up any unnecessary space even though the bench seat provides you with plenty of room. On top of being doused in fear and confusion, you also feel as though you are trespassing on a personal level. You're riding inside of a living being.

At some point, you mentally begin to take stock of what kind of assets you have on your person. Thankfully, you're one of those women who despises a purse, instead relying on a wallet usually carried in your coat's inner pocket. The same pocket also holds your phone and the keys to your house and your (burnt out shell of a) car. You've thought many times since getting into the truck about pulling out your phone and dialing 911 to report the incident, but every time you get close to entertaining the idea you realize you'd have to explain Ultra Magnus and Knock Out to the authorities. What's more, Ultra Magnus himself proves to be a prohibitive factor because there's no way he'll just meekly surrender you. In the event you manage to somehow contact the police and get away from Ultra Magnus and opt to leave the mechs out of your story, a gas station exploding spontaneously isn't something people are going to buy. Add to the fact that your car was incinerated but you weren't, and you're looking at a nightmarish process that you just don't feel up to tackling mentally. Later, you promise yourself. You've always been good at putting off problems for Future You to deal with.

At around the three hour mark of your journey to who-knows-where, you realize you have to pee. You think about asking Ultra Magnus to stop and then immediately chicken out. The task of speaking to him now seems far too daunting. I can hold it, you think. And you do. For two more hours. Now you are in agony, having left it far too long, and with great trepidation you manage to muster your voice to speak.

"Can we take a break?"

There is no reply for several seconds. You open your mouth to ask again when he finally responds. "No."

You'd expected this. "Please," you say. "I really need a break."

"We must continue. Decepticon pursuit is still a possibility."

"I get that. I do. But I need a break."

"For what reason?"

"Uh … I'm hungry. And thirsty."

"I am aware that your kind can endure more than a few hours without sustenance."

Shit. Discussing bodily functions with a giant mech warrior was not what you wanted to do, but it looks like you have no choice. "I need a bathroom."

"Which is?"

Shit shit shit. How does he know humans can go without food and water for a while but doesn't know about everything else? "A bathroom," you say a trifle desperately, because your discomfort is now hitting intolerable levels. "It's a place where I can…" And here you halt, because you really don't know how to explain this. And what's more, you really don't want to.

He makes an impatient noise, almost like someone clearing their throat expectantly. "I need to pee," you say finally, humiliation coating every word. And then, fiercely hating every fucking second of it, you go on to explain just what that means.

There is a long period of silence after you finish. You're not sure if it's your own projection or not, but it kind of feels like a horrified silence. When you can't stand it any more, you decide to use the nuclear option. "I'm sorry, I can't help it, but if you don't stop soon I'm going to leak all over this seat."

"… Point out the next facility you see."

Based on his voice, it's hard to tell who's more mortified at this point.

Fortunately, you're still familiar with the area. You're still in a largely rural location, but you direct him to a ramshackle truck stop/liquor store combo on the side of a highway less than ten minutes later. The moment he comes to a halt you're unbuckled, out the door, and running into the truck stop where you proceed to have the most amazing (and longest) pee of your life. Afterward, standing in the store proper, you're struck by a stray thought. What if you call the cops now? You could tell them you were abducted (which isn't that far from the truth) and make up a story about the explosion. But then you remember Knock Out and everything Ultra Magnus had said about the Decepticons, and consider the fact that if the Decepticons really are on your tail, are they really going to be deterred by a couple of cop cars?

You're torn. You don't want to be attacked by other giant mechs, but you also really don't want to accompany Ultra Magnus. You want your life to go back to the way it used to be seven hours ago. You think back fondly on this morning, when you'd been drinking tea warm and cozy in your home without any knowledge whatsoever that warring factions of mechs existed on earth. You're rudely pulled from your reverie by the sound of Ultra Magnus' horn sounding from the parking lot.

"Oh, fuck off," you mutter. Seized by a sudden urge to be as obstinate as possible, you proceed to take your time browsing the truck stop's admittedly meager wares, finally selecting a large blueberry muffin wrapped in an unnecessary amount of plastic wrap, and two bottles of water. You pay for your stuff with cash, pocket the change, and reluctantly leave the store just as Ultra Magnus sounds his horn again.

"You know, honking your horn at me every two minutes is going to attract a lot of attention," you tell him with no small amount of irritation as you hoist yourself into the cab.

"You were wasting time."

"I needed something to eat and drink."

"That will only lead to more unnecessary stops."

