Sparks

A/N: Sorry about the long time between updates, life has been… well life. Between work, fundraising for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (Please help! I am so near my 25% by the 28th goal but have come to a stop! The link should be on my FF page.), Training for a Marathon (up to 13 miles now!) Normal Dr. Appointments, meetings, classes etc… I am trying really hard to get these out in some kind of timely manner.

A/N 2: This was one of my favorite chapters to write! I had so much fun writing it, I was hard pressed not to grin the entire time. I had very little luck in the matter and since I was at a table in the middle of a restaurant (I write best outside my home) I got quite a few strange looks. Anyways, on with the story!

Sparks

Chapter Eleven: Good Day Gone Bad

Seymour Simmons was whistling as he got off the commercial Boeing 747 owned by Continental Airlines. He normally would have taken a private jet, but there wasn't one available at the time he wanted to leave, so he settled for first class. He was in an exceptionally good mood so this did not bother him as much as it normally would have.

Passengers passed him giving him glares that would kill if such a thing were possible, suggesting that Simmons had clearly made himself known on the seven hour flight from Washington DC (with a brief plane switch in Houston.) to Las Vegas, Nevada. He did not notice the glares however or if he did he cheerfully ignored them. Still whistling a tune made up in his mind as he went along, he made his way through long hall after hall, occasionally catching a moving side walk to speed things up, following the signs stating: Baggage Claim This Way. 

Fighting the crowds, he maneuvered himself to the front of the group waiting for bags. The giant machine was not even moving yet; as his whistling got louder, people drifted away from him in annoyance. Finally after waiting a good ten minutes; the carousel began to move, a flashing red light and loud siren warning people to steer clear.

Simmons felt the first bit of annoyance when his bag was not the first to come flying down the ramp. Bag after bag, of every shape, size and color flew down the moving ramp, slamming into the wall of the circling Carousel then moved along in a circle waiting to be picked up by its owner. Simmons tensed up when the bags stopped coming down. A red trunk with a dozen bumper stickers from different states passed by for the twelfth time, then there was a loud rumble and finally, Simmons giant green army bag that had cost him twice the normal fee to bring on the plane rolled down. A large S7 stitched in red on the right side. Simmons grinned at the logo and looked around only to find he was standing all alone.

Grabbing his bag he hauled it off the carousel and let it fall to the floor with a very loud bang. It was times like this that he was thankful he had bought the bag with wheels. It had been a close one though, when he had been bag shopping he had to fight a little old lady who wanted it for her great grandson. But he had been searching for a bag like this one for nearly four hours at store after store ad it was HIS! He won the fight, obviously and the memory often made him smile.

Grabbing the handle of the bag, he rolled it to the front where he found a Private waiting for him with a white erasable board with his last name written on it in black neat handwriting. The Private looked extremely board out of his mind and not just a little ticked off that he had drawn the short straw when it came to who would pick up Simmons. It was probably for the best however, everyone else wanted to kill the man for not telling anyone about that boy. Private Toebar had only ever passed the kid once, he had never met him so he didn't really care all that much.

Simmons stepped up to the Army Private and nodded. Toebar sighed in relief that this duty was almost over before turning around and walked out of the automatic glass doors directly behind him. Simmons blinked in shock; the Private didn't even take his bag for him! His superior officer would be hearing about this. Lifting the bag once again with a grunt, he walked quickly after the Private.

The ride back was made in silence until they got within a mile of the first check point. This was when Toebar decided to warn the man he was driving as to exactly what they were driving in too.

"You might want to lay low for awhile when we get to base." Toebar spoke for the first time, startling Simmons who was starting to think that the man was a mute.

"Excuse me?" Simmons asked loudly, clear disbelief in his voice.

"Sir, the entire base is considering you the enemy right now. Apparently there is something about that boy, Sam something. Anyways no one knew where he was and someone heard he was dead; there was a memorial service and everything. Then the kid shows up at the base seemingly straight from the grave, spouting something about an upcoming attack by all Deceptacon forces… So supposedly you were supposed to tell the Autobot leader about Sam's whereabouts…" Toebot stopped as he looked into the rearview mirror at the very pale face of Seymour Simmons.

"They thought Sam was dead? Optumus is not even supposed to be back yet! Memorial? Are you kidding me? And…wait…attack?!? Simmons almost stuttered out in a choke.

"Yeah, the entire base is on full alert. Massive shipments of weapons and tanks have been coming in all day. Something about all the enemies together, I don't know much; just that the inventory has been giving me migraines." He stopped talking again at what sounded like full on chocking from the back seat.

"Why wasn't I informed about this?"

"I don't know, sir. Were approaching the first check point, you might want to get your ID out." This only got him a glare, but the man got his ID out anyways.

"They pulled up to the first check point in time to see Private Andrew Ericson let out a mammoth sized yawn. Fifteen minutes, that's all he had left of this shift and then it was back to base for him. He could not wait to re-familiarize himself with his bed, even if it was really more of a cot then a bed, He was normally so tired when he laid down in it that it could have been a spot on the floor and he would longed for it.

Blinking he looked at the approaching military standard plain black car pulling in to his check point. Noting the make, model and license place number in the log he found it was one of there's returning. The car pulled in smoothly and Ericson looked into the dimmed windows as they started to roll down. With not much thought, he took there ID's and passes.

Private Toebot, Army

Seymour Simmons, Agent, Contact for US Military

Specialist, Live On Base Access, …

Ericson stopped reading before looking at the name again. Simmons…Simmons…wait! Ericson looked back at the man sitting in the back seat and glared at him. Ericson continued to glare at the man through out the entire process, something Simmons noticed but wisely chose to ignore. After the car was cleared and began to leave Ericson quickly picked up the phone.

"Tommy! You still there?" Ericson asked looking at the clock that read two minutes after he was supposed to be relieved, he looked around and saw no sign of his relief. He rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, my relief is almost here. What's going on?" Private Thomas Freehill asked with a yawn of his own.

"Dude! You'll never believe who just came through!" Ericson exclaimed. Thommy had a foreboding since of daja-vu.

"Eric, man, where not doing that again are we? There are no such things as ghost!" Besides we proved that Sam was very much alive."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm not talking about ghosts here. The man who started all of this is on his way to your check point right now." Ericson stated.

"What? Seriously? Simpson or whatever his name is?" Tommy asked.

"Simmons, and yeah! Give him hell!" Ericson exclaimed. He spotted the jeep with this relief coming up in the distance.

"Great, here he comes, over and out." Tommy quickly let his relief know that he would take this last one before being relieved. He already had a glare on his face when the car pulled up.

Simmons stepped out of the car after the longest most aggravating series of check points he had ever encountered. The moment the trunk popped open he had his bag out and was quickly walking towards his quarters, a small room just outside the hanger, his whistled tune long forgotten along with his good mood. He could not even remember why he had been in a good mood to begin with. Seven steps to his door, his keys were out and ready. Six, five, four…" A giant foot stepping in front of his door stopping him short. He silently cursed before looking up, and up, and up to the point he almost fell backwards on his back to see who was blocking him form his home. His breath caught in his chest, Optimus Prime.