Chapter 14

Laurent had been up, thinking, since nearly four in the morning. He knew what he had to do. He had to do his part in getting to the bottom of the mysteries that surrounded Lilith. Granted, Optimus had made it clear that he would only have to do such a thing if he felt comfortable doing it, but Laurent knew the difference between wanting to do something and needing to do something.

Optimus wasn't even his Commanding Officer—he didn't really have one anymore—but he was a leader; a very good one. Anybody could lead an army if they were determined enough and had the right skills and tactics. But what made a leader good was the ability to connect with the soldiers being led in such a way they wouldn't question command, and to show an endless amount of strength and give courage. All qualities Optimus possessed.

And so, Laurent felt compelled to carefully consider his options. Already, he felt he knew more than the others—more than he was letting on, but he wasn't certain; not a hundred percent certain. It didn't take a genius to piece the information together, not for someone in his position, but there was a nagging voice in the back of his head taunting his should-be rational brain, saying, "You know. You just don't to think about it or admit it."

It was true. To know would mean he would have to open doors he had closed long ago—he would have to reconnect the severed ties he had so viciously cut, and he would have to, for sure, talk about his past, even if they forced him to dig it out of the grave he had put it in. Something he was not looking forward to.

However, there was a chance. There was a slim chance he could fix it. He could fix it all. He could clear their names—all of them. He didn't know where Sam's parents and friends were or even Lennox—but chances were they were all connected. If he'd had the guts to ask Sam of the dead soldiers in his and Mikaela's houses, the answer could have certainly helped them.

Laurent sat up, an epiphany hitting him like a bullet to the brain. He looked out over the yard from his spot on the small porch he'd taken perch on; Bumblebee had finally returned. For a second he thought about asking Sam that very moment on what motif the soldiers wore, but decided against it. He didn't need (or want) to ask—the certainty that came with the sudden epiphany was like an arrow of light piercing the darkness. It was so true and straight and so hard to ignore.

He, deep in his gut, knew that the woman who had held the two boys at gun point was not a foe. Stretching, he got up and started walking down the drive way. He hesitated as he neared the dormant Camaro, peeking in at the sleeping boy.

Smiling softly, he turned to more or less face Bumblebee, "I'll be back...probably by tomorrow."

"Where are you going?" The Autobot asked, keeping his voice low.

Laurent shifted his weight, rubbing the coarse facial hair that had accumulated on his face in the past week, "My house. There are supplies I want to get—and numbers I want to call to see if I can open a few old," he hesitated to make sure Lilith was still sleeping in her tree—all was clear, "military connections. Its about thirty miles northwest of here—which is why it could take me a while."

Bumblebee inched forward, "They could be watching your house."

"Oh, no, I'm sure they're watching my house. Knowing them, they got word from the guys at the station when I disappeared with you and Lilith that day. By now they know she isn't holding me hostage, so it's only logical they'd put me in league with her and place my home under surveillance."

"Maybe one of us should go with you," Bumblebee suggested after a moment. "They might ambush you. It'd be quicker."

Laurent feigned offence, "Don't think I can handle it?"

The 'bot's quipped response was spontaneous, "Well, your fleshy body is fragile, squishy, and slow compared to us."

"Point taken—you've got us with the slow and squishy, but excuse my species for not having the ability to turn into muscle cars on will." DeLuca's smile faded a little, "Seriously now. I can handle it. I'm quite skilled at stealth missions; getting into my own house without anybody seeing me won't need the advanced weaponry—or speed—of an alien robot."

A silence hung over the two before Bumblebee responded, "I don't like it, Laurent."

"Don't worry so much." He sighed, "Look, if I don't come back by tomorrow afternoon you and Ironhide and Ratchet can all come gallantly to my rescue, how's that? Now shush, don't wake the kid."

"Alright...have it your way..."

Before Bumblebee could voice any more uncertainties, Laurent was already half way to the line of trees in the northwest part of their scavenged home. After all, there wasn't any time to waste—he had to travel more or less thirty miles before he could get the supplies he needed. With any luck they hadn't removed any of his things—if they had, then the whole endeavor could have been for nothing; just an unnecessary risk...but one worth it.

The hike itself wasn't bad—he'd been on missions that required sometimes even more distance traveled on foot, only in a forest he wasn't familiar with. If he could keep a quick pace, he could be home by noon and back to HQ by that night. He could have taken his time; there was no reason to keep up a quick, steady pace, but he wanted to make it quick—for a few reasons. The first being that he liked putting his abilities to the test, and the second being that he wanted to be there for her...for them if anything should happen.

"It'd sure be nice to have a horse right about now," he mumbled, tripping over an unearthed root in the dark, "or night vision goggles. I'd settle for that. Ohhh...a nice juicy burger—God damn it! Don't think about it!"