"I'm human!" you snap. "I can't help the way my body works. If you have a problem with it, feel free to leave me here!"

You know what he's thinking then, because you're thinking it too. You have no doubt whatsoever that he wishes that he could in fact leave you here. You decide to use that to your advantage. "This… Optimus friend of yours… does he even need to know about me? Can't you just omit me out of your story? Leave me here and I swear to you I won't say a word to anyone. I just want to forget about all of this and I'm sure you do too."

"It's not that simple," he responds, and his voice sounds almost weary.

"Why not?" you press. "It could be. Look, uh… Ultra Magnus, I'm a nobody. I don't matter in the grand scheme of things. If you're worried about leaving me here, don't be. I have friends that can come and get me. There's a lot of land here, lots of ways to lose someone. Even if Knock Out is still around, how he could possibly find me once I'm off the highway, on the back roads, out in the fields and the trees?"

"Knock Out is but one of the Decepticons. There are others, and we have no way of knowing if they're aware you exist. If they do—"

"Yeah, yeah," you say, scowling. He's not going to go for it. His engine (does he have one?) starts and you reach for the seatbelt out of habit. As you buckle in he smoothly pulls out of the parking lot, turning right onto the highway so that you're heading north again.

"Where are we going?" You finally think to ask minutes later. "Where's your… base?" You assume that's where he's taking you.

"Nevada," he tells you, and you choke on the sip of water you'd just taken.

"Nevada?" you repeat incredulously after sputtering for several seconds. "Nevada is southwest. Really southwest. We're going north."

"I'm aware of what direction we're traveling in, native."

The thinly veiled condescension in his voice grates on your nerves. "Then why," you inquire through clenched teeth, "are we heading north?"

There's a long pause before he responds. You suspect he likes making you wait for an answer simply out of spite. "Usually I'm able to return to base by another method. However, there's been a complication. Until it has been rectified, we must remain on the move."

"Another method?"

He makes an exasperated sound, identical to a sigh. It's downright eerie how he can do that when in the shape of a semi truck. "Must you ask so many questions?"

"I do when the answers directly affect my life!"

"Very well," he grudgingly acquiesces. "Though the science is most likely beyond your comprehension, we're usually able to depart and return to our base through what is known as a ground bridge. A ground bridge," he says, anticipating your next question, "is a smaller version of a space bridge. It's used to traverse long distances almost instantly."

"It's a portal?"

"No."

"It sounds like a portal."

"It's not."

"So your base's ground bridge is broken?"

"It's currently malfunctioning."

"Did you use it to get way up here?"

"Yes," he affirms, "Twenty-six cycles ago."

"And a cycle is…?"

"Roughly equivalent to one of your hours."

"So your… the other Autobots, did they tell you it was broken?"

"Yes."

"Have you heard from them since?"

A long pause. "No."

You lean back in the seat, bottle of water wedged between your thighs. "That doesn't sound good."

He doesn't reply.

.x.

Three hours later and it's long since gotten dark. You are dozing, cheek pressed against the door window, but you come awake when Ultra Magnus begins to slow. Blinking tiredly, you watch as he pulls off the highway onto a small dirt road. You notice a sign illuminated by the headlights which indicates this is a lease road, used to access one of the thousands of oil and gas wells dotting the landscape in this part of the province. The lease road is nowhere near as smooth as the highway, and you find yourself clutching the door handle as Ultra Magnus bumps and lurches forward. You're relieved when he finally comes to a halt. The passenger door opens, a prompt for you to exit the cab. Grabbing your water bottles and half-eaten muffin and shoving them into your pockets, you comply with his unspoken directive.

He transforms the moment your feet touch the ground, and it startles you enough that you stumble back a few steps. You seemed to have forgotten over the past few hours just how big he is in this form. He raises his arms and locks them behind his head, leaning backward. It dawns on you that he's stretching, and it strikes you as more than odd that a creature that seems to be formed almost entirely of metal would have to work out the kinks after a long day of driving. Watching him stretch reminds your body that it's sore from a day spent sitting, too, and so you indulge its gripes by walking around, easing the stiffness in your legs. As you do so you pull out your phone, checking your messages. There are none. You swipe through your contact list until you find your neighbour's name. You have no idea how long you'll be gone and you need someone to check on your place—

"What are you doing?"

Ultra Magnus' alarmed voice prompts you to pause in the act of raising your phone to your ear. You stare up at him in confusion as he quickly approaches you. He leans over and with surprising dexterity considering his size, plucks your phone from your grip with two fingers. "Hey—" you begin to shout. You lunge toward him as realization dawns, as he draws his arm back in preparation to throw, and watch helplessly as he proceeds to lob your phone into the upper atmosphere.

