Thank you so much to the brilliant and loyal reviewers of the last chapter who remind me why I keep writing. Oh yeah, sure, I write because I love it, but I write here because you love it. I'll always be here so long as you guys are. ^_^ Thank you a billion times over to femme4jack, Ciel Celeste, Dazja, Faecat, Flameshield, Gamemice, CNightJoy, TransformersLover95, StarscreamII, Phoenix51, and Bluebird Soaring. Never think for a moment that the effort, thoughtfulness, insight, or love that you invest in your reviews is wasted. I appreciate your time, interest, and encouragement more than words can say. The words 'thank you' seem small compared to the magnitude of my gratitude, but maybe if you happened to imagine a thank you sign strapped to Godzilla while he's riding a unicorn over a rainbow bridge, it might come close.
Mr. Jacquel – Just a nod toward one of my favourite novels, American Gods by Neil Gaiman. It was stunning the first time I read it, and continues to be an inspiration with every turn of the page.
May We Never Let Go
To Have the Last Laugh
"Let me get this straight," Kup gritted out between tense mouthplates. "You were upset that we decided to leave you behind because you were the one who nearly made the fatal mistake of starting a firefight with a bunch of bot who came in peace, so you snuck aboard the Birds of Paradise and have been weaselling around inside the maintenance shafts and air vents ever since? Did I cover everything?"
Hot Rod flinched, his gaze directed no higher than his mentor's shins. "Yeah, that about sums everything up."
Since words failed to describe the sheer abject stupidity of his actions, Kup was resigned to making frustrated gestures with his hands while exhaling harsh noises that might have been curses if he had been calm enough to form proper words.
And because this was not a private party in the least, the rest of the high ranking individuals of Autobot party who had boarded the Birds of Paradise were present as witnesses. Ultra Magnus had failed to utter a single word since coming upon the unfortunate scene. He sat as a silent mountain among them, fingers steepled together while he hosted a pensive frown. Jetfire was too busy desperately trying to assure the peacefulness of the Autobots with the delegation of Seekers who remained in the observation deck, but Springer and two other Wreckers were standing guard to make sure nothing got out of hand. Their alternating expressions, between incredulous annoyance over Hot Rod's idiocy to smug entertainment while Kup outdid himself with the lack of eloquence in his anger, did nothing to help the situation.
"What could you have possibly been thinking to make that an even relatively good idea?" Kup suddenly exclaimed when the ability to form proper sentences returned.
"I was thinking that I could be of use to this mission," Hot Rod returned heatedly, still addressing the floor.
"Use? How? By sneaking around behind our backs? By threatening the peace treaty we have with the Neo-Decepticons?" Kup threw out his arms in a wide gesture. "Hot Rod, I thought you were smarter than this!"
To this, there was no defence. A bright orange head hung down in shame, optics shuttered tight as if that were enough to block out what was happening. The evidence was piling up that Hot Rod was, in fact, not smarter than this. He was incredibly stupid. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many lessons he downloaded or how often he trained and ran battle simulations, there was always something inside him that made him a screw up. His programming was too immature. His spark was too impetuous. Name the poison, he probably had it. He was never going to be anything more than the bot who manages to ruin things for everyone else.
"I'm sorry..." he croaked hoarsely.
"Sorry isn't good enough this time," Kup barked. "What you did went too far. Do you know how bad this makes us look?"
"Yeah, I do..."
"But you did it anyways!"
"I wasn't thinking, okay-"
"Obviously!" Kup exclaimed. "And what if those Seekers had seen it fit to kill you rather than truss you up like they did?"
Hot Rod bristled mulishly. "I can take care of myself."
"Hot Rod, it was four against one! You wouldn't have stood a chance!" Kup ranted desperately, pacing an agitated circuit in front of the chair. "Did it even cross your mind how much it would hurt the rest of us if you had gotten yourself killed? I would have been beside myself had you been hurt!"
Hot Rod's gaze shot up helplessly.
