Dont own, don't own, don't own!
They were once again speeding down the streets of Tranquillity, a convoy of very impressive vehicles which, if one was to look closely enough, only one of had a driver. The snazzy yellow Camaro took point this time, bringing two of the teens to their home. They pulled into a side alley and the three teens got out.
"Five minutes, all right?" Sam called, his eyes on the Peterbilt, who flashed his lights on in response. Nodding slightly, Sam turned and followed Miles, darting into the garden. He sprinted across the lawn, coming to a stop behind Miles, who stood at the backdoor, riffling through his pockets and cursing under his breath. Sam absentmindedly scratched Storm's head, who whined nervously, pressing his nose into his palm, steering it towards the fence, behind which the Bots hid.
"What are you waiting for?" he hissed, glancing at his watch.
"I can't find the damn keys!" Miles snapped back.
"What?"
"They must have fallen out when we were eluding the crazed cop!"
Snarling a curse under his breath, Sam turned to see Mikeala standing behind him, hands on her hips, and the transformed Autobots standing in his garden.
"Jeeze- goddamn ninja bots" the slim teen growled under his breath, blowing his bangs from his eyes, ignoring Ironhide's 'blink' and Jazz's sudden laughter. Stepping away from the backdoor, he let his gaze roam over the house, searching for a way in. Realising that he couldn't find one, he decided to make one, and so turning and pulling his sleeve down over his wrist, he moved towards the kitchen window and pulled his arm back. His fist flew towards it the window, intending to smash it open. Ignoring Mikeala's soft protest, his fist was merely centimetres from the glass pane when he froze mid-swing, jerking his arm back sharply.
"Wait-I left my window open." Spinning around, he once again locked eyes with the Prime, stepping forward a bit.
"Can you give us a boost?"
Nodding, Optimus spread his palm, allowing the three teens to clamber on. As he lifted them gently, Mikeala grasped Sam's arm tightly, her face stark white. Miles didn't seem to be fairing much better, he was standing at the edge of the palm, his own hand resting over his gun, body tensed for fight or flight, ready to shoot the hand that carried them if it made any sudden movements, or jump from it, knowing he'd be fine as he had survived bigger drops than two storeys. Sam however, stood at the centre of the hand and met Miles' confused glance with own of his own. By all rights, he should be worse off than Miles', hell, he shouldn't even be here in the first place, and he should have shot his guardian the moment he stood up. But something about the large metallic aliens called him, like a light magnetic pull, and standing in the centre of the NBE's palm, who could easily crush them by only flexing his fingers, he had never felt safer. Exhaling lightly, he wonder if he was truly loosing it as he followed Miles off the hand when it came close beside his open widow, helping Mikeala jump the small gap. He turned to look Optimus in the optics and gave him a tiny smile.
"Thanks"
Sam flicked on the light and pointed Mikeala over to the shelves that lined one side of his room. "Check over there, me and Miles are going to check downstairs."
She nodded in confirmation and both boys turned and slipped out the door and down the stairs. Sam was halfway down when he realised Miles was staring at him from the top step with a worried expression across his face. Without having to ask, he knew what was on his brother's mind, and nodded slightly, confirming that he too had become conscious of the real identity of NBE-1.
"What are we going to do?" Miles whispered, and Sam was struck at just how young he looked. He was only seventeen by a few weeks, but that wasn't the only thing that made him seem young. Miles wasn't like Sam, he had had a childhood. His mother died at his birth and his dad hadn't wanted to know, but Melissa raised him like her own for seven and a half years. He was able to play pretend when Sam had been on solo missions, gotten a kiss to a scraped knee when Sam was sent to the sterile, cold med-bay, woke from nightmares about monsters under the bed with a hug when Sam had to lie awake, staring at the ceiling for hours upon end. When he started his training, Sam taught him the ropes. When they went on missions, Sam tried his damn hardest to take hits for him. Hell, when he was escaping HQ, Sam stayed behind to buy him more time. Even though the age gap between the two was less than a few months, Sam was like a much older brother who would do anything for his sibling, and, if he was brutally honest, he babied him. He had promised Melissa that he would look after Miles and he would be damned if he saw another child forced to be an emotionless, husk of a shell, Elite.
