CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

XXX

Finishing the IV fluids within the half hour, Jack completed the orthostatics with flying colors, and even his "road test" went well, though the physician was understandably reluctant to let him go. She sympathized with June and her suspicions, believing Jack had suffered from an acute stress reaction, hypothesizing his restlessness from the night prior had exhausted his body, causing the hypotension and syncopal episode.

Insomnia, nausea, vomiting, feelings of impending doom . . . Jack grimaced as the doctor listed off other symptoms which, unfortunately, painted a perfect picture of him. Even worse, such a diagnosis prompted the doctor to offer a referral to the mental health unit.

"Acute stress reaction can be a considerable precursor for developing PTSD," she spoke to June, occasionally glancing at Jack as she spoke. "Which is a serious disorder that can manifest severe symptoms. I would highly recommend seeing a psychiatrist to look into possible treatment options."

Hard lines appeared on June's face, Jack already able to guess what was going through her mind.

"Mom-"

"Yes, please," she said, cutting Jack off and not looking at him. "I think it would be best if we at least had the option, for further evaluation."

"Mom," Jack repeated, exasperated. "This isn't PTSD! I'm just a little stressed out."

"A little stress doesn't cause insomnia and make you pass out," June fired back, not wanting to argue right now. "Jack, I want to make sure you're okay, and I would like a professional to evaluate you."

He bit back the response that Ratchet was a professional, because he knew she would reply with the obvious: he is not a human.

I am seeing a psychiatrist for this. Megatron has literally driven me insane.

The physician waited quietly for them to sort it out, her voice remaining calm and collected. "If you are comfortable going home with Jack, I will get everything squared away as soon as possible."

"Yes, please," June nodded, giving her son a displeased look. He figured she was grumpy from lack of sleep, so this argument was going to go nowhere regardless. With a sigh the young man laid back in his bed, the throbbing of his head diminished enough that it was barely noticeable.

Once the doctor was gone, she frowned at Jack.

"No Autobots for at least two weeks," she said sternly, earning a jolt of shock from her son. When he opened his mouth to protest she held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. "No, Jack. You have been exposed to way too much and need time to rest. You need a sense of normalcy in your life."

"Mom, being away from the 'bots won't fix this," he begged, "they are normalcy. It's just . . . this was just a stressful situation for all of us. I'll get better, I promise."

"You will. Without the Autobots," June was steadfast with her decision. "I'm serious. I'll let Arcee shuttle you to and from school, but you are not going to base, or participating in any of their missions. You've done enough of that to last a lifetime."

Jack, too, did not want to back down. "They need me."

"Optimus gave you the key because he felt you were responsible," she crossed her arms. "The only reason I let you go was because I was assured you would be safe, and that you were the only one who could go to Vector Sigma. That's over, Jack. Now you need to be responsible to yourself and recover before things get worse for your mental health."

The young man grit his teeth. "I don't have PTSD."

"I will let a psychiatrist determine that," June said with finality, their conversation cut short as his nurse came in, gentle fingers removing the IV from his arm and unhooking him from the monitors.

Jack sat there as she then went over his discharge papers and instructions, simmering. As desperately as he wanted to tell his mom this was not what she thought it was, the words kept catching in his throat. Something was stopping him, though he was unsure if it was common sense or just anxiety. Perhaps a mix of the two?

He was stressed because a certain warlord was likely throwing a fit about his supposed "betrayal," and at any moment he could decide to pop in and hurt Jack, or his mother. Maybe he would torture them both until they gave up the Autobot base, making Jack only hate him more. He might even kidnap Jack and keep him on the Nemesis as ransom, showing his true colors and destroying whatever trust - in the loosest of terms - Jack had with him.

Another option was he just simply ignored Jack, gave him the silent treatment and acted as if he had never existed in the first place. It would be like neither of them had met, and he would treat Jack Darby like any other human being - a disgusting insect, inferior to the Cybertronian race.

A pang went through his heart, the idea of being ignored actually hurting. It hurt to think about all of this being for naught.