"No," Kup cut him off with a sharp gesture of his hand. "I don't want to hear it from you. What's done is done."
Hot Rod hung his head again.
"Cut the youngling a break, Kup," Springer intoned. "He was just trying to-"
"He was trying to be a big hero, when all he managed to do is make himself out be a thoughtless half-bit youngling," Kup said crossly without leaving any room to argue.
Springer pressed his mouthplates into a thin line.
"He is not a youngling anymore," the old veteran growled. "We've given him too much leeway, and look where that has gotten us. His apprenticeship hasn't smartened him up. War hasn't smartened him up. I am beginning to think nothing will!"
Those words, coming from the one bot in the universe who was like family to Hot Rod, hurt as much as any physical injury. He fought to keep his expression from reflecting his new personal injuries.
"Kup, you are allowing your emotions to get the best of you," Ultra Magnus intoned with a quick glance toward Hot Rod. Though his tone had been low, it caught the attention of most bots in the room. "I think that Hot Rod has heard enough. Isn't that right, Hot Rod?"
The bot in question could only nod weakly.
Ultra Magnus nodded back needlessly before returning his attention to his most trusted confidant. "Kup, go take a walk. Calm down. The things you are saying, though maybe not without merit, are said in anger."
Grey-green armour bristling, it appeared as if the old veteran would refuse the gentle order. All optics were on him as he opened his mouthplates to spew out some bluster, but then reconsidered before the first words could fall out. He deflated and quickly composed himself.
"You're right. I'm worked up." Whenever Hot Rod was involved, he had a tendency to lose his head. If the young bot considered him family, it was not a one-sided affection. Kup was an Old One who had lived long and lost much – he had taken Hot Rod under his wing during the first flush of war, and now the impetuous young creature was the closest thing he had to family. It was not his fault if he lost his mind a little over the thought of Hot Rod putting himself in danger.
"Take a walk," Ultra Magnus insisted.
With a jerk of his head, the old bot made for the exit. Along the way, he cuffed Topspin on the shoulder and grumbled for the Wrecker to accompany him. Topspin was smart enough not to argue.
An unusual quiet settled into the observation deck in the absence of Kup's ranting. The only sound now was that of the distant engines working to capacity to get them all to Earth. Due to the new hole in the ceiling leading straight into the ventilation shafts, the sounds of the engines were especially loud.
"That was an incredibly stupid thing you did, Hot Rod," Ultra Magnus admonished quietly, the words so laden with disappointment that they hurt even more than Kup's anger.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"I don't think sorry is going to cut it this time," said the commander. "This is very serious business that you've fallen into. I'm not in control of what happens here. This is Starscream's ship and you are going to have to hope that he is lenient with you."
Actual fear reflected in the rash bot's optics.
From behind Hot Rod, the Seekers approached on quiet feet. It was not until they were looming above his shoulders that the bound Autobot knew they were there. The sound of Starscream's high, rasping voice caused him to jump as the Seeker addressed Ultra Magnus.
"If this were still a regular Decepticon ship, he either would have been shot and put in the brig or shot and put in the med bay – which would have been the worse of the two options."
"Understandable," Ultra Magnus replied wryly, thinking of the Constructicons and their... unique bedside manner.
A shudder ran down Hot Rod's spinal column.
"However," Starscream pressed, casting pointed looks at his two trine mates, "this is not a regular Decepticon ship anymore. We do not follow Decepticon rules. There are new rules that explicitly state killing bots is bad."
"Unwritten rule," Skywarp grumbled mulishly.
Thundercracker discreetly stomped on his foot.
Starscream did an excellent job of pretending not to notice the antics of his own trine mates. He was exceedingly lucky to have convinced Acid Storm to leave the room, having Sunstorm accompany him to insure the other stayed away, or the objection to the lack of pain and punishment would have been much louder and acerbic. As it was, Thundercracker was a reasonable Seeker and Skywarp was... Skywarp.
