Summary: My version of 'Sam beats the smug off of Galloway's face', based on Steelfeather's chapter.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
When Sam was a young child, the threat of being sent to his room was a tactic that his parents had employed well and often. The prospect of sitting idle and bored had seemed awful to his younger self, a thing to be avoided at all costs. But now, as Sam waved good-bye to Richmond and pushed the door shut behind him, he felt profoundly relieved to be alone.
The appointment with the psychologist had gone worse than he'd expected, Sam thought bitterly. He knew that he was dealing with a mountain of emotional bullshit—feelings that were too unfathomable and intense for him to untangle—but he was desperate to compartmentalize, to avoid remembering. To go back to normal.
He pushed away from the door and began to pace in the small room.
The Autobots were millions of years old, and they had been fighting this war for longer than human civilization had existed. Sam knew his experiences paled in comparison, and he was loathe to make himself appear any more weak or inconvenient than he'd already managed. Sam took a harsh breath and scrubbed his hand over his face. Besides, if Epps and Lennox had made it through Egypt without losing their shit, then so could he.
The door to his room opened with a metallic groan, and Sam jerked hard in surprise. To his mingled relief and happiness, Mikaela stuck her head into his room.
"There you are." She said by way of greeting, stepping fully inside.
"Hey 'Kaela." He replied as he stepped close to her, his hands wrapping gently around her waist.
"How's Bumblebee?" She asked. At his confused expression, she explained, "When you weren't in your room this morning, your mom and dad went looking for you. Williams told them that you went to the flight deck last night."
Feeling embarrassed, Sam grimaced.
"He's good. The others are too, though Arcee will need some work when they get back to Diego Garcia. Bee says she'll be fine, though."
"That's good news." She murmured, pressing fully against him. Sam couldn't reply for a moment, caught off-guard by the warm feeling that bloomed in his chest at her proximity.
"Want to talk about it?" She asked after a moment had passed.
"Not really, no." He replied, tucking his chin against the side of her head.
"Okay." She replied simply, and Sam felt a rush of gratitude in response. Mikaela understood. She'd always understood.
"…Sam?" Mikaela murmured into his neck.
"Yeah?"
"You need a shower. Badly."
At her words Sam pulled back, embarrassed. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. It's been a weird morning."
A wry smirk pulled at the corners of her lips, "Uh huh. Let's go introduce you to a bar of soap."
With that, Mikaela wrapped his good hand in her own and pulled him towards the door. Sam let himself be guided out of the room and down the hallway in the opposite direction than he'd walked last night. When Mikaela stepped through the hatch at the end of the corridor, Sam recognized Williams standing at attention on the other side of the door. Beside him stood a soldier that Sam didn't recognize; tall and pale with a headful of copper hair.
"Good morning Mikaela, Sam." Williams greeted good-naturedly.
"Morning Robin." She greeted back.
Sam blinked in surprise before he asked, disbelievingly, "Wait, is your name seriously Robin Williams?"
If the expression on Williams' face was anything to go by, it was hardly the first time he'd been asked that question. In a considerably cooler tone of voice, Williams asked, "Where to?"
Sam winced at him in apology as Mikaela answered, "Sam wants a shower."
Williams nodded and gestured for them to follow as he turned around and started walking; Mikaela and Sam fell into step behind him. It was no time at all before they entered a large barracks. Two long rows of bunkbeds lined opposite walls, each bed was identically made; blue blankets tucked tight, crisp corners, and white sheets. Williams led them down the narrow space between the beds to a tiled area in the back of the room. As they got closer Sam saw narrow shower stalls with long, white curtains arranged opposite a row of gleaming metal sinks. Williams opened a floor-to-ceiling cabinet and started handing him items: starchy white towel, washcloth, and a small puck of oatmeal-colored soap.
"Wait here." He said briskly. He walked back the way he came, stopping in front of a bunkbed half-way down the row, and pulled out a footlocker from underneath the bottom mattress. He rummaged inside of it for a moment, before turning around and coming back with a bundle of navy blue cloth. Upon inspection, Sam realized that it was a long-sleeved shirt with the USS Theodore Roosevelt emblem stitched on the left breast.
"It's the only size I've got." He said by way of apology, "And I can't do anything about pants."
"It's great, thank-you." Sam said appreciatively.
"There's not a lot of hot water on the ship, so be prepared for a cold shower." Williams warned.