Because it's wasted effort or . . . because I was actually starting to like him?

June getting up stirred him from his thoughts, the young man following in his mother's example, quickly ducking into the bathroom to change from his hospital gown into fresh clothes, the pair of them leaving the hospital.

"Mom, do you want me to drive?" He offered tentatively. "If you're tired?"

"I'm fine, and you have a head injury," she replied, voice stiff and displeased. Deciding he was tired of arguing he just got in the passenger seat, spotting a blood-soaked towel in the backseat.

I'll clean it up. It's the least I can do for her.

The car ride back home was silent, Jack fidgeting with his phone. Arcee had yet to reply to his text, however he assumed she was busy at base. He cringed, realizing she had likely told everyone about the incident. If the Autobots were a little concerned before, they were likely bordering on panicked now. This entire incident was unprecedented, and Jack had to ruin what would have otherwise been an uneventful experience.

The decision to tell them kept ping-ponging back and forth in his head. On one hand, there was apparently nothing for him to lose. On the other, maybe there was. Maybe Megatron would come back, they would start where they left off, and he could buy more time for his friends. Not that he had been doing a good job to start off with.

Jack despised how hopeful he almost sounded - like he wanted Megatron to come back. So, what? He could have another panic-induced breakdown and end up back in the hospital?

Of course being in a relationship with the Decepticon leader is bad for my health.

When they got home he did not hesitate to grab the towel from the backseat, cringing when he saw the bloodstain on the seat as well.

"Don't worry about it."

"I'll take care of it, mom," he said, trying to sound gentle but persistent. "You should rest."

"And you should too," she pointed out.

"After I clean this," Jack sighed, taking the towel inside and throwing it in the washer. "Get some sleep, Mom. I love you."

There was a pause, her voice ever so tired, but filled with genuine endearment. "I love you too."

Grabbing the cleaners, Jack made an effort to move slowly, not wanting another passing-out incident. As he walked back to the car he noticed the referral papers laying out on the countertop, the brief thought of shredding them passing through his mind. The last thing he needed was for anyone to find out he was seeing a shrink - Vince would, eventually, because information spread like wildfire through the Autobot base. From there . . . Jack would be subject to endless teasing.

However, if his mother thought he was guilty of insanity, then destroying the papers would only solidify her thinking. June would believe Jack had something to hide, and possibly ban him from the base for a whole year.

Returning to the garage he sprayed cleaner on the bloodstain, using paper towels to soak it all up.

Some hero you are. He thought bitterly. Between having what could essentially be a mental breakdown and hanging out with the antithesis of the mech he had "saved," Jack could not give himself the credit everyone else seemed to think he deserved. His mother called him responsible, she believed Optimus Prime - Optimus Prime - felt the same . . .

Yet he was reckless enough to be with him.

Jack shook his head, mopping up the blood until there was nothing left. He supposed he was fortunate the car had those weird, plastic-like seats, and not cloth. That would have been impossible to get blood out of.

Satisfied with his work he ducked back inside, checking his phone to see no one had messaged him. A part of him was disappointed, sighing as he set the device on the charger, settling into bed. He was mindful to not crash into it, not wanting to aggravate his head wound.

Staring up at the ceiling, the young man refused to let his thoughts wander too far. He had to rest, and power-napping thanks to a head injury was not the way to do it.

Eventually Jack drifted a little bit, his eyes closing though he did not quite remember how long he had been this way, his chest rising and falling slowly. Instinctually he reached for a form that was not there, cursing himself and Megatron as genuine disappointment lanced through his heart.

A knock at his door jolted him awake some time later, Jack rubbing his crusted eyes and realizing it was just after school.

"Hey Jack, you up?" Miko asked rather loudly.

"Yeah," he glanced over his shoulder, seeing the empty space and shaking his head. Of course it was empty; what was he expecting to see? "Give me a second."

Standing and running a hand through his hair, he smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt before opening his bedroom door.

Miko stood in the hall with Rafael, her arms crossed. Her eyes immediately flickered from his face to his forehead, whistling.