"This is your ship, Starscream," Ultra Magnus sighed. "It is up to you how to handle this situation, though it is my hope that you go easy on him. At least consider that he meant no harm in sneaking aboard your ship. Hot Rod is an impetuous mech, still very young at spark."
"Jetfire has explained as much," Starscream replied with an inclination of his head. "Maybe if this were another time and another place, I would have had the pleasure of executing an Autobot spy to display my power."
Hot Rod tensed, as did Springer. Dark hands travelled quickly to the hilt of his sword, prepared to start swinging even if his target wasn't likely to stay down.
"And now?" Ultra Magnus enquired.
"Now I am inclined to rely on the recommendations my old friend has given me," the Seeker said, acknowledging Jetfire with a nod. He turned his red optics on Hot Rod, crouching down in front of the the bound Autobot to look him in the optics. "You must have made quite the impression upon Jetfire to have him defend you as fiercely as he did. He has enough faith in you to know, without even consulting the reasons for your actions, that you had meant no harm to me or mine."
The long finger under his chin forced Hot Rod to look up into the optics of the Decepticon he had spent a lifetime wanting dead.
Starscream could see those ghosts of hate and menace clouded with confusion.
"It's strange, isn't it? I used to be the second in command for all of the Decepticon army, and here you see me being something you never considered I was capable of – being a reasonable, dignified leader. I am still surprised by it, actually." He chuckled ruefully over his own observations. "I've seen hundreds of Autobots like you during my long career at Megatron's side. You are all full of the same blind righteousness and eager foolhardiness, but there is rarely ever any malice in your thoughts or actions."
"I just didn't want to be left behind," Hot Rod mumbled.
"I know," Starscream admitted. "Jetfire convinced me of that much. You are just another silly Autobot throwing yourself headfirst into something without thinking it through." His hand dropped away, lacing his fingers together while he braced his elbows on his knees. "You understand my predicament, don't you? I can't show weakness to the bots I command. Until we reach Earth, you are going to be confined to the brig so you don't cause anymore trouble."
"Just that?" Hot Rod wondered suspiciously. "The brig is barely any punishment at all. Are you sure you're not going to shoot me first? Or hand me over for a little light interrogation just to make sure I'm not a spy?"
"The brig isn't the punishment at all. It's just a holding place for now," Starscream replied, glancing over Hot Rod shoulder to the one mech in the room whom everyone had forgotten. Dead End stood quietly in the shadows at the far end, watching the proceedings with sullen resignation. Starscream returned his gaze to Hot Rod with a pang of dread. "The punishment is still allowing you to come to Earth instead of forcing you to go back to Beta Zen."
The company jet for Sumdac Cybernetic Industries was the sort of jet one might expect to be owned by a leading multi-billion dollar tech company. It was clean, sleek, and among one of the best leading models on high-efficiency low-exhaust engines. Its interiors were impressive with floors lush with thick carpeting, and large seats upholstered in soft cream-coloured Italian leather. Windows lined the space and allowed copious amounts of natural light to flow in - though the overcast sky outside deadened the effect. There was a large screen television set into one of the walls, and an impressive collection of games and DVDs locked up behind glass-walled cabinet so that they did not scatter if the plane hit turbulence. A mini-bar sat tucked into the corner at the other end.
The frequency with which Sari and Miko flew with the jet showed in their comfortable entrance of the large airliner, kicking off their shoes and wandering straight to their usual seats. Along the way, they shed their winter clothes, tossing winter jackets and sweaters across the seats, stripping off their mittens and scarves. Sari stretched out comfortably in her deep leather seat, tossing open the window shade next to her and peering out at the activity of the tarmac. Miko put her seat back and braced her socked feet on the seat in front of her.
"So this is how the rich and powerful live," Mikaela commented as she followed along behind her two rescuers. She was far more conscientious about where she set her borrowed winter clothing, picking her way through the classy jet as conscientiously as she might tour a china shop.
"Scared of flying?" Miko drawled teasingly as she spotted Mikaela's hesitation.
