NOTE: Finally we get to the darker plot shift in this story. Anyway, this chapter was posted quickly and is short simply because it's what I like to call a bridge. Introducing something else that will be handled more thoroughly in later chapters. And, because a few weeks have passed since the last chapter's events, I included Savannah's TALK.

I like the eerie feel, though. Reviews get faster updates! I totally freaked myself out writing the end of this, because I'm sitting alone, at 1 in the morning, by my open window... GAH!

Chapter 36

Technophobia. Defined as the fear or dislike of advanced technology.

Paranoia: extreme and unreasonable suspicion of other people and their motives.

At the moment, I'm suffering from both. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Savannah had called the day after he had walked in on me and Optimus making out. And boy, had I gotten an earful.

"Are you insane?" He had demanded, none too gently.

"You so don't want to get into this with me."

"Parker, really. Has it even occurred to either of you that you're not the same species? He's a thirty-two foot tall alien robot who can transform into a truck, runs on Energron, is God only knows how many years old, and is pretty much immortal. You, on the other hand, are a five-nine little human girl, you transform into nothing, you're twenty years old, and every minute of your short, short life, you're dying. Not to mention that the parts don't fit!"

"Savannah!"

"It's true, Parker, and you know it. What are you planning on doing with this? You're only going to get hurt, and so is he. Nothing good will come of this."

"You sound a little racist to me."

"Low blow," he'd snapped into the phone. "This has nothing to do with race. I'm the last person who has any right to be racist or prejudiced. This isn't about that. It's about how logical this thing is."

"Savannah—"

"Hear me out," he'd continued, his voice softening slightly. "Listen, P, I like him. Honestly. And it's not just because he's not human. It's because this can't work, and I don't want to see you hurt. Did you know they do this thing called Sparkbonding?"

"Yeah." I hadn't given it much thought.

"What are you going to do if he falls so deeply for you that he wants to Sparkbond? You don't have a Spark. And what about interfacing? That's sex, in case you didn't know. Do I need to mention, yet again, that the parts just don't work?"

"Okay, first of all, this isn't about sex. Second—"

"It's not right now," he'd corrected. "Eventually, you're going to want to have sex with him, Parker. It's natural. So what's going to happen then?"

"I dunno," I'd growled. The subject of sex had never really been something Savannah or I had been embarrassed about. Of course, we didn't discuss our sex lives, but conversations like this we'd always been able to have openly. "The holoform?"

"The holoform," he snorts. "That's healthy. But, fine, okay, let's say that works. Let's say you two have sex." He'd seemed to choke on the word slightly, as though he didn't want to think of his sister having sex with a robot. I couldn't blame him. "Let's say you work that out. Parker, these Autobots… they live forever. And right now, you're in the beginning stages, and I'm sure you're both thinking this will work out fine. But, in the end, you know it won't. You'll have to break it off. And guess what? You'll both get hurt, because you can't be together. He'll outlive you for millions of years. He's way older than you, and he's going to keep living. You're not."

"I don't want to talk about this. God, Savannah, it's not like we're getting married. This thing—I don't know what it is. There's not even a label yet!"

"Parker," he'd said my name so gently. "I'm glad that you're happy with him. You know that, right? And I really don't have a problem with him. I just need you to understand… this just seems stupid to me. You're only asking for trouble."

"Savannah, we'll work it out. I don't know where this is going, and I'm not planning on discussing it with him, either—"

"Well, lucky for you, I discussed it with him."

"You didn't."

"I did," Savannah had sighed heavily. "And he… agrees with me."

My heart had sunk. "Oh." Maybe I'd been far more invested in whatever this thing between us was. Maybe he didn't feel the same way, not entirely.

"Yeah," Savannah had sounded frustrated. "He agrees with me on the logics of it. But he's respectfully informed me that he wouldn't be backing down unless you request it of him." I'd gotten the feeling that Savannah had been quoting him. I could almost hear Optimus saying those words. "I'd asked him about your mortality. He'd said he would do anything in his power to keep you alive while he could. It's a tricky subject, P. Are you sure you want to go there?"

"Savannah, I didn't approve of you and Ronnie, remember?"

"This is different," Savannah had grunted. "Ronnie and I will die together, eventually. What we have can work. We'll have some babies, get old, and then we'll die together. You and Optimus… this will only end painfully."

"He treats me right," I'd reasoned. "That's more than I can say for a lot of humans."

"I know," Savannah had agreed. "And I can see that he cares for you; it's plain as day. And I know you'll be safe with him. There's not much more I can ask for."

"Then?"

"I don't know, P," he said. "I just worry about you. I don't want you getting hurt by this. And what if Megatron finds out? He's not above using you to get to Optimus."