Retracing a few steps, he placed a hand on Miles' arm, offering silent comfort and an almost tangible
'It will all work out'
Miles stared hard into Sam's eyes, looking for a hint of deception. When he found none, he relaxed slightly, his breath flying out of his mouth with a soft woosh! and a look of confidence taking place on his face. Nodding slightly at him, Sam turned and continued down the stairs, very conscious of the time trickling away.
With each step he took, the niggling feeling that he was forgetting something grew in the back of Sam's mind. It was only when he was two steps from the bottom that he froze, coming to a jarring stop and causing Miles to stop and look at him in confusion.
"What was that thing they were looking for? The Allspark?" Lightning questioned harshly, his eyes flashing, mind suddenly going 300 light years a minute, breath hitching slightly in panic.
Miles eyed his brother oddly and answered, "Yeah, why?"
"What was the other thing they called it?"
"What, the Cube?"
Suddenly, Miles also froze, and the two dishonoured Elites stared at one another, eyes wide and mouths parted slightly. Miles shook his head slightly, as if denying it would make it false.
"No. No Way. No. NO"
Shaking his head, Sam darted around the corner and into the kitchen, flicking on the light and trying desperately to focus on the now and not the oh shit oh shit oh shit that was floating around his head. Miles shadowed him, his lips moving soundlessly as he mouthed ideas for getting into headquarters, only to end up with Bots on ice, Mikeala either being forced into S-7 or 'disappearing', himself forced to take part in Elite missions and Sam's mangled, dead body every time. They moved in silence, until Sam gave a strangled cry of victory and plucked the glasses case from the fruit bowl. His eyes lingered on the glasses panes, holding them up to the light, honing in on the tiny lines and warps in the glass that at first seemed like scratches to the untrained eye, but now that Sam knew what he was looking for, the glyphs were so oblivious that he could have kicked himself for not studying them more intently. Handling them as if they would crumble if they were moved to quickly, he pressed them into Miles' hand and jerked his head to the back door. Miles' followed his soundless order, moving immediately to the window, his hand skimming the top of the cabinets in search for the spare key.
As Lightning dashed up the stairs, the lights flickered, before a booming crash echoed from outside and the house plunged into darkness. He was in his room in a heartbeat and had crossed it with his gun pointing out the window before the next, expecting to see the lawn swarming with agents, only to find the medic sprawled on the ground, arms and legs askew, tangled up in still sparking wires.
"Wow, that was tingly"
The question never made it past his lips as the Prime turned to look at him apologetically, and Sam simply couldn't be bothered asking.
That's definitely not something I've been trained for, He thought with a snort, how to deal with overcharged NBE Medics.
"Okay, we got the glasses, Miles is getting a spare key to unlock the back door, he'll meet you out there and-"he suddenly cut himself off, his eyes truly taking in the state of the lawn. "-did you step on my fountain?"
Suddenly, his optics darted down to the ruined fountain, then back to Sam. "Opps, my bad?" Optimus ventured embarrassedly.
Sam went to speak several times, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish, before eventually making a slashing gesture through the air, signifying the end of the conversation. He turned back to Mikeala, still shaking his head disbelievingly, slipping his gun back in his pocket. "Come on Mik-"
His words died in his throat as his gaze fell on the smooth wooden box in her hands, then flicked up to meet her own shocked one...
She moved over to the shelves, pulling random astrology books out of the way and pushing aside some papers, her fingertips trailing across the different items until they skimmed a smooth oak box, about the size of a shoebox. Thinking Sam could have put the glasses in there for safe keeping, the girl pulled it down and sat on the surprisingly made bed, tracing the top of it. Outlined across the top was a name. Judy, and a border of twisting veins and leaves surrounded it. Prising it open, Mikeala expected the glasses, a few bits and bobs, even a few, ahem, 'special' pictures.
That wasn't what she found.
The box was filled with photographs of a young family. A man and woman, late thirties at most, a little girl, about eight, and finally a little boy, no more than six at the very most. The little boy was so strange, so unfamiliar, so different that it was only the name scrawled in feminine script that told her who it was.
Me, Ron, Sophie and Sam, August 1993.
Sam. Mikeala's mouth fell open in shock as she tried to line up the pictures of the bright eyed three year old and the seemingly untouchable seventeen year old. It took a few minutes, but she soon began to see.
He had his mother's eyes. Not the colour, but the shape. And his mother's hair colour. He had his father's nose and lips though, and, if she looked and thought hard enough, his smile. His sister was more like his father, with curly brown hair and deep brown eyes.