"It's not that. Everything's so expensive in here, I don't know it I can touch it without ruining it," Mikaela shot back with a pointed look. Every occasion in the past when she had to fly, it had always been with the cheapest tickets possible. Either she couldn't afford better, or if it was the EDC paying for her to attend a special event with Sam, it was the guilt of unnecessary expenses that kept her firmly flying in business or economy class.
"Never flown platinum class before?" Miko wondered with a wide grin.
"Closest thing I can think of is catching a flight in a Cybertronian who turned into something that could fly," Mikaela laughed awkwardly. "So I've flown alien class, but never first class."
"Alien class sounds like a lot more fun," Sari laughed.
"It all depends on who you get stuck flying with," Mikaela reasoned. "Some Cybertronians are decent fliers, and some of them... are not."
The two young women chuckled at the idea.
Behind Mikaela, the Decepticon-Neutrals were the last to board and perhaps the most wary to do so. They had to pick up their feet and walk carefully across the carpet or else risk getting the plush caught in the joints of their feet. Buzzsaw and Laserbeak, the two symbiotes who possessed the sharpest taloned feet, nervously waddled their way around the edges of the aisle to cause the least amount of damage. They were not well designed for walking, but the width of the air-plane condemned them to the plebeian act.
Frenzy gave Rumble a light nudge, arching an optic ridge as some sort of signal. As one, they both rummaged through their subspace pockets until they found what they were looking for. Each revealed a set of large, oddly shaped knitted things made of thick double-knitted yarn in corresponding colours to their armour. A moment later, they slipped the strange bag-like things onto their alien feet and revealed their treasures for what they were: human-knitted booties for a pair of seven-foot-tall alien robots. They released collective sighs now that they no longer had to worry about the plush of the carpet getting caught up in their feet.
"Nice slippers," Miko snickered.
"They're our bowling shoes," Frenzy replied a tad defensively.
A dark eyebrow accented by stainless steel rings winged up incredulously. "Seriously?"
Frenzy pursed his mouthplates. "We bowl with the humans of the town we live near. The old ladies knitted us these so our armour didn't scratch the floor anymore."
"Never thought I'd be grateful for these ugly things," Rumble grumbled. He had never been a fan of the knitted booties, but it had been his only option if he wanted to bowl. He was not equipped with holomatter projectors, so while all the larger bots got to play in human guises, all the little bots were forced to wear booties or else be stuck on the sidelines with no games to play.
"You...bowl?" Sari wondered in the same cautious tone one might enquire about a friend's questionable life choices. She did nothing to hide her openly stunned expression.
"Well, yeah, what else do you think we do? Sit around doing complex mathematical equations in our heads for fun?" Frenzy snorted. "There's not a lot going on in Carnéval, and Moose Wash isn't exactly a hub of activity either. Bowling is just about the only thing we can do."
"We even have a team," Rumble insisted stubbornly. "We're called the Monster Machines."
"The Monster Machines?" Sari parroted disbelievingly. "Miko, stop that."
Miko pressed her lips together, but snorting laughter still kept slipping out.
"It's a good name," Rumbled huffed.
"Yeah – I mean, of course! I didn't mean to insult you," Sari stuttered, laughing nervously as she twirled a lock of her hair. "I only meant that I never expected highly advanced alien robots to – um, well, do something so..."
"Dull," Miko sang with a slight sneer.
"Not dull," Sari rushed to counter, wishing to keep her first sincere encounter with Cybertronians as peaceful as possible. "It's merely, um... really unexpected to hear that you go bowling. With other humans. While wearing knitted booties."
The summation was too much for Sari's bodyguard, who simply clapped her hands over her mouth and laughed into her palms.
"You gotta do what you gotta do," Frenzy shrugged unfazedly, taking a seat in the nearest available chair.
Ravage revved deeply, flicking his long serrated tail back and forth. His smouldering gaze met Mikaela's for a long moment, taking the human's measure. Mikaela's fist tightened in the back of one of the leather seats, not sure how she should proceed. The symbiote took the decision into his own capable claws.