"He won't find out."

"Parker, I know you. I know you think you can make everything work in the end, but—"

"We'll figure it out as it happens," I'd said gently. "Savannah, answer me this: if he was human, would you feel differently?"

"If he was human, he would be perfect. And I know that sounds racist, but it has nothing to do with the fact that he's Cybertronian. It's just everything that comes with being a Cybertronian. The immortality is a big one."

I'd understood where he'd been coming from. I knew he didn't want me to get hurt, heading into a relationship that, in his eyes, was doomed to fail for so many reasons. And honestly, it probably was doomed. I exist in nothing more than the blink of an eye in Optimus's lifespan.

"Savannah, I understand," I'd told him, "I really, really do. This is huge. We're not the same, and I understand that. But, right now, we're making it work. And I'm happy with him—happier than I've been in a long, long time."

"And what if that doesn't last?"

"I know it probably won't," I told him, "and as long as I go into it knowing that, knowing the complications, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl now, Vannah. You've gotta cut me some slack."

He'd been silent for a long time, and I'd waited patiently. Finally, he had spoken; his voice had been very quiet, very sad. "I just worry about you so much. You're my other half, P. I've seen you broken. I don't want that again."

"I know," I'd replied, keeping my voice loving, warm. "And that means a lot to me. It really, really does. But… but he does too, you know? Think about it: doesn't he possess every quality you would want to see in a man, for me?"

"Yes, he does," Savannah had said. "And I can see that. He cares for you. He wants to protect you, and he treats you right. It's just… this is so hard for me, P. It's hard for me to let you do this to yourself when, looking in from the outside, I can see how it'll end."

"I know, I know," I'd murmured. "But please stand by me in this. It'll make it so much easier for me. I support you and Ronnie. Can you do the same for me?" There had been a very heavy sigh from the other line, and I had smiled softly, hopefully. "Your support means everything to me," I'd reminded him gently.

"I know," he'd replied. "It's just…" Another heavy sigh. "Fine. But only because I love you more than anything, and I can see how happy he makes you."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he'd growled. "Just because he's a giant, indestructible robot doesn't mean I won't kick his ass if he hurts you." I'd laughed. "I mean it, P. You want my support? Fine. But I'm going to treat it like I would a human relationship. When you're both around me, he needs to treat you with respect—he needs to have respect for me, too. That means I better not catch you guys making out again."

"Savannah," I'd sighed. "Don't get your panties in a twist. I've seen you and Ronnie kissing."

"Yeah, but they're tasteful kisses. You've never seen us like I saw you guys. And I don't ever want to see that again."

"That wasn't even anything bad!"

"I saw your tongues, for God's sake! And you didn't have pants on! Jesus, Parker, don't put me through that again."

"Oh," I'd said sheepishly. "Sorry. Okay, I can do that."

"And I'm going to have another talk with him."

"Don't damage him," I'd sighed.

"I'm going to give him the same talk I would give anyone else," he's said reasonable. "As long as he keeps you happy, we shouldn't have a problem."

I'd actually laughed at this. "I love you, Savannah."

"I know. I love you, too," he'd replied. Then another heavy sigh. "This is going to be tough," he'd said dully. "But I'll try."

"That's all I ask."

The conversation had ended after it had been settled, and it had basically come down to the fact that while he wouldn't alter his role as overprotective (little) brother, he wouldn't constantly speak out against us. It was acceptance, and that was enough for me.

A couple of weeks had passed, and in that time Mudflap had taken me to see Optimus, which had involved many ninja moves, on the twins' part, to sneak me up and over the fence at base. Of course, Optimus waiting on the other side had made things easier. We hadn't seen each other since that night, which had been short lived in itself, considering I had technically trespassed onto a military base where I was no longer welcome.

But, in the couple of weeks since I had last seen Optimus, I had become increasingly paranoid, hence the technophobia and paranoia. Honestly, no over exaggerations. I'm seriously paranoid. It's not entirely unfounded, though. I constantly feel like I'm being watched; that eerie feeling when the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, when a chill creeps up my spine, when I swear I can just feel something else there.

And I've been noticing a car, too. The same car is just always around. It's a 1967 Chevy Impala. I've been watching it. It drives by the house late at night, the windows darkly tinted so that I can't see inside. Sometimes, it's parked out in the lot at work, but I never see the driver in the diner. It followed me home, once. I'd been driving with Skids, and the Impala had remained a couple of cars back the entire drive home. It had driven past the house without stopping, but still.

