Eight

One of the aching regrets he found himself constantly dwelling on, especially now as he felt himself getting older, was how few moments he recalled from his childhood where it was just him and his dad. There was always either a battle, or an alien planet, or an Autobot hanging around, so few of just "dad and me". Of course, every now and then he seemed to find his memories drifting backwards through time to those few, precious moments. Generally triggered by events in his present, albeit simple.

Like now.

Sitting on the ground under a hanging tarp, outside his wee shack, cooking mushroom soup. In times gone by, this would have been a pleasant holiday. Camping. Perhaps at a legitimate camping ground, which his father had strong and very negative feelings about. Or out in the essential middle of nowhere. A forest crowded with towering trees, the clearing, a place of refuge amongst the reach of nature herself, a worthy reward for hours, if not a few days of constant trudging laden down with gear and supplies. You'd push your way out of the undergrowth to be struck with the gentle welcome of the sun's face. A most worthy trade for such sweat and physical weariness.

As cheap an option as camping had always been, it was not much embraced now. No one wanted to risk being out in the open, let alone under a shabby curtain of canvas. No one wanted to risk being attacked by some down on his luck bum, or some sinister bastard. Failing those bursts of paranoia, the environment was far from accommodating. The acid rain could make short work of a sleeping camper sheltering in his tent.

The shack had once been a garden shed. Aluminium walls and roof, with pretty solid and still stable wooden frame. One of its likely many owners had had the money and the foresight to slather it in an acid resistant coat. The person who had originally erected it had clearly done their homework, was appropriately skilled, and obviously wanted it to last, building this shed into a concrete foundation. It wasn't huge. In fact, he could lay length wise in it and if he stretched his toes, his body could span that distance. Width wise, he could stand there and reach both arms out, and still have a few hand's distance between those walls. It sat quietly behind his landlord's house. The second long since sub-divided, but unlike the neighbouring properties that had multiple shanties, none of which having concrete foundations, this property only had his speck of a hut to contend with. His home sat in the corner of the section, several trees, albeit dead, and a strangely functioning vegetable garden were between the small structure and the landlord's house. There was also a two-car garage, which was where several family members of the landlord's lived. The car was always parked between the house and the garage, behind a heavy and always locked fenced.

It was a strange feat of luck that brought him to this place.

The day Devastator decided to frag his apartment building, and many, many other buildings, Daniel had escaped death, unlike so many others. He stopped when he came to the river's edge. People sat there, terrified, lost, unable to figure out what to do. He plonked himself down on the slimy gravel bed and just waited for whatever moment to present itself that might give him some enlightenment as to where. The best plan he had come up with so far was get to a phone and make a collect call to his Aunt. Get some money wired over and then get the fuck out of America, go back to England. Hell, even Australia and all its problems, not to mention nature itself was always out for your blood, seemed like a more attractive prospect in that moment.

Then he saw her. As cliched as it was. As predictable as it was. As made-for-tv-drama-cookie-cutter that it was. She was tall, waif like, swanning gracefully amongst the grubby and frightened masses. Carrying a large barrel of water and offering it to those it would help, and comfort to those it wouldn't. He was taken back by her simple beauty. A nose that looked like it'd never been broken, deep set green eyes, olive skin with plump rosy cheeks and equally plump lips. Her voice, when it reached him across the wailing and misery of the human mob, sounded sweeter than anything he'd ever given his ear to. She wore a smock with the label of some church. Ahhh, one of those, he thought as he pushed himself up. Forgetting his pain and his exhaustion, he limped over and asked if he could help. She turned, smiled and offered him water when she truly understood his condition. He accepted, took a sip, and reoffered his assistance.

Her name was Amy, she was training to be a social worker, she went to church every Sunday, but admitted she had doubts. How could there be a god when there was so much evil? How could a loving god create things like Megatron and the Decepticons? Daniel hid his true experience and instead of mentioning transformer religions, simply shrugged. Told her he was raised in an atheist home, with an extremely science minded mother and a dim-witted father, for whom even religion was too much of an intellectual stretch. Despite his desire for a three-year sleep, he stayed and helped.

He was introduced to the others in her party, a group of 12 from the church, the significance of the number was lost on him, she giggled when she realised that. They'd come and tend to swathe of people whenever there was a terrorist event, Transformer related or otherwise. They gave their time and whatever resources they could spare to those in need.