"That's pretty gnarly. Did the doc say it was going to scar?" She asked in something akin to a whisper-shout. Jack realized she must have noticed June's exhaustion, having enough courtesy to lower her volume just a touch.

"If they had to stitch it up, it'll probably leave a mark," he sighed, slipping out of his room. If they were going to have a conversation, it would be better to have it in the living room or kitchen, farthest away from his mother.

"Your mom said you passed out," Rafael said, worried gaze fixating on Jack. "What happened?"

"Hypotension," Jack said, quickly using the much more common terminology when Miko quirked up a confused eyebrow. "Low blood pressure. From . . . Well, the doctor called in an acute stress reaction. She thinks it's what caused me to vomit and why I couldn't sleep at all last night."

"Dude, you saved Optimus," Miko pointed out. "Why are you stressed?"

Jack's lie came faster than he ever thought possible. "Just thinking of the what if's, the maybes. And the adrenaline from the trip hadn't worn off. Not to mention M-" his throat tripped over the name without his permission, forcing him to swallow before continuing, "Megatron showed up. Which is a pretty stressful event in and of itself."

"Well, you're all better now, right? There's nothing to worry about!"

Jack wanted to snap at her to not be so stupid, but doing so would only raise more questions. So, he instead told the truth. "Mom wants me to see a psychiatrist."

"For therapy?" The youngest of them adjusted his glasses. "What for?"

Fingers played with a loose string on his shirt sleeve, Jack unable to meet their eyes. "For this. She thinks the 'bots are giving me PTSD."

Miko laughed at the absurdity. "Yeah, I'd have that too if Arcee was my partner."

"Not funny, Miko," Jack glared at her. "But I've been grounded from the base for two weeks while we get this sorted out."

"Ugh, that sucks," she huffed. "What am I supposed to do if you're not there?"

"Homework?" Rafael supplied unhelpfully.

"We need to get helicopter mom off your back," the girl grumbled. "She's ruining our fun, and she's not even there half the time!"

"Don't worry about it, Miko. I'll just go to therapy and prove to her that I'm fine," he said. "Maybe then I can appeal my sentence."

"You act like you're going to jail."

Jack snorted softly. "It almost feels like one."

"Are you going to go back to school tomorrow?" Rafael asked.

The teen took a deep breath. "I hope so," he said forlornly. "I've missed enough as it is, I'm sure my teachers are going to get upset if I miss any more."

"I wish I was you," Miko huffed, crossing her arms. "If I could just not have school every day, I'd be with the 'bots, dune bashing and wrecking 'cons with Bulkhead!"

No. You don't want this, Miko. You don't want to be me.

"And I'd get to go to Cybertron," she said, still sounding a little bitter about the whole experience.

"And get mental trauma?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

There was a pause. "Maybe not that, then," the girl conceded, not quite wise beyond her years, but getting close.

"I'm glad you're doing better, Jack," Rafael said genuinely. "And you weren't hurt too bad."

"Me too," he chuckled softly. Their conversation was drawing to a natural close, Jack eventually helping his friends to the door, Miko careful this time to watch her footing. Bulkhead and Bumblebee were waiting out front, and when he glanced out he also saw a little blue motorcycle parked outside his garage door, waiting patiently.

Scrap. She must have sent me a message and I missed it.

He had not thought to check his phone.

Bidding his friends goodbye, he cringed at having to tell Arcee the news, going through the garage to "retrieve" her and bring her inside.

The conversation went just as well as he expected.

"Banned from base?" Arcee demanded, crouched in her bipedal mode.

"Only for two weeks!" He tried to assure her, feeling a slight headache begin to form between his eyes. Was he stressed, or tired? Or both, perhaps? "I'm pretty sure once the shrink tells me I'm fine she'll let up."

"Jack . . ." There was a pause. "Did the mission . . . really affect you that much? If you were too scared, you could have told us."

"The mission was fine, Arcee," he said, looking up at her bright blue optics. "I'm fine. I just . . . I must just have had some residual anxiety from it all. It's hard to explain, human bodies are weird."