"What the fuck!" You clutch at your head with both hands in stunned disbelief.

"Are you trying to lead them to us?" he demands, whirling around to glare down at you.

"You can't just—that was—I fucking needed that!"

"If the Decepticons are aware of you, they are most certainly tracking your device. They could send a ground bridge to this exact location!"

"Then why didn't they do that sooner?"

"Have you used the device before now?"

You violently shake your head, fuming with outrage. You turn away from him, crossing your arms over your chest, and seriously debate making a run for the shadowy line of trees you see not far off. However, his warnings about the Decepticons temper the urge, and instead you settle for angrily scuffing at the frozen surface of the road with the toe of your boot.

Behind you, you hear him attempting to contact the other Autobots. "Ratchet, do you read me? Requesting a ground bridge to my location." He waits a few seconds and tries again several times over, to no avail.

"I must enter recharge," he says some minutes later.

Still furious, you glare at him over your shoulder. "Recharge?"

"Sleep," he clarifies. "You should too."

You look around you. You're on a road that cuts through the middle of a snow covered field. Your breath is rising as steam on the air. While it's not bitterly cold, it's chill enough to be uncomfortable. Given his ignorance about certain aspects of mankind, you're wondering if he expects you to make a nest out of snow and snooze that way.

He's aware of what you're thinking; the look he gives you can only be described as withering. "I'll transform," he says shortly. "You may rest inside."

"How very gracious of you," you mutter under your breath. He slants you a sharp look, but says nothing, instead reassuming the form of the semi.

"I'll be back," you tell him, turning to walk toward the trees. You hear his engine rev, probably a prelude to him running you over. You yell over you shoulder, "I have to pee."

.x.

Later—you're not sure how much—you're still wide awake. You refuse to stretch out on the bench seat, so instead you're left with trying to find a sitting or semi-reclining position that's comfortable. You haven't had much luck. You took off your coat and bunched it up in order to use it as a pillow squeezed between your head and the window, but it didn't help much either. You're trying to limit your fidgeting lest you bother Ultra Magnus, but knowing you can't move makes your body want to move. It is, in a word, infuriating.

The dash of the truck is completely dark. You'd noticed when driving that every gauge and indicator was backlit by the same brilliant blue of Ultra Magnus' eyes. You'd expected that when he went into "recharge" that there'd be complete silence. There isn't. There's still some noise, sounding faintly to you like the hum of fans adjusting their speed every so often. It should be a comforting, soothing noise. In any other circumstance, it probably would have been.

Around the 900th time you attempt to find a comfortable position, the lights on the dash flicker to life. You cringe, fully expecting a verbal beatdown.

"You're unable to recharge?" he questions. His words are slower than usual, and maybe you're imagining it but his voice sounds slightly husky, the way yours does after being woken from a sound sleep. You feel a twinge of guilt at having roused him.

"No," you say.

"Do you require something?"

"No."

"Then what is the issue?"

"I can't shut my brain off," you tell him, staring out the windshield into the dark.

He is quiet. You know he's attempting to sort out the vernacular. Finally he says, "You've been confronted with a great deal in a short span of time. For a human, something like this must require a great deal of processing."

He doesn't sound entirely unsympathetic, which is nice. "That's one way of putting it," you agree, adding, "I'm sorry for waking you."

Silence falls. You bunch your coat up again with the intent of putting it behind your head. "Would you be more inclined to sleep if you were supine?" Ultra Magnus asks.

You eye the rest of the bench seat with longing. Even if you don't fall asleep, you'll be a hell of a lot more comfortable. "Maybe," you say.

"Then do so."

But it's weird, you want to tell him. But then you realize he'd want to know why, and you aren't up for trying to explain. So you slip your boots off, turn, and lift your legs onto the seat. You inch down slowly, until you're lying flat, and then lay your head onto your makeshift pillow. You stare up at the roof of the cab, arms folded loosely across your stomach. After a while you notice the lights on the dash fade off, indicating that Ultra Magnus has slipped back into recharge. You resume staring upward until your blinks become slower, and then finally you are able to succumb to sleep.

.x.

The next three days of travel with Ultra Magnus fall into a pattern.

In the morning he usually wakes you up by honking his horn. You exit the cab, he transforms, and while you take care of your needs, he walks about and attempts to contact his fellow Autobots. When you're both finished, you resume traveling.