She had been mid-retying her long, but scruffy black hair when she looked him square in the eyes and asked him about his living situation. He replied that the building was destroyed, that she was looking at everything he owned. Unsure whether it was pity or a true desire to help him that came across her face, Daniel said it was okay, and he always managed, he'd lived through worse. She said she'd help, because he'd helped, and such a kindred spirit was one she wanted to get to know, and there was always a place in the house of the Lord for such a spirit.

Their bond strengthened when she inquired what his life was like, what he did, where he was from – years of living in England had resulted in a bit of an accent. He muddied the truth, but not by much. His parents were killed because of the Decepticons, and he went overseas to live with his grandparents. Now he was back State side and had a job as an English teacher. When she found out the school, he was going to be working at was only a few blocks from her older brother's home, whom she lived with, that was that. He had accommodation.

That night Amy had taken him back to the church building, they slept in the hall with thirty-odd other now-homeless people and then in the morning they caught the smelly public transport out to meet her brother. He was a pleasant enough fellow, but obviously a little suspicious, which to be honest, wasn't a bad trait to have in this day and age. Especially when it involved a younger sister. Having never had siblings himself he knew he'd never understand completely, but he could imagine. It had been something he'd always secretly wanted, a sibling, but his parents were both on the same page with the mantra "one and done". With all that went on in a life surrounded by giant alien metal people, he did have to admit, that at the time, it wasn't something he dwelt too much upon. It was only after his parents' deaths that he really felt he'd missed out on something.

In any case, after a few days sleeping in that shack, a few hearty meals and some deep and meaningful conversations, Marv decided Daniel wasn't a rapist or a scammer, so decided to tolerate him. After a few weeks, that tolerance evolved into a sort of acceptance and an offer of accommodation. It was an odd conversation; it was more a fluid progression of the cementing status quo. Daniel just lived in that shack. Once he got a replacement bank card – the micro chips inserted for such purposes gave him a rash – he was able to pay a bit of rent, which was always appreciated.

This had all happened a year ago, and it was a strikingly quick progress of time.

His job was fulfilling, there wasn't too much violence in the neighbourhood, and the small shed he called home, while not much, was something he'd grown fond of.

The mushroom soup hit the spot.

ooOOOoo

He wasn't quite sure when it happened, and had he ever been asked he never would have seen it coming – Sunday was now his favourite day of the week.

Because of church.

There was certainly no conversion, and he still believed in the depths of his soul, not that he believed in a soul but for narrative's sake it was a good descriptive, that there was no god. So, as he brushed his shoulders of a random cobweb, cleaned and ready for church, that to find the experience a much look forward to event was quite amusing to him. Chances would have been that his mother would have lost her shit if she'd been alive to see this.

His dad would have chuckled and asked if it was about a girl.

Yeah, it was.

It was a girl.

Amy.

Sweet, kind, generous, funny, smart in a religious way, Amy.

But not just Amy.

He found something in church that he wasn't sure he needed or could even give words to want.

Family.

Not to insult the Witwicky or Spencer clans, but there was always something aloof about his genetic relatives. Sparkplug would have been furious, perhaps disappointed to hear such a thing, but Daniel didn't get many years with his grandfather, so had a hard time emotionally connecting with the second-hand memories that were gifted to him from people who knew the man better.

As a teenager, he certainly didn't think it was cool to take much interest in his grandparents. And truth be told, he found his Aunt extremely creepy. The constant coating of cat fluffs on her hand knitted novelty cardis also didn't help.

And with no siblings, no cousins, it made for a very boring family life.

The Autobots had always been his family, from his youthful perspective.

As an adult, he questioned that, denied it perhaps. Family wouldn't have let him drift off so easily after such a tragic event.

Amy had asked him almost immediately if he'd wanted to attend church with her. He wasn't stupid enough to say no. He liked the woman from the moment he saw her. He wanted to get to know her better. Going to church seemed like a good way to achieve that goal.

For the year since the attack, they'd become close. Marv was also now counted amongst his friends. Amy had introduced him to her parents, her other siblings, their partners and children. Several cousins, a couple of grandparents and a whole host of uncles and aunties, all wondering if Daniel was "The One".

Well, they were tactful enough not to ask so bluntly, but it was implied from their questioning and body language.

Amy hadn't really confirmed or denied their relationship status, but Daniel knew they were close that perhaps one day, soon, something more would come of their comfortable friendship.