Weird was a good term for it. It would explain why he felt the need to throw up every time he lied to his partner, thought about the consequences if she knew what he did. If she found out.

His partner's winglets drooped in tandem with her shoulders, her face morphing to that of concern and worry. "If you ever, ever need to talk about something, I'm here," she said softly, digits lightly touching his shoulder. "Or any of the other Autobots, Optimus included. We want to know you're doing okay."

"And I am," he assured her, touched. "I promise, 'cee. I'm okay."

Liar, liar.

She smiled, an indication that she believed him. Trusted him. "Alright. You should get some sleep, partner. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Glad to see you're doing well; you scared me this morning."

"I'm sorry," he said, though it sounded lame. "Head wounds bleed a lot, and you probably weren't prepared for that."

"That's what June said when I almost started carrying you to the hospital myself," Arcee said wryly. That earned her a chuckle from her partner.

"I'll see you tomorrow, 'cee. Promise," he smiled at her, entering his house whilst listening to the sound of transformation behind him. As soon as the door closed, however, his smile fell, the heat which had pricked at his eyes now almost overwhelming.

Jack closed his eyes, guilt a stone in his abdomen. He felt awful, horrible, for lying to her. For taking her offerings to talk to heart and yet having no intention of ever telling the truth.

He spent that evening ensuring what homework he could accomplish was done, trying to tire himself out for the night, even making some dinner for his mother, who also was eventually up to eat and perform basic self-care duties before turning in for the night.

Electing to take a shower and scrub off what hospital ickiness was left on his skin, Jack grabbed his night clothes and stepped into the bathroom. He paused at the mirror, realizing this was the first time he was actually taking a good look at himself.

His hair was a bit scruffy and had flecks of blood still in it, though that was only noticeable when he pulled it back to get a good look at the laceration to his forehead. It started right above the middle of his eyebrow, arcing toward his temple then abruptly stopping. He was unsurprised the towel had been completely soaked, especially when he did confirm there were eighteen stitches. The edge of the dresser really did a number on him.

He realized he had not even noticed if there was any blood on the floor or dresser, deciding that would be a project for after school tomorrow.

Once his evening routine was done he slipped out of the bathroom, pausing as he realized how dark it was. Night had fallen once again.

He dared to hope, to assume, holding his breath as he opened his door slowly, looking around. When nothing so much as shifted, the air escaped his lungs as if somebody had punched him in the gut - and the pain was similar too.

He's not coming back.

Where one would normally feel overwhelming joy, Jack felt heat burn around his eyes, making them sting. He barely got the door closed in time before a sob escaped his throat, abandonment wrapping him up in a thick cloak.

Though the first night might have been a fluke, he knew the tyrant would never intentionally miss a second unless . . . unless he had no plans on returning. Which, Jack had to admit, was justified.

And yet . . .

He was beginning to think they had something. As twisted, unnatural, and even insincere as it was, there was this thing there. To call it love would be an even bigger lie than saying nothing was there at all, but it had a name. It was real, and to have it ripped away so suddenly created an emotional vacuum that Jack was not prepared to handle.

Sitting heavily on his bed, the young man buried his face in his hands. Another sob escaped him, the grief sharp like a violent rip or tear. He could say he mourned the loss of effort, his energy and time all wasted on this ridiculous charade that, in the end, meant nothing. But it was that nothing which hurt the most, because he could not imagine the lord of Decepticons feeling the same way he had about all of this. It was nothing but a minor inconvenience to him, a gamble that went wrong and taught him how to better place his bets. His emotional commitment to that, surely, was but a fraction of what Jack's stupid, human body felt. In a way, he could almost be jealous of Megatron; he had no hormones to deal with when it came to things like this. He could just write it off as trivial and move on.

Nothing was trivial to Jack. As much as he wished he could let things go as easy as other people, that was just simply not the case. He was, perhaps, cursed with all of these feelings. They were what made him human, of course, but sometimes he wished he could just . . . not.

You're being dramatic.