Mikeala riffled through some more of the photo's, only to pause slightly when she felt something heavy. Lifting the top layer of photos, she came across a small bottler, no bigger than a hipflask, half-full with a clear liquid. Quickly unscrewing the lid, she sniffed, jerking back in surprise at the sharp, burning smell of vodka. Her eyes widened and her fingers trembled slightly as she sealed it. She flipped through some more layers, until she came to a long thin box, like the type you would get a watch in. She opened it, and honestly stopped breathing for a second at the sight of the needle inside. The box closed with a large snap! and she tried hastened to bury it once more, only for her fingers to brush over a cold, smooth piece of metal. With a feeling of dread clenching in her stomach, she uncovered a small, thin blade, something that resembled a letter opener and she would have passed it without a thought, if it wasn't for the small splash of rusty red-brown near the hilt. Finger trembling, she shoved it under the layers of photographs, trying to cover it up as the house plunged into darkness...
Snap!
He slammed the lid down, and, not meeting her eyes, pulled the box from her hands and leaned down, pulling a large metal box out from under his bed, and threw it in. He rose fluidly and this time met her gaze dead on, not a hint of emotion in his eyes, feeling the questions she hadn't voice, but was practically screaming, but ignoring them firmly, unable to meet her heartbroken face.
She had never spent days feeling like nothing more than a numb shell, with only that flash of pain telling her she was still alive. She had never spent nights were she would be stuck in a never-ending flashback of that cold, dark, cramped room, alone, abandoned and unwanted, with only the haze of narcotics being able to numb the memory. Or even mornings waking up, when she had dreamed all night of a burning world, were only the softening of alcohol could cushion the blow.
He didn't bother telling her he had been clean since he was sixteen. Because she had been there with Miles when they found him laying in a pool of his own blood, scattered bottles around him and his lips turning blue.
He didn't bother telling her he hadn't drank in binges like that since his own personal rehab. Their tear stained faces, their arms cradling their shattered brother as he poured his heart out to them.
He didn't bother telling her he hadn't truly hurt himself from his seventeenth birthday, that he was healing, slowly, but surely. He promised never again. Only the odd drink once a month, went through the killer withdrawals as he stopped cold turkey, but still putting a blade to his arm when it all became too much.
"I thought you had stopped." Heartbreak, fear, sibling love.
"I have." Guilt, anger, weakness.
She reached out and gently pushed up the sleeve on his arm, fingers tracing the old, thin scars and the newer, shaky ones. There was a second of silence, and he wrenched his arm away, trying to shove away the feeling of weakness that spread through him.
He jerked his head to the door and she rose silently, unable to meet his eyes and passed him, leading the way down the stairs and into the kitchen to where Miles was fiddling with a key chain of about forty keys, attempting to get one of them into the stubborn lock.
So distracted they were, they failed to notice that the Autobots had gone suddenly deathly quiet.
Rap Rap Rap Rap.
Someone knocked insistently on the door. Mikeala waited for a second, but when neither of the boys moved, she left the kitchen and made her way into the hall, riffling through drawers to find the front door keys.
"What are we going to do?" Lightning hissed under his breath to Miles, clasping his dagger tightly, eyes flashing with a small, almost hidden sliver of fear.
"I have no idea" Blaze admitted, his own terror making his voice pitch slightly.
"How the Pit are we going to get them onto HQ? In fact, never mind them, how the Pit will we get into HQ?" Lightning murmured under his breath, finger tracing the granite counter absentmindedly, sketching a plan of HQ from memory across it. Blaze shrugged once more, his own thoughts racing at the mere thought of being anywhere near that place again. Coming to the last few keys he suddenly froze when Lightning's hand was painfully tight on his shoulder and his lips was to his ear.
"Is it just me," he whispered coldly, his eyes staring straight out the window, "Or has it suddenly got very, very quiet"
A beam of light, similar to a torchlight, cut through the darkness of the kitchen. Both Lightning and Blaze dropped to the ground and rolled in opposite directions, Blaze to the backdoor and Lightning to the kitchen. Blaze pressed a finger to his lips and brought his hands up to where they were invisible to the agents outside, but visible to Lightning. He spread his left hand flat, and placed his right fist on top of the back of his hand, flaring his fingers out suddenly.
'How many?' He signed over, as Lightning had the clear vantage point to see out the window. He received four fingers turned up.