Of course, he realised that at some point, perhaps before anything further took place, he was going to have to tell her who he was, who his parents were. He doubted it would impact their relationship, but he did envision her being a bit disappointed that he hadn't confided in her sooner. However, she was likely to understand. People didn't really talk much about the dead these days. It'd be too long a conversation.

As it stood, he didn't have to worry about the strategy of inserting this topic into a hushed conversation stolen in private. The extremely biased, and despite claims to the contrary, government-controlled media gave him the opportunity.

Marv's wife, Janice, an oddly fat woman [thyroid problems apparently], had just turned on the news as she placed a bowl of watery looking soup on the table.

"Marv's running late, he said to start without him".

She said matter-of-factly as she sat down, handing Amy the ladle.

The young woman started serving the three of them with her attention more on the television.

Two days prior there'd been a bombing in a government office in Washington. For some reason it was getting more attention than usual. Most likely because a man by the name of Nicholas Grenwich had been killed. Grenwich being the liaison between the Autobots and the EDC, and in line to take the Ambassador for Earth job when the current one would retire in a few years, if he didn't get assassinated first.

Whether or not that man was the target was up for debate, as nothing on the news could ever be trusted. However, three other men had been killed in the attack. None of those three were of much importance, although that was worded with a hell of a lot more tact, so it was determined by the authorities that Grenwich had indeed been the target.

The bomber had been identified. Caught by a security camera a few blocks away outside a café. Causally ordering a croissant and a cup of English breakfast.

"Authorities have identified the bomber as former ANZRM colonel Naomi McGryin. A woman notoriously known for multiple acts of terrorism, affiliation with the Decepticons, and most notably, the assassination of former Ambassador of earth Spike Witwicky and his wife, Carly…"

"Isn't your surname Witwicky?"

Janice asked, with about as much fineness as a dump truck stuck in a ditch. She spooned a watery portion into her mouth. She liked to save the lumpy bits till the end, it was something to look forward to.

"Yeah".

"It's not a very common name, were you related?"

"Yeah".

Amy noticed his body language, and have the emotional maturity to recognise he wasn't really keen on the conversation at hand, she quickly changed it.

"There's a warning for acid rain showers tomorrow, so you better not hang out the washing tomorrow".

"Oh gosh, that's right! I had heard of that in passing. Oh, actually, it was Tina telling me. I stepped into the vege market on Fifth to see if they had any potatoes in, and I ran into her…"

Daniel shot Amy a look of gratitude, she smiled softly in return as she changed the channel over to some corny game show.

Janice had begun prattling about Tina's ability to find good leeks at suspiciously low prices to have noticed. She continued a very one-sided conversation for the twenty minutes it took for them to politely savour their meal. It also helped that it was usually warmer in the dining room so as annoying as Janice's gossip mongering was, it was more comfortable to remain there. The husky woman would finish, and then would clear the plates away, oftentimes feigning insult that they'd offered to help. She waddled into the kitchen to do the dishes and prepare lunches for the next day.

Marv returned home later that evening; two flimsy paper bags tucked under his arm. One filled with equally flimsy leeks and the other with some questionable looking potatoes, but they were certainly better quality than what had floated in the soup that evening. Janice was quick to meet him, nattering away about various subjects, including Tina, and then took the produce into the kitchen to store, but not before serving her husband some reheated soup.

Around 8pm Amy walked with Daniel out to his shack. They stood there under the dead tree with its creepy fingers and stared up at the dark sky. Blackened by the shapeless blobs that counted as clouds, but in reality, were simply collections of varying floating pollutants.

"Do you remember the last time you saw the stars?"

She asked after a few moments.

"You know, not really".

"I imagine there's the same kind of pollution in England".

"In the cities, absolutely. I can't speak for the countryside as I never really went out that far".

"They were your parents, weren't they?"

He didn't say anything for at least a minute, squinting his eyes thinking he could make out a small speck of light. Probably a plane or something, perhaps a drone.

"Yeah".

"I'm sorry".

"Yeah".

"No, I mean it. To lose your parents like that, to be shipped overseas, away from friends. That must have been hard. Obviously, you don't want to talk about it, otherwise you would have brought it up earlier. So… so I guess I'll just say goodnight".

"Sorry. It's just… well, I've never really talked to anyone about the whole fucking mess".

He caught her eye as he swore, immediately regretting it, part of him still on the look out to impress her. She recognised that he was embarrassed, likely by the cuss.

"Heh. It's okay. I've heard worse. In fact, I may have dabbled with a bit of the potty mouthing myself".