"Miss Sumdac," he called politely with a light inclination of his head. "Is it possible that I may have a moment alone with Mikaela? There are a few things that we need to discuss."
The young heiress perked up from her seat, gesturing toward the rear of the plane. "There's a room back there that you can use. It's nothing too fancy, I don't think. Just a bedroom that we sometimes use when the flights are long and we want to take a nap."
"I am sure it will be adequate," Ravage assured.
Mikaela glanced around nervously before following. She had yet to see No One. He had been content to haunt around her head until they had come close to the boarding portal, and then cackled and shot off again. His absence did more to make her nervous than his constant presence around her did. There was no telling what other kinds of chaos he could be inciting.
"Miss, may I take your jacket?" wondered a polite voice seemingly appearing out of nowhere from behind her.
Spinning with a gasp, Mikaela was faced with a tall, handsome man in a smartly pressed uniform bearing the insignia of Sumdac Cybernetic Industries. His swarthy skin was smooth and young looking, though his features were the sort that appeared ageless under any regard, framed by hair as dark as a raven's wing and as straight as the edge of a ruler. His expression was impassive, save for the interest reflecting in his dark eyes as he surveyed Mikaela and then looked past her to the unusual alien guests dotting the airliner.
A moment of befuddled silence filled the air as Sari and Miko blinked up at the newcomer, followed by joyous recognition.
"Mr. Jacquel!" Sari beamed. "I was wondering where you went off to!"
"I was checking with the pilot to make sure everything was ready for takeoff, Miss Sumdac," assured the steward, whose accent was as exotic as his looks. "I am sorry I was not here right away to greet you while you came aboard."
"Was there a problem I should know about?" Sari wondered worriedly, half-rising from her seat.
"Nothing you should be concerned with, Miss Sumdac," Mr. Jacquel replied coolly with an elegant dismissive gesture of his hand. "Everything is taken care of now."
Expressive brown eyes reflected their reserve over the placation. Nonetheless, she resumed her seat and twirled a loose lock of red hair in her familiar nervous gesture. "If you are sure..."
"I am very sure."
She bit her bottom lip and nodded.
"And your guests, Miss Sumdac?" intoned Mr. Jacquel with admirable aloofness, for the first time acknowledging that there were others aboard. "If you had called ahead and mentioned that you would be bringing friends, I would have... put down an oil tarp, or something to that effect."
"That's racist, I think," Rumble grumbled quietly.
If the steward happened to hear, he showed no signs of it.
"This was a last minute arrangement," Sari explained. "I hope this doesn't change anything."
"Not at all, so long as they do not leave tread marks on anything or pierce the leather with their pointy parts," Mr. Jacquel assured coolly, plucking Mikaela's jacket away from the fist that was wringing it thoughtlessly. He gave an artful flick to dispel the wrinkles. "If I heard right, you and the... four-legged one will be using the bedroom, yes? Follow me."
Along the way, Mr. Jacquel picked up jackets, scarves, tarps, and hats shed by the humans and transformers. With the utmost professionalism, he hung each of the articles away and then breezed through the open portals of the moderately-sized company jet to the tail end where an unassuming door greeted them. He turned the knob and swung inward, revealing a room decorated with similar wealthy tastes as the rest of the airplane.
"The sheets are freshly cleaned and pressed, the mini-fridge is fully stocked, and the television offered satellite channels," the steward rattled off. "The remote is next to the bed. It controls most of the room, including the lights and controls for the bed. If you require anything else, there is an intercom button on the nightstand which will direct you to either the pilot or myself."
Ravage was not interested in any of the amenities of the room nor in the recommendations of the steward. He stood in fascinating contrast to the bedroom, his jagged black armour appearing even more coarse than it usually did next to the soft cream decor. Though he nodded politely, there was an air about him that was distinctly resentful of the extra presence. A low, annoyed growl was the closest he came to verbalizing his desire to have Mr. Jacquel leave as soon as possible.