Conversation between the two of you remains sparse. Less than sparse, even. Despite that, you manage to persuade Ultra Magnus into stopping between 4 to 5 times per day in order to let you stretch, use the bathroom, and replenish food stores (such as they are, packaged sandwiches and other unhealthy assorted truck stop wares). Once night falls, which is actually pretty early this far north during the winter season, he'll continue to drive for another hour or two before finding some isolated road that leads to some version of nowhere. Your nights are spent stretched out on the seat, either staring up or curled on your side, and it's predictably another couple of hours before you can convince your mind to shut the fuck up and finally drift off to sleep. Subsequently, when Ultra Magnus rudely awakens you before the sun has risen, you're pretty much still exhausted. Most of the sleep you do manage to secure happens during the day when you doze off.

On the fourth day, you realize that you're starting to smell a little ripe. Maybe more than a little. You've tried to freshen up a bit whenever you get a bathroom break, but you're still wearing the same clothes from four days ago and you also haven't showered since then. So, when you enter your traditional morning bargaining phase with Ultra Magnus today, you beg extra hard to convince him to stop somewhere with additional facilities. As per your expectations, he is resistant to this request.

"We can't afford to waste extra time."

"We have nothing but time! When's the last time you saw a Decepticon?"

"Just because I haven't seen one doesn't mean they aren't aware of my location. Our location."

"Ultra Magnus," you say pleadingly, drawing out his name. "I need a shower. I'm dirty. I smell."

"Those seem inconsequential matters, considering our circumstances."

"They're not inconsequential to humans. Cleanliness is important. Neglecting it can lead to health issues."

He makes a disbelieving sound, almost like a snort. You scowl. "You haven't spent a lot of time around humans, have you?"

"No, I have not."

"Is that why you hate us?"

"I don't…" He stops, and then it sounds as if he inhales deeply. "I haven't been on this planet long enough to develop an informed opinion regarding your species."

This planet, huh? You think on that for a while. You're not really surprised that he and his kind hail from another planet, but along with everything else you've learned over the last few days it's something that requires further rumination. Not now, though. Right now you need to convince your mech companion to stop so you can shower.

"I'm not lying," you tell him. "If we go too long without being clean we can develop health issues. I don't know what it's like for your species, but showering at least every other day is kind of a necessity for mine."

As you'd expected, Ultra Magnus is so hung up on his buddy Optimus' directive to keep humans safe that stating your case like this has given him pause. "How severe of health issues?" he asks.

"Depends," you say carefully. You don't want to push too hard. "If left too long, there can be some really unpleasant consequences."

Sometimes the sound of his exasperated growl is music to your ears, particularly when it means he's going to capitulate with your request. "Very well," he says in a voice practically dripping with vexation. "Inform me when you see a suitable place to stop."

A suitable place doesn't make an appearance until nearly sundown. Ultra Magnus staunchly refuses to enter any urban areas of considerable size, which kind of limits the possibilities. However, you come upon a intersection of two busy primary highways. Nearby is a large truck stop that has exactly what you need, along with an attached line of small buildings including a restaurant, a tourist shop, a liquor store, and—miracle of miracles—a dollar store.

"How long will you be?" he asks as you open the door.

"30 minutes. Maybe more."

"Just to hose yourself off with water?"

"It's a bit more than that," you explain, sliding halfway out the cab lest he change his mind and decide to start moving again. "I need to buy some stuff. Soap. Shampoo. Clothes. Then I'll shower."

"I don't—"

"Yeah, I know. You don't understand why I need to do these things. Please just trust me, okay? I won't be that long. I promise."

You hop to the ground before he can disagree with anything you say, which of course he'll do because you're pretty certain he only exists to be contradictory. You walk quickly, heading first into the truck stop's convenience store to grab some of the essentials. You then hit up the dollar store where, as you'd hoped, you're able to buy some very affordable but poorly crafted clothing and underwear. You buy multiples in the event that your road trip with the mech ends up being even longer than either of you expect. You then make a beeline to the shower facilities, find them miraculously empty, choose a stall, and get to work. You'd forgotten how fucking wonderful a hot shower could be. Even though you know your transformed companion is impatiently awaiting you outside, you can't help but luxuriate in the cascade of hot water. Simply washing your hair feels cathartic. You linger far longer than you should, and once you're out of the shower you rush to make up for it. You leave the facility with a cheap dollar store towel wrapped around your head, your dirty clothes jammed into one plastic bag, the rest of your purchases in two others.