She giggled. A sound he found absolutely enchanting, so much so that he couldn't hold back the grin as it spread across his face. He gave a small chuckle in return, before the gloominess of the topic at hand took his expression, spreading out from his eyes, a noticeable and pitiable sullenness.

"The hardest part is knowing she's out there. Still killing people. Good people. And for what? Megatron gives her money? Where's she going to spend it? eBay? And from what I've heard, she's not a complete idiot, so why would she believe Megatron if he told her she could rule the earth".

"What?"

"Oh, it's like a thing. People, human people I mean, they sign up to help Megatron out because he promises to give them the planet when he's done with it".

"Why would anyone want this shit shack? I honestly doubt Megatron could make it worse".

"Hahah, yeah! Exactly! That's why it's so weird to think of her being so stupid as to believe that".

"Given the state of her home now, maybe this is an improvement?"

Amy held her arms out from her body motioning to the sorry looking landscape that passed as her brother's backyard.

"Or maybe she's just broken? That war was horrid. I lost family in that mess. One of dad's friends was in one of the camps in Australia. He came to live with us after, and the stories he told… My God… how could people do such things?"

Crossing her arms across her chest to try and stave off the chill gave him an opportunity to put his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, it was truly awful. There were Autobots who went over to help in the immediate aftermath, especially after what happened with the nukes. People were really scared to go in there, but Prime was happy to go in. Radiation's no threat to them. I'd seen my fair share of carnage at that point, seen enough bodies, but not a single one would tell me anything about what they saw there. My dad later told me that there were mass graves everywhere. And that was all he would say about it".

"Ghastly".

"Yeah".

They stood there for another five odd minutes. Daniel holding Amy. Amy holding herself. Both simply focussing on each other's breathing, existing solely in that moment. Trying to fight off thoughts of the topic and the action being inappropriate to each other.

"Do the Autobots know you're here? Back in the US I mean?"

"No".

A small drop of rain thumped itself down on his shack.

"I haven't talked to any of them, well, my friends, since I was a kid, about a year after I arrived in England was when I stopped communication. They have their lives now. I have mine".

Another couple of drops. Thick. Stinking. Greasy. Grey.

"Maybe you should? I bet they'd be happy to hear from you. Happy to hear you're doing okay. It's not like you'd be asking them for money or to hang out together, or take a road trip, or whatever you do with an alien robot that turns into a car".

"Not just cars".

He laughed softly.

Several more drops.

"I don't think that's acid, but it won't do our clothes any good".

Amy stated bluntly, not at all happy about the weather interfering with the conversation.

He kissed her.

It was sudden, unexpected, not unwelcome.

And it was quick. Just on the lips.

He pulled back, unsure if he'd made a mistake.

A sheepish grin plastered across his face, one he was trying to reign in.

She gave him an odd look, something he couldn't quite describe.

"Sorry, I just thought…"

"No. No. No, it was nice".

Another one of those trademark giggles.

She kissed him back.

This time a little more prolonged. More passionate. Deeper. It had meaning, to both of them. More meaning than the stink of the wet that was saturating into their already grimy clothes could cast aside.

"AMY!"

Janice's shrill voice called out into the pitch.

"Goddamit".

"Blasphemy!"

Daniel chuckled in response, but there was no sincerity behind it. She recognised it, and in the dim light between them, unsure if he could even see, she winked at him.

"We can talk more tomorrow, I guess. Maybe go for a walk, just the two of us".

"Yeah, that'd be nice. I'd like that. Just don't tell Marv".

"Oh, he's okay. He likes you".

"Maybe not if he finds out I was smooching you".

"Smooching? Who says smooching anymore?"

Daniel laughed.

"See you tomorrow".

Janice yelled something else, but neither of them were paying much attention to determine exactly what was said. They disentangled their arms and the woman headed back, in a half-hearted jog, towards the house. And as much as he wanted to stare into the dark after her, towards the barely lit house, he didn't want to be sleeping in his shack stinking of black rain. A quick few steps and he was in his house. He pulled the door shut and locked it.

A flicker of light and his candle gave the small room a bit of lamination, enough for him to find his bottle of water and bowl for washing off. He stripped off his damp clothes, wiped himself as clean as he was able, fumbled about for his night shirt and wriggled into his sleeping bag. Suddenly noting that he was singing softy to himself.

He picked up his phone, lay back on his pillow and opened up his email account.

Dear Arcee…