'Four. Okay, four we can take-' Blaze's embarrassingly optimistic thought were cut off when Lightning scanned the darkened garden through the window, made a sharp gesture and tapped on the back of his right hand twice with two fingers from the left, then held up three fingers.
Thirteen.
Plans flew through Blaze's mind, his eyes far away as he brought the birds-eye view of the Witwicky family house to the front of his mind, possible exit paths snaking through the house and surrounding lawn, only to disappear when Lightning made another sharp gesture.
Four taps on the back of his right hand, then one finger held up. His left thumb and index finger made a circle against the back of his right hand. His right hand then curled into a fist and thumped against the back of his left, then flattened out, sliding across his hand.
Twenty-one. Surrounded. Stay low.
Blazed manoeuvred his way across the kitchen floor, ducking down low to avoid being seen and joined Lightning at the kitchen door.
"Plan?" he breathed into his ear, reaching behind the wall that divided the kitchen and living room, pulling open a well used drawer and snagging a few boxes of bullets and experimental gadgets from it.
"Up the stairs, into the attic. Out the top window. Hit the ground running and don't look back. If separated, rendezvous at Lookout. Aim to injure, deadly force if necessary. No diversions." The Elite Alpha ordered sharply, loading his gun and grabbing a few jade cubes from Blaze's grasp. When thrown, the cubes would expand rapidly and explode, not enough to injure anyone, but enough distract. Blaze nodded and, with a soft, "go", both Elite's shot from their hiding space, darting across the kitchen like twin shadows and into the hall. They were on the first step of the stairs when they heard it.
Rap Rap Rap Rap.
"I heard you the first time, give me a second!" Mikeala demanded irritably. Sam and Miles came to an abrupt stop and glanced at one another in horrified realization. They had slipped back into their Elite persona, and as Elite's, they only ever had to worry about their partner.
They had forgotten Mikeala.
Swivelling around on their heels, they were momentarily blinded by the sudden return of the lights. Blinking the stars from their eyes, they skidded into the front hall; just a Mikeala was putting the key into the lock.
"Mikeala NO!-"
"-Don't open the!-"
Too late.
They jerked back, hidden by the corner as Mikeala opened the door and looked up into the impassive face of Seymour Simmons.
"Yes?"
"Miss Mikeala Banes?" Mikeala jerked at the mention of her name, immediately going onto defence.
"Yeah. Who are you?"
"We're the government. Sector Seven." The greying man flashed a shiny silver badge at her, and the hackles on the back of her neck rose. She peered at the badge itself, gazing at the symbol in the middle and was unable to shake the idea that sheen had seen it before somewhere. Snapping out of her daze, she met his blank stare, eyes narrowed.
"Never heard of it."
"Never will" he shot back.
He stepped a little closer to the door, his own eyes narrowed. "May I enter the premises, ma'm? Seeing as you are trespassing on private property, I really don't see any way you can refuse, so thank you." He sneered at her as he pushed past her, followed by three other men in black suits.
"What are you talking about, I was invited here by a friend. This is his house" She spat back, arms crossed tightly as he smirked and laugh coldly. His eyes flicked to the sofa and round the room, taking in the pictures of the Witwicky's in slight puzzlement. 'Why would they still be up with a bunch of squatters here?' he mused to himself, before shaking himself out of his distraction.
"I highly doubt that. Get me a sample and some isotope readings." The first part was at Mikeala, they second directed to the goons flanking him, who nodded and moved outside.
"We need to talk to your 'friend'. We think he's involved in a national security matter."
"National security?" Trying to hide the rising panic in her chest, Mikeala raised an eyebrow at him incredulously, then lurched away when he produced a small torch out of thin air and flashed it into her eyes.
"Are you experiencing any flu-like symptoms? Aching joints? Fever?" he fired off the questions rapidly, giving her almost no time to respond.
"What, no!"
Ignoring her outburst, Simmons grabbed her arm in not a painful, but still tight hold. "Okay miss, you're coming with me-"
"Hey, get your hands off me!"
"That's enough, now come-"
"Get your hands off her."
Simmons froze, allowing Mikeala to wiggle out of his now-slack hold and dash over to Sam and Miles, who quickly converged in front of her, blocking her from view. Silence blanketed the room as the two teens stared down Simmons, both parties refusing to look away. Simmons' eyes flickered over Miles, only slightly surprised to see him there. When S-7 had got the transmission to his phone, they had been sure Blaze was involved somehow, and were almost expecting him to be at the house, thus the reason for added security.