"What's on your helm?" Ultra Magnus inquires when you open the cab door.

His terminology stumps you for a second. "We call it a 'head'," you answer, tossing in your bags. "And it's a towel." You climb in and close the door behind you. "Thank you for stopping," you add. You figure it never hurts to show some gratitude.

"You took longer than your estimation," he says as he begins to move.

So that's what gratitude gets you. You roll your eyes. "Thanks anyway," you say, removing the towel and combing out the medium lengths of your hair with your fingers. You'd forgotten to buy a brush or comb so you work at the tangles diligently until you're satisfied, and then tie it all back into a loose, messy braid. You lean back, closing your eyes. It feels so good to be clean, both relaxing and rejuvenating, and unsurprisingly you nod off almost immediately.

You wake when he comes to a slow halt, lifting your head and peering blearily out the windshield. He's chosen another oil lease for his recharge session, this one surrounded on all sides by thick forest. It's dark. The towel you'd used on your hair is laid across your lap, still damp. When the passenger door opens, you tiredly slide out of the cab, towel in hand, and hop carefully to the ground. Ultra Magnus transforms and begins his nightly ritual of stretching, pacing, and attempting to contact his base. You make your way to the edge of the lease, where a dead poplar tree has blown partially over, its branches long and easily within reach. You drape the towel over one, hoping it'll dry over night. A glance to your left reveals the mech is still engaged in attempting to restore communications with the others of his kind. You feel kind of bad for him. You've had a taste these last few days of living life on the run and it really isn't great. You can't really imagine what it's like to be on the run, while your kind is engaged in a war, with no way to return to safety. Ultra Magnus seems to be handling the stress well, but then again, you have no idea if his kind gets stressed the way humans do. From your limited interactions with him he's proven to be the very definition of austere (as well as impatient) but maybe that's a result of his current situation. It could also just be the way he is.

He seems a bit more desperate tonight in trying to establish contact. He's trying to reach others aside from just Ratchet. You overhear him calling for Optimus, as well as an Arcee, a Wheeljack, and a Bulkhead. After watching him for a minute you decide to leave him to it. You pull up your hood and tuck your hands into your pockets before walking to the other side of the lease. You're still within earshot of the mech, but you're far enough away to give him some semblance of privacy. It's colder tonight than it has been the previous nights, but there's no wind, which is nice. You lean your head back and look up. One of the perks of rural living (one of your favorites) is that without light pollution, the night sky is absolutely stunning. This is especially true in the winter, when lower temperatures lead to clearer skies. You have an uninhibited view of the black canvas and the multitudes of stars strewn across it. You're not a professional stargazer, but you've yet to find anything as awe-inspiring as the sky above you right now, and it's easy to lose yourself into trying to find the constellations you do know (which amount to Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, and Cygnus).

The ground announces that Ultra Magnus is approaching, shaking with every step he takes. He comes to a halt at your side, looking down at you. "No luck?" you inquire sympathetically.

"No," he responds, frowning.

"Sorry," you offer. There's not much else you can say.

He doesn't respond. You didn't think he would. You return your eyes to the sky, letting silence settle between you. You break it eventually by asking curiously, "So, which one are you from?"

"My planet is not visible from Earth," he replies, confirming what you'd suspected. "But I can show you the general location, if you'd like."

You stare up at him in surprise. "Yes, please."

He leans down and extends his open a split second of hesitation you step onto his palm and hold onto the equivalent of his thumb as he lifts you slowly. When you're level with his chest he points with his other arm. "Do you see the star your astronomers have named Alpha Cygni?"

"Uh… no. Well, yes. It's part of Cygnus. I mean, I can't see it because of—" you make a fist and rap on one of his fingers, which are currently curled inward to prevent you from falling. They're large enough to impede your view of the part of the sky he's indicating, even with you standing. He glances down at you and then lifts you higher, across his chest, until you're even with his opposite shoulder.

"Climb up," he orders. "Carefully."

You do so with slow, tentative movements. An unwise peek over the side of his hand prompts a soft eep from your mouth; he's a lot taller than you realized. Finally you've managed to clamber up onto the flat expanse between his "helm" and the (in your opinion) unnecessarily large protrusions on his shoulders. It's a lot roomier than you'd thought it would be. You sit cross-legged, close enough to the edge that you have a side view of his face, but far enough that your gaze isn't unpleasantly drawn to the ground that's way too far below. Once you're settled, Ultra Magnus resumes pointing. From your new perch, you can see with some effort the star he's indicating. It helps that you're familiar with the constellation it's a part of.