"I believe that is all," said the steward, turning to leave under Ravage's watchful scrutiny. His hand brushed Mikaela's by accident, but the sensation that ran up her nerves was not of flesh. For a split second, it felt very much like the velvet touch of fur. Jerking away, her eyes shot to the steward's face and noticed that his eyes were more intensely doglike than she recalled. As he inclined his head again, a length of thin chain shifted around his long neck to reveal an ankh hiding in the folds of his pressed shirt and blazer.
It then occurred to Mikaela why the steward seemed to oddly familiar. She had seen him once before, but he had been a jackal that time.
"You needn't worry on this flight," he assured in a murmured tone. "The pilot and I shall entertain No One for the time being."
A thrill coursed through Mikaela's blood, excitement skittering over her nerves. Before she could figure out what to say in reply to such an enigmatic statement, the steward passed on without another word. There came another jolt through the young woman as he intentionally passed before a mirror that reflected something else that was not at all human.
"Mikaela," Ravage called lightly, summoning her attention when he deemed she had been distracted by the handsome steward for long enough.
"Sorry," she breathed, approaching the bed where Ravage had taken up a regal pose in the middle of the mattress. He was completely serious as he plucked a pillow up from the head of the bed and placed it beneath his forelegs for comfort, his tail wrapping around the outside of his frame. Mikaela found room on the corner of the bed and curled up there, bringing her knees up to her chest and hugging her shins tightly. She did not care that her cool grey skirt rode up on her thighs, revealing a little too much of her sheer stockings.
"Is that an English colloquialism I am not familiar with?" the feline symbiote wondered.
"What is?"
"The steward's comment about entertaining no one. I do not understand the meaning behind it."
"Oh." Mikaela breathed softly across the tops of her knees, letting the humid warmth seep past the silken stockings and into her prickled skin. "Don't worry about it. He's not from around here – it was probably just something people say where he comes from."
Ravage accepted this with a brief nod. He was not all that concerned with the idioms of humanity.
Mikaela kept her eyes directed elsewhere, her body rocking back and forth without her notice. All around, there came the sounds of movement and humming as the plane geared up to take off. It would not be long now before they were in the air. Briefly, Mikaela wondered if it was the usual policy to have people out of their seats and unbuckled during takeoff... but then she brushed aside the concern. If anyone were really concerned about it, they would have said something about buckling up.
"You look different," Ravage observed, snapping her from her thoughts.
"It's a disguise," Mikaela mumbled lamely, tugging off the blond wig. Her own hair was pinned up and slicked down close to her scalp. The contact lenses were starting to irritate her eyes. The makeup was thick enough to begin suffocating her.
"It is convincing," Ravage complimented awkwardly in a manner that said he had no idea what else to say about it.
"You saw through it."
"I am familiar with your bio-signs," Ravage reminded. "On a purely aesthetic level, you look remarkably different. To a human, you would look remarkably different. Were it not for our sensors, you would be completely unrecognizable."
"That's comforting, I suppose," Mikaela chuckled softly. "The whole reason I've stayed inside for the past week and only came out with a disguise on is to make sure Nemesis doesn't figure out that I'm still alive. He's not... normal. Not like a normal Cybertronian. But, if he was monitoring the internet to something, he might have seen me somehow..."
"It was smart and resourceful of you to hide yourself," Ravage said with a sage nod. "However, your presence here begs the question of why you are not dead. Care to elaborate?"
"Where do I start?" Mikaela sighed, shaking her head. "Can the others hear you so you don't have to repeat the story?"
"We have all established a connection through our intercranial communications hubs; they can hear what I hear as of now. Unfortunately, I can also hear what they hear. Frenzy and Rumber are playing Dance Dance Revolution," the feline symbiote informed with a grimace.
The mental image of two seven-foot-tall robots playing Dance Dance Revolution in knitted booties was too much for Mikaela not to smile weakly over it.