It was Lighting he couldn't look away from. His chin was raised, the scar that tore down from his eye was now faded to a long, thin white line that curved under said chin. He was still slim and small and even though he was dressed in civilian clothing, Simmons could still see the aura of power he had carried with him when he wore his mask and cloak, telling him that he was still as up-to-date with his Elite skills as the day he had 'died'. Their eyes met and he could see the defiance in his eyes, the glint of protectiveness for both the girl and his partner there. Agent Riley slipped through the still-open door, moved to Simmons side and whispered in his ear,
"I think direct con...tact..."
Riley trailed off at the sight of the widely believed dead, dishonoured Elite. His mouth opened and closed as he grasped his gun, ready to pull it out at the first sign of movement.
"But-but that, that's-"
"What's going on? How do they know you?" Mikeala whispered into Sam's ear, hands trembling slightly. What the two tarnished Elites did next shocked the agents into silence once more.
Sam relaxed his shoulder, though his eyes were still tight, and pulled a very convincing confused expression across his face.
"I have no idea." He admitted, still sounding very unsure. "I mean, these guys are from the government, I'm just a civilian." He shrugged his shoulder, hands spread, but his eyes still locked with the agents. Play along, they whispered. And for some reason, not understanding why, they did.
"Yeah guys, what's with the Men-In-Black getup? Ohhh, do you want us to look at a flashing silver stick?" Miles laughed, also playing along with Sam's plan, his own emotions locked behind his blank eyes.
"S-Step forward son." Simmons muttered, lifting up the Geiger counter, not at all surprised when it suddenly screamed 14 Rads.
"Fourteen Rads. Tag them and bag them." He whispered, dark brown eyes never moving from Sam's electrical blue.
Riley mumbled something into his PADD and suddenly, as if he had conjured them up, two more men in black stood behind him. They had the now increasingly common look of stupefied shock as they regarded the two boys, but were quickly snapped out of it with Riley's bark of a command.
Mathews moved forward, pausing slightly as he moved past Sam, making sure to never turn his back on him. He paused once more when he came face-to-face with Miles, who still stood in front of the girl motionlessly, arms folded and wired tightly, ready to spring into action. Their eyes locked, and Mathews could see the hard, unflinching promise in them.
You will regret this.
Their gazes broke when Blaze's flicked to Lightning. The Alpha turned away from Simmons and gave a small, barely noticeable slow nod and the Beta followed, moving slightly to the side, allowing the agent to handcuff the girl.
"Miles? Sam? what's-"
"Don't worry 'keala," Sam soothed the confused and scared girl, his eyes warm and honest, "everything will turn out okay." He promised, sending a chill of foreboding up the agents' spines.
Jacobs moved next slowly approaching Blaze. The blonde Elite stared him down unflinchingly, then turned his back on him, wrists pressed together. The agent snapped the cuffs on, and turned him, leading him to the door and over to the other agent and his charge, watching every move the blonde made warily, waiting for the attack that wasn't going to come.
Finally, Riley approached Lightning. The teen watched him with bored eyes as the agent moved forward, smirking when he hesitated. Steeling his nerve, Riley moved around and quickly handcuffed the infamous Elite, one of his hands pressing into the small of Lightning's back, the other grasping his hair tightly. With a still dumbstruck nod, Simmons took point, leading the three out.
The agents and chiefs stiffened when Blaze's closed off face came into view, hands flying to PADDs, about to spread the news, whispers breaking out like wildfire among them. Miles smirked to himself as both he and Mikeala were pushed into one of the SUV's.
Three...
Two...
One...
Silence.
Shocked, confused, horrified silence clogged the S-7 workers as Lightning was led from the house. It was years since they last saw his face, but when he looked up, that scar and those burning, hellfire eyes seared them, consolidating it to them that the most infamous, dangerous Elite S-7 had ever seen was in fact alive. No-one moved, no-one spoke, no-one even breathed until the copper-haired teen smirked at them, eyes challenging them to say something.
The moment he did, the silence shattered.
The agents that had froze burst into action, hands darting to weapons, covering Sam in what seemed like hundreds of tiny red dots, while other hands flew to wrists and the whisper was echoed, both outside the house, up and down the street, back to HQ and to every Elite on a mission around the world.
"He's alive. Lightning survived the storm."