Sam nodded and opened the nearest shower curtain, stepping inside. He placed the linens on the small metal shelf set in the wall and shucked his clothes as quickly as possible. Sam looked curiously at the shower set-up. There was a dial for a temperature gauge—he turned the arrow to the "warm" setting—but there was no valve to turn to start the flow of water. Sam looked around confusedly for a moment before he noticed a black rubber button set in the wall. Curiously, Sam pushed it and yelped loudly as a stream of cold water cascaded down his back. The water stopped as soon as he released the button.
"I warned you." Came Williams' raised voice, amused, from some distance away.
Steeling himself, Sam compressed the button long enough to let water pour over his head and shoulders. Once he was good and wet, he grabbed the bar of soap and lathered up, shivering in the cool air. He grabbed the washcloth next and, after turning the water on long enough to soak it through, he drew it over his face and chest, mindful of his injuries. Three days' worth of sweat and grime sluiced off his body and down the drain. Shivering in earnest now, Sam compressed the button one last time and stood under the cold spray, rinsing the soap off his skin.
Grabbing his towel, Sam dried himself awkwardly in the narrow confines of the stall. He was still dripping water when he pulled on his underwear and pants, and then he pushed the curtain aside. Sam stepped out of the shower and pulled the navy shirt over his head, before leaning against the counter to put on his socks and shoes. He glanced down the length of the barracks and noticed Williams was sitting on the bed from underneath which he had retrieved the shirt; Mikaela sat on the bed across the aisle from him. Sam walked towards them as he rubbed the towel over his hair.
"Hey, is there a commissary on this ship?" Sam asked, and when Williams nodded he inquired further, "Any chance they have phone chargers?"
The solider nodded, "Yeah, sure. They're shitty, but they'll work for a month or two."
Sam opened his mouth to ask whether Williams would take them, when he remembered he didn't have his wallet, and therefore no way to purchase anything. He frowned, stymied.
Seeing his expression, Williams sighed in exasperation and offered, "I can spot you."
Though the words were curt, Williams was smiling at him.
"Alright, well, where should I put this?" Sam asked, gesturing to the towel.
Williams took the towel from him and walked back to the bathroom area, disappearing momentarily, then he was walking back. The soldier glanced at the watch on his wrist as he approached.
"Alright, let's go to the commissary, and then I will take you to the mess for an early lunch."
Williams walked out of the barracks, and they followed closely behind. Sam had given up trying to pay attention to the route they were taking; each corridor was identical—the same colors and features and lighting. It was impossible to keep track of where he was heading.
"The commissary is alright," Williams explained over his shoulder, "There's the standard items—food and toiletries, some books, random stuff—but it's pricey. Captive audience and all that."
Sam winced and opened his mouth to apologize for the imposition, but Williams was waving him off.
"It's fine. It's all on Uncle Sam's dime."
Sam nodded slowly, finding the answer simultaneously reassuring and perplexing.
Williams opened the next port door with a well-practiced turn of his hands, and then stopped short. Standing on the other side was a military police officer in full uniform, with a seriously put-upon expression on his face. The most likely reason for the officer's sour mood stood directly behind him in a cheap suit and ugly tie—Galloway. Sam felt himself stiffen instantly, his eyes narrowing in disdain.
Surprise flashed across the politician's face for a split-second before his features settled into his usual arrogant expression. Galloway stepped through the door, and the MP followed behind him. Sam felt a brief twist of satisfaction that the self-important bureaucrat had to be escorted around the ship, the same as him.
"Good morning, Samuel." Galloway greeted, but there was nothing friendly about his tone. After the dust had settled in Egypt, Lennox had pulled Sam aside and told him about Galloway's intention to hand him over to Megatron. At first, Sam hadn't believed him, unwilling to accept that a fellow American and an elected official would willingly send an eighteen-year-old civilian to certain death. It wasn't until the bureaucrat had been retrieved from the desert and Sam had actually met the man that he realized Lennox had been right. Galloway would have definitely handed him over, if it served the politician's self interests.
"I have nothing to say to you, Galloway." Sam replied, coldly.
Galloway's expression arranged itself into one of neat surprise. "Is that so? I heard that you had plenty to say to Dr. Anderson."
Sam felt his heart freeze in his chest, the sudden surge of anxiety making him nauseous. For a split second, his worst fears had come true—Galloway knew. He knew just how fucked up Sam had been since Egypt, he knew—
—but no, that made no sense, he realized. Anderson had said she wouldn't disclose anything they discussed, and Sam had trusted her. He felt almost lightheaded at how quickly his anxiety flashed into anger. Galloway didn't know shit, he was just being an asshole.