"Now, as you were saying?" Ravage urged with a gentle nudge of his massive clawed paw.
Perhaps it was the gentleness of his tone that contrasted so brilliantly with the monstrous ferocity of his appearance, or it could have possibly been the relief of being in the company of a creature who could understand the full depth and breadth of the situation she was facing, but Mikaela suddenly found herself faced with a sudden torrential downpour of words falling from her lips. She confessed in earnest every detail of her miseries from the moment she and Hound had been taken to the moment she stumbled upon Ravage and his cohorts.
The hardest part was speaking about The Fallen. Where to begin with that sort of madness? His sudden decision to be Mikaela's saviour rather than stand by and let her be destroyed. It was hard to put into words the violation that churned inside her with the knowledge of the bargain that had been struck, that Mikaela had been turned over into the Fallen's hands and there was nothing she could do about it. As she brought up all the low-level hauntings mix with malevolent demonic activity, the Fallen's mercurial moods that swung erratically from one extreme to the next, his constant tauntings and teasings that were both playful and cruel, it occurred to Mikaela that she had somehow built up a wall to block the horribleness out. She had made herself numb to the Fallen.
Now the wall came down, and with it came much needed emotional release. She cried out with a week's worth of torment. Her makeup smeared along her cheeks, revealing swaths of her tanned skin beneath the pale beige concealer. Bobby pins popped from her hair and set free tightly bound locks. To make things worse, she felt so stupid to be confessing and crying in front of a transformer she hardly knew.
It did not take long for her to devolve into full blown waterworks.
Ravage watched the curious path of tears as they appeared at the corners of her eyes and then welled over into fat trails down her cheeks. Her sadness was a palpable energy in the air, as was her exhaustion. To think that this little creature had been through so much in the span of a single Cybertronian orn. She was stronger than most would give her species credit for. Most bots Ravage knew, including himself, would not have been able to stand the Fallen's company for as long as Mikaela had managed. Her strength and fortitude were admirable qualities.
Feeling a surge of sympathy for the poor female, Ravage levered up to sit on the mattress and bring Mikaela into an awkward embrace. It was rather similar to the occasional gentle hugs he granted to tiny human younglings who cried and begged for affection. His tail came around and patted her head soothingly with the flat side of his serrated blades, drawing down her back in a calming manner. Mikaela tensed at his touch, only to soften again when she sensed no harm from him. Her arms came around his chest, her cheek pillowed into his armour, and she cried until there were no more tears. Ravage continued to hold her for far longer than he cared to, waiting for some kind of sign that it was okay to let go.
In the end, Mikaela was moved under the sheets of the bed as her reddened eyes grew heavy with exhaustion catching up to her.
Ravage stood by the edge of the mattress to make sure all was well, offering a sigh as he turned to quit the room. He paused when a soft voice called his designation.
"Can you do something for me?" Mikaela murmured into the pillow, not even raising her head to glance at her company.
"What would it be?"
"It's nothing big..." She hugged her pillow close. "You're connected to Soundwave, right? You can find out what's happening with everyone through him."
"Yes, I can."
"Can you do that right now?" she wondered, as if afraid to hope. "Don't tell him I'm alive or anything – just in case the others get mad at him for knowing and not telling. I just want to know what's going on."
It was quiet in the following minutes as Ravage made good on the simple request. His optics flashed as he received an answer. He shifted his weight as he considered his new information, posing a simple question. "Nevada is a three hour time difference from Michigan, is it not?"
"Yeah, something like that," Mikaela replied suspiciously, not sure what time differences had to do with anything.
Ravage nodded. "Well, considering that, we should arrive just in time for your funeral this evening."
The door to the cockpit whipped open and shut with a smart snap.
"That did not take long," Horus observed nonchalantly as he continued to go through the prescribed pre-flight check he knew to go through, directed by the memories of the pilot he was possessing at the moment.