It was a good thing, in his opinion, that his complaints were only half-hearted. Given the circumstances and his attire—regular police shoes weren't hiking boots—he had some room to complain, but not much.

Daylight soon spread over the treetops, like warm, comforting fingers—that meant the end to clumsily tripping on the landscape. Every so often Laurent would rest and drink from—should he find one—a creek before continuing on with renewed rigor.

Time seemed to miraculously fly as he almost mindlessly made his way; winding through the trees, hurdling the obstacles that littered the woodland floor. Before he even knew where he was, he was mentally going through the most logical strategies the soldiers—if there were soldiers on site—would be following.

His house was on a hill, over looking a dell pleasant to look out at when the sun was at its lowest points on the horizon, and behind his home, past his back yard and garden, was a steep slope composed mainly of rock that had been bound by mesh fence to prevent rockslides. There was a medium sized shed near his garden. The house itself was raised on stilts with only one room (which happened to be the bathroom) and a loft where he slept. The kitchen was small but adequate. Outside was a large porch that surrounded the house, perfect for taking in the view the location had to offer.

There would be at least one hidden soldier on the cliffs behind his house, keeping an eye on everything from a safe, concealed distance. There would be sentries in camouflage patrolling the perimeter, fairly spread out—at least one to each corner of the yard, and probably more in the woods surrounding.

This in mind, once Laurent began to recognize the area as the land around his property, he began to climb up the hill, planning to get surveillance on the overhead scouts. As suspected, once he had reached his intended look out, there was one soldier he could see, exactly where he had envisioned him. Before taking action, he scanned the surrounding rock walls and treetops for anything—anybody—that might have escaped his attention.

Laurent moved. His steps—each movement—was steady and silently fluid enough to blend in with any breeze that swayed the trees around him. He watched as his target swept the landscape below him with binocular-aided vision. He was so close he could almost hear the guy breathing.

At last the soldier began to turn. Whether he sensed someone there or he heard the pebbles and dust under his shoes grinding together under his pressure, Laurent didn't take the opportunity to ponder—he lunged. Before the man could make a sound, he found his throat surrounded by an arm—his nose and mouth covered by his attacker's other hand as he was pulled away from the cliff edge.

His legs kicked, his lungs screaming for air, his heart pounding in his chest, and adrenaline levels high, but no matter how strong his survival instinct was it simply could not overpower his assailant. In moments, darkness spread over him and his body fell limp.

Laurent cocked an eyebrow and removed the Ghillie suit from the man he had subdued and proceeded to do the same with his MultiCam BDU and body armor. He actually felt a little bad for the soldier—to be robbed of his clothes in the middle of an assault had to be horrible on his dignity. Not to mention the sort of comments he would receive off-duty.

Though, if he had to do it all over again, he wouldn't change a thing. After all, while he was good at being stealthy, the blue police uniform wouldn't make sneaking around easy.

Feeling more equipped to carry out his task, he covered the soldier in his Ghillie suit and tucked his police uniform in an adequately sized crack in the rocks. For five minutes Laurent lay in his unconscious victim's previous spot, binoculars in hand, watching the movements the sentries made on ground level. For the most part it was standard routine patrolling—though there were a few stationary men with scope-mounted rifles keeping watch over what were probably preplanned locations. For the most part it had been as he had imagined it before he even set foot on his property, but with ground snipers.

'These guys are really hopin' to catch me...' He mused as he continued to study their patterns. Once he felt he knew their patrols well enough, he began his descent back down the way he came, always creeping slowly and silently, as he was trained to do.

The first soldier he neared was four yards away and closing—Laurent crouched down behind a tree he knew the soldier would stop near and waited. He was slipping into a frame of mind he was no stranger to: calm, with no fear, no uncertainty; only precision, skill and the ability to improvise if his mission went afoul. As the man walked closer with rifle in hand, he had no idea what was about to hit him.

Just seconds after the soldier stopped to survey the area around him a hand clamped around his mouth, another taking hold of the weapon in hand, and he was pulled backwards. There was the briefest of moments where he saw his assailant's face before his world went spinning. On his back, staring up, the last thing he saw was the butt of his own rifle smashing into his head.

With the assault executed, he cleaned his mess up by dragging the man behind a shrub, where he'd be less likely found. So he continued onward to the next soldier he'd spotted from above—one of the soldiers with the scope-mounted rifles, hiding on the ground in the cover of foliage.

As with the soldier before, he slowly and quietly crept up on the man laying prone on the earth, as he scanned the premises for a man he had no idea was about to make his day go from unpleasant to flat out bad. The unsuspecting soldier was struck on the base of his skull with his comrade's stolen weapon. The only sound made, aside from the blow itself, was the grunt the man made before his vision faded to black.