He grit his teeth. What he was feeling was, surely, strong enough to not be classified as "dramatic." An overreaction, perhaps. A result of his overthinking and his recklessness, but not drama. Jack wished he had taken things slower, reeled it in a bit. Yet even his patience was thinning as they had danced upon the fringes of something more. Though he tried to convince himself the kisses were not intimate, merely a display of loyalty, there had been something there. He had given the tyrant a piece of his self, and though he had every right to assume Megatron would hang it over his head, the dictator had instead treated it with respect. He pushed boundaries, of course, but never attempted to or actually violate them.

Jack grit his teeth. Megatron was a venerable lover, which was what made this so hard. It would have been easier to resist him if he was actually loathsome, taking what he wanted without regard for the other parties involved. At least then Jack would have more reasons to hate him.

Instead he was crying over him, as if what they had held any worth.

He silently cursed at the tyrant, his broken heart quickly turning to anger. Grabbing the corner of his bed sheets he yanked them back, sliding beneath them and pulling them all the way up to his chin.

I don't need him. I never needed him.

He closed his eyes, refusing to allow his ears to strain in the silence for the sound of quiet ventilation cycles, eventually realizing his balled fist was allowing for his fingernails to cut into his palm, releasing his tense grip. It only took a few seconds for him to open his eyes again, staring at the empty wall with a glare.

He's not here. He won't ever be here. And that's good, because what you had was nothing. He's nothing.

Yet as he took longer than normal to warm up underneath the covers, Jack wanted to punch that stupid empty wall. The sadness quickly replaced the anger once more, because it was easier to tell himself that he was not angry, but telling himself he was not upset did not also make that go away. It just pushed into his chest, reminding him he was alone. That was what he wanted not too long ago; to have this thing over and done with so he could go back to being normal. To actually having a relationship with the person he wanted.

But now . . . right now . . . all he wanted was Megatron.

XXX

Exhaustion clung to him like a layer of clothing, its mask making his eyes heavy even as he forced himself to sit up. Shutting off his alarm, Jack made it an effort this time to stand slowly, taking several deep breaths and waiting for a sense of dizziness to overcome him. When it passed with relative ease he sighed, changing into his day clothes and preparing breakfast.

His mother was already up and sipping on a bottle of iced coffee, eyes skimming a newspaper article about . . . something. He did not particularly care.

"How are you feeling?" She asked him quietly, voice still holding that after-sleep hoarseness.

"Better than yesterday," he admitted, preparing a bowl of cereal.

Her eyes flickered up to him. "How well did you sleep?"

Terribly. I tossed and turned for who knows how long, constantly woke up, looking for him. I took forever to fall asleep because I was cold, and my room was way too silent.

"Fine," he said dismissively. "You?"

"I was alright," their conversation sounded stilted, unusual, but June at least had the courtesy to not point it out. It was fine by Jack as he sat across from her and ate in the silence.

Arcee was waiting for him patiently in the garage, her tire pointing towards him once he opened the door.

"Hey partner, glad to see you back up and about," she said cheerfully, her voice bringing a smile to his face. Some of the tension in his shoulders left - not a significant amount, but enough that he noticed it.

"Yeah. Got some sleep last night," he grabbed his helmet. "How's base?"

"Much better, now that Optimus is back," the relief was evident in her voice. "But it's going to be a little more empty without you."

He sighed, wishing she had not brought it up. "It'll only be two weeks, promise. If Mom tries to make it any more . . ."

"You'll what, sneak out of the house?" Arcee teased.

"Maybe. Don't give me any ideas," he teased back, glad to see she was in good spirits. It was obvious his incident had scared her.

Wheeling her out of the garage he carefully slipped on, Arcee starting up quietly, her single headlight illuminating the street in the twilight hours of the morning. Jack rode in comfortable silence, remembering to take deep, relaxing breaths when he thought about the day ahead.

Hopefully nobody has made some stupid rumor up . . . or Miko squealed about my "issues."

He sighed. At this point, what did it even matter? He had bigger fish to fry.

Mainly convincing his mom he was not crazy. And himself.