"Let's go, Mikaela." Sam said tightly, but Galloway was speaking again, false concern in his voice.
"I was so relieved when I heard you decided to get some counseling, Sam. Anyone who would willingly associate with those aliens clearly requires professional assistance."
Sam went very still. He was distantly aware of Mikaela speaking to him, low and urgent, but he couldn't hear what she was saying.
"Stop talking, Galloway." His tone was midnight black, but his voice was perfectly steady.
Galloway pushed his hands into his pockets, his posture loose and relaxed, clearly enjoying Sam's reaction.
"I don't think I will. I warned Congress that the Autobots were a national security risk. Now the House Oversight Committee will be convening in three days, and the only item on the agenda is the Autobot issue. As it turns out, I have a lot to say on the matter."
Sam felt his heart beating hard in his chest, hot rage burning him from the inside out.
"A national security risk?" Sam repeated, anger and sarcasm making the words come out sharp, "I'd say that killing the Fallen and saving our sun is pretty much the opposite of a national security risk."
Galloway stepped close, and out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed Williams stiffen.
"The days of unaccountability are over," Galloway hissed, "The Autobots will come to heel or they will be dealt with accordingly."
Mikaela's hands were on his chest now, "Sam. Sam, let's go."
"Are you seriously that stupid and short-sighted? The Decepticons aren't going away—ever. Even if you killed every one of them, more will keep coming because Megatron sent a homing signal into space. The Autobots are the only thing standing between us and them. Get with the fucking program, Galloway."
His words seemed to anger the older man, whose eyes narrowed as he replied, "Then it's a shame that Sector-7 didn't finish what it had started with the yellow one."
Sam was moving before he fully registered the words. Fisting his burnt hand in Galloway's shirt, Sam punched the older man across the face with every ounce of his strength. Galloway's head snapped to the side and Sam pushed him roughly against the wall, his arm across his throat. It was only then that he realized he was screaming, manic with rage, in the politician's face.
"If you touch him, if you hurt him, I will kill you! Do you hear me, Galloway? I will kill you. Do you fucking understand me?"
Sam was only peripherally aware of the other people in the corridor. The MP was pulling at his hands, trying to disentangle him from the politician. Williams and Mikaela were both talking, their voices raised and urgent, their hands on his body. But Sam didn't let go of Galloway—he couldn't. Within those beady hazel eyes, currently blown wide with shock, Sam saw everything he feared the most: the loss of his best friend and guardian; his failure to protect that which he cherished most in this world; the terror and guilt he'd felt when Optimus' optics had darkened in the forest. So Sam held tight, overcome with fury and desperation in equal measures.
Evidentially, the MP had had enough. Grabbing Sam across the chest with one arm, he balled up a fist and jabbed it sharply into Sam's side. The punch obviously wasn't meant to seriously injure him, but the moment it made contact with his ribs, Sam went down like a hanged man with the rope cut. Not expecting his sudden surrender, the MP did not react quickly enough to catch him, and Sam hit the floor—hard. The sudden contact made his ribs scream in agony, and Sam wrapped his arm tightly around his torso, his other hand clutching reflexively at the metal floor. Mikaela was on her knees in an instant, one arm flung over his back and her other hand on his chest, helping him struggle into a sitting position. His vision blurred with tears and he gasped for air, trying not to puke all over her. Distantly, Sam hoped that Bumblebee didn't have a sensor trained on him, or else the yellow scout would certainly conclude that he was being murdered.
Galloway had evidentially recovered from his shock at Sam's sudden attack, because he was yelling at the MP, "Officer, I want this man arrested and charged with assault!"
"Battery." Sam corrected from the floor, his voice wrecked.
Galloway looked down at him, murder on his face, "What?"
"You meant battery, though you'd have me on the assault charge too."
Williams hooked his hands under Sam's arms and helped pull him to his feet. Sam leaned against the taller man, heavily.
"You okay?" He asked, concernedly.
"Never better." Sam rasped. The agonizing burn in his chest felt like a victory.
"Officer, are you going to arrest him or not?" Galloway demanded. The MP's mouth down-turned, clearly irritated at being ordered about by the man. The officer waffled for a moment, but then seemed to come to a decision. He looked at Sam grimly.
"Can you walk?" He asked as he approached, pulling a pair of handcuffs off his belt.
"Are you serious, Lassiter?" Williams snapped, "He was asking for it."