I know it's the same car. It's got deep gouges along the whole right side. They look like they could have come from a car accident, but I know better. That car is everywhere. I want to follow it one day, but I can't—not with Mudflap and Skids as my car. And how ridiculous would I sound if I asked them to follow an old black Impala? If it was a Decepticon, I'm sure they would have realized this. But at the same time, I know, deep down, that it isn't an ordinary car.

It's not just cars, either. It's things that I'm in contact with every day. Televisions, for instance; the nice kind, the expensive, large plasma screens. There's one in the diner—the only thing that goes against the 50s theme. The other day my boss had called me to fix it because it had been on the fritz. I swear, as I'd slid my hand around the back to check the wires, it had shuddered. And it's kept happening; going on the fritz, and I'm the only one who can fix it. I don't even do anything to it.

The worst thing is the eyes. I swear I've been seeing red eyes. That childhood fear of the window has only worsened. Sometimes I look out, and I swear I see glowing red eyes staring back at me, watching me. I've started sleeping with the window closed, locked, shutters closed, drapes drawn.

If the eyes are out there, I don't want to see them.

I'm lying in bed, having trouble sleeping. A few hours ago, the Impala had driven by. I try to be logical about it; maybe he lives past my house. But I'd made up excuses for the twins to drive me down there, and I have never seen the Impala parked anywhere. I can't look at TVs, copiers, or computers the same way anymore. I'm glad I don't have a computer in my room.

Is it possible that they're watching me? And if they are; why? Are they waiting for me to mess up? Trying to find the Autobot base? Do they know about me and Optimus, whatever we are? Do they know about Savannah, that I know he's alive? So many terrible questions to answer, and I just don't know. That's the worst part, the unknown. If I knew they were watching me, I would be able to handle it.

Part of me thinks I'm going crazy, becoming obsessed. I'm sure things have been going far too well in my life lately; after all, it's about time they screwed it up. I'm just waiting for the hammer to drop. I can feel it hovering above me.

Ronnie had picked up on my weird, jittery behavior. She's not stupid, and she's around me most. I'd managed to hide it around the twins whenever I'm around one of them, but they're starting to notice. I'm losing sleep over this.

A tapping at my window jolts me from my thoughts. I lay perfectly still for a moment, listening. There it is again, a sharp, metallic tap-tap-tapping. Then a soft screech. Standing, I clutch the baseball bat I'd stationed beside my bed and walk to the window. Taking a deep breath, flinching at the tapping, I fling open the shutters.

There's nothing there. Skids is parked in the driveway. The darkness of the oak tree looms before me. Something moves, and my eyes, trained for this, zero in on the movement. But it must know I'm watching, whatever it is. The logical part of my mind tells me it's a squirrel. Or a raccoon. Or a cat. The paranoid side tells me that it's something much worse.

Gripping the bat, I stare out into the darkness, frozen. Something shifts again, and then explodes out of the darkness, headed straight for the window. It moves too fast for me to make it out before it shoots up into the night where I can no longer see it. My hand has slipped over my mouth, stifling a scream.

A bird. Only a bird. I'd seen wings, and what else can fly away like that? Not any Decepticon that I know of. Shaking, I close the shutters and duck into bed. I want nothing more than to call Skids and ask him to activate his holoform and come sleep with me. I'm that scared. But I'm also too full of pride for that, so I let him sleep and I suffer alone.

Besides. Skids will protect me. If there was something evil out there, he would know about it. The thought allows me to fall into a fitful, nightmare-filled sleep.

The next day at work, everything seems to be going fine. I feel normal, I can focus on my job. That is, until the TV freaks out again, and I have to fix it.

"I think it likes you," my boss jokes, his eyes full of laughter. "You're the only one who can fix it. You must have the magic touch."

"Something like that." I walk up to the TV as he leaves me alone to fix it. This is just too weird. There's no way this is a coincidence.

Surrounded by customers, I pitch my voice low. I stab a finger at the screen discreetly. "I know what you are," I tell the TV. "You don't have me fooled. And this sick little game you're playing? I'm getting tired of it." For a moment I just stand there, feeling incredibly stupid. I really need therapy if I'm sitting here talking to a TV. Looking to my left, one of my coworkers is giving me a strange look. I grin at him with a shrug.

God, I must have a screw loose.

I fiddle around in the back, messing with the wires like I always do. I tell myself I'm stupid, and now I look like a freak for talking to a TV. I've seriously got problems. This paranoia thing has gone too far. I'm just imagining things, that's all.

I almost believe it. For a second, I'm this close to fooling myself. And then the TV flicks on, and the movie playing is A Nightmare on Elm Street. The little girls are singing that eerie song:

"One, two, Freddie's coming for you.
Three, four, better lock your door.
Five, six, grab your crucifix.
Seven, eight, better stay up late…"