That soldier was left there. Should a patrolman walk by and see the soldier missing from his stationary post, inquiries would be brought up. But if the man's body was there, like it should be there was a less of a chance of being detected...Laurent only hoped no one tried talking to him—the outcome of that scenario was more than obvious.

He was already nestled inside the cornstalks and sunflowers of his garden when the next soldier mad his appearance—or rather her appearance. Laurent let out a barely audible sigh out through his nose then prowled closer to her from behind. He hesitated when she was just within reaching distance; taking out a woman the same way he'd been disposing of the rest of the soldiers just didn't feel right to him.

The soldier in him was telling him to just hit the chick and continue but the rest of him was saying "what the hell are you thinking, boy?"

He frowned, and then smiled. He would give her a chance. "Hey beautiful," he purred in her ear. She rounded on him with speed he hadn't quite been expecting, but none the less grabbed her weapon before she could open fire or make noise and with the butt of his rifle he hit her in the abdomen. She staggered backwards a little before landing roughly on her knees, gasping for air. Laurent maneuvered behind her and wrapped his arm around her neck, intending to block her air supply off until she passed out.

"Sorry kiddo." He whispered as she grabbed at his arm. When her form fell limp he loosened his grip around her throat and pulled her into the flora he'd been hiding in.

From that moment on, if his calculations were accurate, he would be allowed to sneak inside his house without being detected. So he ran, keeping low until he reached the trellis wound around the outer support beams that kept his house up. The stairs were just around the corner. Slowly, listening, his gun at the ready, he stalked to the corner, pausing only to make sure he was clear, and with wide strides was up the stairs and pressed against his house.

He took a moment to look through one of the windows and make sure it was empty before slowly sneaking around to his back door. Slowly, he opened it, praying the window wouldn't rattle—the door was old didn't open or close as gracefully as most new doors did.

Luckily, he was skilled enough to get it opened with minimal amount of noise, and was inside before any of the soldiers left conscious knew there had been a perimeter breach. The house had obviously been scavenged: chairs turned over, papers were scattered all over the house, his mattress had been half knocked off his bed, and drawers had been thoroughly rummaged through, contents strewn around on the floor.

Ignoring the mess his house had been turned into, he went straight for the loft his bed was on. He set his weapon down and climbed up on his bedside table, steadying himself with the ceiling with one arm before—

Crack!

His fist broke through the ceiling, sending a rain of splinters down on him. The boards in the spot he'd punched through had been specifically designed to be thin—easy to punch through for this exact occasion. He'd always been afraid his past would come back, and so he prepared for it as soon as he had gotten away from it.

Once he'd broken through the barrier he blindly reached around until his hand grasped a bag big enough to hold what he needed but small enough to carry on his back without lowering his maneuverability too much...

Because the rest of his things were definitely going to hinder his movement.

In addition to the numbers and supplies he'd packed in his bag, he had an ulterior motive for returning to his home: he wanted his guns. His handy-dandy police issue weapon was great and all...but it was time to load up on a wider range of artillery.

However, the only weapon he had in his house with his "OSHT" bag (and, yes, the acronym was relevant) was a gun not very different than the gun he wore with his police uniform—only more customized and with a silencer...though the silencer was a very welcome addition to his equipment. The rest of his weapons—the bigger ones—were in a hidden cache in the hills, where only he could find it. He would have to go after them a little later.

With everything he needed together and with him, he decided not to waste any time in making his escape. He paused at his back door, planning to escape back through his garden and up the hills to where he put his uniform. The coast was clear. Slowly, keeping as quiet as he could, he stepped out of his house and slinked back along the porch, aiming for the stairs—

The pain was there before he even saw his attacker. Three hard blows to the abdomen and a fourth to his face sent blotches of black fading in and out of his vision.

Lovins go out to: Razorgaze, and hermonine

Sorry it took so long to update guys. As always, thanks for the support, and I'm happy to know you like my work. Hmmm. I'm thinking about re-writing the summary for this story but o.O have no idea what it should be.

Note: My info comes from wikipedia so it may not be acurate, but here it is: A Ghillie suit is a sort of camouflage blanket/cloak thing snipers make out of their surroundings. BDU stands for Battle Dress Uniform. MultiCam is the camouflage used by Lennox's team in the movie. Its really neat—it blends in with most surroundings—urban, forest, desert, mountain—hehe go check it out if you're into things like that.

hermonine – Hehe thank you! Sorry this wasn't updated as soon as I would have liked. I "ran away" from home and was stuck with a friend who didn't have internet.

Razorgaze – Omg . I was so nervous writing that scene between Bee and Sam—I didn't want people to think it was something more than just a deep friendship. Oh, I totally understand. Trust me, if I didn't have these chapters already written it'd take me MUCH longer than a week to get a full chapter up—simply because it takes me a while to bridge my important events together. It's important to make sure you're satisfied with what you've written before you post it n.n and I'm willing to wait as long as needed for your next chapter.