"He broke the law, Williams." Lassiter replied tightly, "You can take it up with the brig officer."
Sam felt a flash of incredulity—there was a brig onboard the ship? An actual brig? Like in Star Trek?—but then he was being pushed face-first into the wall and his arms were handcuffed tightly behind his back.
In full control of his mental faculties once again after his freak-out, Sam protested over his shoulder, "You don't have the authority to arrest me! I'm a civilian."
"We can arrest anyone who commits a crime on federal soil." Lassiter replied coolly, pulling Sam away from the wall.
"We're not on federal soil!" Sam argued back.
"Shut up, smart ass." The MP snapped as he started pushing Sam down the corridor.
Mikaela made to follow them, but Williams put a restraining hand on her shoulder. As the MP pushed Sam through the hatch door, he turned around and said, "Galloway is due to meet with Rear Admiral Turetsky. Take him now."
Williams face was unreadable as he replied, stiffly, "Yes sir."
Sam let himself be pushed along through the ship, well aware of the consequences of pissing off this man. Though they did not speak, the MP was considerate enough to walk slowly, a courtesy Sam appreciated as every step lanced sharp pain across his chest. It was a small eternity before they approached a blue metal door with the words "USS Theodore Roosevelt – BRIG" printed in bold, gold letters. Lassiter let go of Sam's arm long enough to open the hatch door, and then he guided him through the entryway and into the brig.
The corridors of the brig were pristine white, contrasting sharply against the black tiled floors. The MP led him down the hall and into a small receiving room, which was dominated by a tall desk. An older man with close-cut graying hair stood as they entered, surveying Sam up and down.
"What's this now?" He asked.
"Assault and battery, Corporal."
The older man pinned Sam with a disapproving look, frowning.
"If you knew the guy, you'd understand." Sam supplied, helpfully.
"Be quiet." Lassiter snapped, giving his arm a hard shake.
"Put him down in special quarters. I'll process him." The Brig Officer's tone implied that this entire situation was an unwelcome pain in his ass. It was a sentiment that Sam shared completely.
"Alright. Come on." Lassiter said as he pulled Sam passed the desk and through an open gate of bright blue bars. They walked in silence to the end of the short passage, where the MP stopped in front of a nondescript door. Inside was perhaps the smallest room Sam had seen in his life. There was a bed with a single-sized mattress—blue sheets, white pillow—and that was it. It was perhaps three steps to the bed, and the bed took up the entire back wall of the room.
Lassiter pushed Sam passed the threshold. Once inside, he felt the MP step close, felt tugging on his wrists, and then his hands were free. He turned around and looked at the officer.
"Well, what now?" He asked.
"Now you sit your ass down. You can cool your heels in here until the Brig Officer decides otherwise." Lassiter replied, stepping out of the room and closing the door without another word. A moment later, he heard a key in the lock.
Sam sighed and sat down carefully on the bed. He hurt all over; the pain medication he had received from the doctor that morning was doing nothing to touch it. He scrubbed his hand over his face and leaned back against the wall, realizing something with grim acceptance.
His father was going to kill him.
This was the second time that his father had to bail him out of jail, if the military even allowed bail in the first place. But this time, Sam had actually committed a crime, and he knew with certainty that Galloway was going to try to nail his ass to the wall. Although the thought of the bureaucrat trying to ruin his life made Sam laugh hollowly—what could that sorry bastard do to him that Megatron hadn't already managed?—he knew criminal charges would give his father an aneurysm.
Sam winced as he shifted his position. His heart was beating strangely in his chest, lurching and pinching uncomfortably. He rolled his eyes, thinking it would be the perfect end to a shitty day if he dropped dead from a heart attack, when he noticed the camera.
Tucked in one corner of the ceiling, a small black camera was trained in his direction, its red light blinking steadily. Sam stared in disbelief for a heartbeat, two, before he groaned loudly in mortification, and covered his face with his hands. If the camera was part of the ship's closed circuit television system—and Sam was willing to bet that it was—then he was sure that he was being watched by someone other than the Brig Officer. If Sam was very lucky, then it was only Bumblebee who was aware of his predicament.
Sam hadn't been feeling particularly lucky lately.
After a moment, Sam lifted one hand and waved weakly in the direction of the camera without looking up. He found himself forced to revise his previous conclusion: if the Autobots were aware of what had happened, then Ratchet was going to kill him.
Sam groaned again.
Notes: The brig in this chapter was loosely based off of this video: USS Nimitz Carrier Brig