"Got it," you tell him.

He moves his pointing finger up and to the right. "Delta Cygni. Do you see it?"

"Yes," you respond after a long moment. You realize he's pointing out stars within the Northern Cross. You watch as his finger drops down and to the right. "Albireo," you say, preemptively answering his question, and then add smugly, "Also known as Beta Cygni. A double star."

He turns his head slightly, eyeing you sidelong with one brow ridge raised.

"My mother was astronomer. An amateur astronomer. A hobbyist, really," you explain. "She liked to show me this stuff when I was growing up."

Ultra Magnus returns his attention to the sky. He traces the paths between the three stars with his finger, forming a triangle. "My planet," he tells you, "lies far beyond those three."

You prop your elbows on your knees and settle your chin in your hands, looking up at him in fascination. This really is incredible. You're sitting on the shoulder of an enormous maybe-mechanical life form that comes from another planet. This fact, combined with all the other new ones you've encountered over the past week, makes it feel like your life has become some kind of fever dream. Maybe it has. Questionable reality aside, you want—nay, need—to know more. "How far? How many light years are we talking?"

"Approximately 4.5."

You think on that. You're homesick and you're only several hundred kilometers from where you live. You can't even fathom being so far removed from there that it would take countless lifetimes to reach, given human limitations. "You're a long way from home," you say quietly.

"Yes." His voice is heavy.

You're seized by the sudden urge to offer him comfort and you reach out to pat him instinctively on the side of his helm before you realize what you're doing. You have the feeling he may not appreciate a human gesture of that nature, and given the fact that you've just both been civil toward each other for the longest period of time since being forced together, you're not eager to recreate the usual atmosphere of tension that tends to surround you both. Instead you bring your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them. You peer up at Ultra Magnus, noting that his eyes are still on that particular part of the sky, noting too that his expression is almost human-like in its sadness. You feel intrusive in this moment, catching a glimpse of something he most certainly doesn't wish for you to see, and so you avert your eyes, finding another part of the night's canvas familiar to you. You focus on mentally connecting the stars, unwilling to break the silence that has fallen. Minutes pass, enough time for the chill to finally penetrate the layers of your coat. You're starting to feel the cold in the tips of your fingers, and so you tuck your hands up into your sleeves.

Your movement doesn't go unnoticed. "You're cold," Ultra Magnus observes.

You shrug. "A little."

When he raises his hand, you scoot over to the edge and carefully step down onto it. In an effort to avoid vertigo during the descent, you sit down. You feel safer that way. Once you're on the ground again, you look up at him with a grateful smile. "Thank you for showing me that. It's amazing to think that you're from… well, you know."

You're utterly astonished as he smiles faintly in return. "I do know. And you're welcome."

He transforms immediately after saying that, as though trying to downplay the fact that he showed any expression other than 'stern'. The passenger side door opens, and you immediately climb up inside, eager for the warmth the interior offers.

A short time later, when you're stretched out on the seat with your coat again bundled beneath your head, Ultra Magnus poses a question. "Do you have a designation?"

It takes you a minute to sort out what he's asking. "A name?"

He makes a noise that's almost like a low hum, a sound of assent. "Yes," you reply, a little thrown. "It's…" And here you pause. Logic wars with courtesy. The polite thing to do is give him your name. The smart thing to do is to keep it to yourself, because regardless of your little zen moment earlier this evening, he's still a giant mech from another planet engaged in a war with other mechs (also presumably from another planet… or perhaps the same one?). You're ultimately hoping that once your journey is over and you're delivered to 'Agent Fowler' that you can return to life as you knew it. To that end, you have a strong suspicion that the less Ultra Magnus and all those associated with him know about you, the better.

You have to say something. You panic inwardly, blurting out the first word that comes to mind. "Earthling."

"Earthling," he repeats seriously. The way he says it lets you know that he has no idea that what you've just told him is basically a bad joke. You turn on your side, burying your face into your coat-pillow, hoping he can't see the expression on your face.

"Earthling," he says again. "I wish to assure you that once we are able to return to my base, I'll do whatever I can to influence Agent Fowler into letting you return to your home—provided we are certain it's safe."

"Thank you," you say softly and sincerely. "I really appreciate that."

He makes that sound again, that low comforting hum that sounds partially organic and partially mechanical. A short time later the lights on the dash fade off, letting you know he's entered recharge. You burrow into the seat, attempting to get comfortable, and wondering how much longer the saga of Ultra Magnus and Earthling will continue.

.x.