Mr. Jacquel gave a doglike shake, dispelling his human guise. In the place of the handsome human was the more familiar black-furred jackal beast decked in ancient golden armour in the Egyptian style.
"I tried to be quick, but the girl brought some unexpected guests with her."
"Cybertronians."
"Yes, five of them," Anubis sneered, casting a dirty look toward the back of the co-pilot seat where another Cybertronian problem sat languishing like a festering disease.
"I thought I had sensed foreign bodies," Horus commented distantly. "Did you have any trouble with them?"
"Not at all. For a moment, I did not think the two other humans were going to take to my disguise, though that the most of my troubles." When the need arose, many Others were capable of walking into a human's life and making it appear as if they had always been there, and walking out just as easily. Occasionally, there were humans who did not fall for the misdirection so easily. Luckily, Sari and Miko were the gullible types.
"I don't see why you went to the trouble of hiding. Seems like a waste of energy to me," Psi drawled boredly, having condensed into the form of a black-armoured transformer sprawled lifelessly across his seat. A single glance of the lacklustre form spoke novels of the Fallen's current state. It was as the Others had hoped: Psi was suffering for his deal. A week in Mikaela's company while forced to tone down his usual mischief to the bare minimum had drained him of what little reserved he had. He could barely contain himself in a solid form, let alone sit upright.
Anubis could not help but draw back his jowls in a sneering laugh. "Yes, I don't imagine you have much energy to spare at the moment. Finally starting to feel the burn, are we?"
Psi glowered poisonously.
Horus flicked a glance at his company, smirking at the alien's suffering. "It serves you right."
Again, the Fallen had no clever response. All the humour that had buoyed him in the airport quickly sputtered out the moment he realized that there were Others aboard the company jet. He had no illusions about their presence. Horus and Anubis were gods of war and death. They did not care for Mikaela's health as others would. It was likely on principle alone that they checked on her to make sure she was safe and sane. The true reason they were present was for Psi's suffering – the more the better. It was like quality entertainment for them, watching a formerly high-ranking alien dark god shrivel up into a husk of his former self while at the mercy of Earth's Others. Every little bit of misery counted.
Any other time, Psi might have cared. He would have delighted in thwarting their desire for his suffering. But he was tired now. His energy was dwindling to a dangerous low, with the scraps of chaos he absorbed from the humans barely being enough to keep him semi-tangible. He had tried only once to return to his true form hiding in anti-space above the planet, desperately in need of the boost it would give him. Nemesis had been lying in wait for him. The fight had been pitiful, resulting in an extreme drain on Psi that prompted his incitement of several human suicides simply so he could feed from the resulting misery.
If he did not reach the Allspark soon and plead his case, he would fade before he even had a chance to make good on all his dastardly nefarious evil plans. Plans that included swallowing his pride and begging for help – but it sounded so much more appealing when he called them dastardly nefarious evil plans.
"You are awfully quiet," Horus observed.
"I'm thinking," Psi retorted mulishly, slumping down deeper into his seat.
"That's a first," Anubis snorted.
Psi cut them a black glare that deflated quickly when he lacked the energy to sustain the look. It only served to garner more cruel laughter from the backwater hillbilly Others. He wanted to spit curses at them. Maybe possess the airplane and make it take a sudden nosedive into the nearest lake. Or even more fun, he would pluck Horus of his feathers and use them to tar and feather Anubis. Not his most impish ideas ever, though extenuating circumstances gave him a good excuse for his lack of creativity.
He faded out from the seat, letting himself disperse into an incorporeal gaseous cloud. Much easier on his energy reserves. It caused the other gods to laugh at him, believing that he had run away when he had run out of witty banter.
Though it burned to be laughed at by low-class Others from the boondocks of the universe, Psi let them laugh.
It was only a matter of time before the final playing pieces were in place and he would be able to play his checkmate.
Who would have the last laugh then, huh? He would. And he has just the right villainous laugh ready for the occasion.
Mwa. Ha. Ha. Ha.