CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
XXX
Hey guys! I just wanted to pop on and apologize for being so slow with updates. I still have plenty to go with this story and don't want to stop any time soon, but things had been kinda low for me lately. But, I have some good news! I've been accepted to nursing school! I'm super excited to start this journey and, honestly, I hope that school puts me back on a schedule where I can write regularly. Thank you to everyone who has supported this work, you've been such a great help to me!
XXX
Some supernatural force must have been smiling down upon Jack.
The MRI indicated several partial ligament tears, the most severe of which being his ACL - which the doctor seemed unsurprised about - with a few others being in the LCL and, potentially, the MCL. Nothing surgical, the physician said, but they were splinting and heavily immobilizing the leg to give it time to heal. And with his other ankle being extremely sprained, Jack was left with only one option - a wheelchair.
"Confined to a wheelchair" was a turn of phrase which never sat right with him when he heard it, because, well, without a chair, how were they to move? Thus, Jack had no issue with the prospect of one, intimidated only by the severe learning curve which was to come with it. Sure, he was able to walk around before, however Dr. Jameson and the Orthopedist he consulted attributed it to the pain medicines, and the fact Jack was just walking. Running, or other complex physical activities, could have easily been the tipping point completing the tears to his knee.
Which would have earned him an extra 2-3 months of healing, something he certainly would not be a fan about.
The medical staff showed them how to properly wrap it and provided resources for purchasing a brace, as well as setting up an orthopedic follow-up appointment at Area 51. Despite the continued tension in the room, June was there to comfort her son and provide reassurance they would do everything they could to help him heal as quickly as possible. It buried guilt in him, feeling like a jerk for snapping at her, yet also frustrated at their constant back and forth. He knew he had no right, but he wished she trusted him, at least a little bit.
Once everything was arranged, it was time for them to go home. Fowler's gaze was intense with concern, phone in his hand.
"Optimus will want you back at base for a bit of questioning once you've gotten a chance to heal," the Agent gave Jack a head's up. "I'll do what I can to keep it at a minimum, but until then . . . get well soon."
"Thanks," Jack shifted in his new high-backed chair, not fully able to maintain eye contact with him. The Agent did not seem to notice, already refocused on his device to call Ratchet for a couple Groundbridges.
Going back to Washington was a bit of a shock, the humid, salty air a stark contrast to the dry Nemesis filtration, or the "untouched" scent at the onsen. It was still a strange sensation, not one filled with nostalgic comfort, though Jack tried to shake it off quickly.
"Guess this means I'll be on the couch for the next couple months," he joked.
June's mouth twisted in a very mild, almost strained smile. "Maybe I should have made you stay on the ground floor after all," she replied, lightly ruffling his hair. "I'll grab what you need upstairs. I don't think a wheelchair will fit in the half bath, so just use mine."
"We can see," he shrugged. "I don't want to take up too much space."
"Jack," her voice was soft, yet sharp, "you never take up space."
He wasn't quite sure where that came from, but nodded regardless, watching June disappear upstairs before deciding he would test out the house's compatibility with his new chair.
Arms already burning with the new workout he was going to have to become accustomed to, he found quite pleasantly he could fit through the doors with relative ease, though the bathroom was a touch on the small side. He wondered if his mother would allow him to walk in there; though probably not, because the bathroom more than any place else was a slip risk, and of course that is where he would fall and obliterate the already delicate joint.
Too bad I can't just be carried everywhere.
As funny as the thought was, he forced himself not to linger on it long. June would freak, and he doubted Megatron would actually take him up on the offer.
"Jack?"
"Just wheeling about," he answered, looking about and deciding to try it in reverse. It was definitely harder, especially on carpet, the young man discovering he definitely should have done more push-ups when he had the chance.
June stepped in, small smile on her face. "Getting the hang of it?"
"Trying to," he admitted, letting her pull him back so he was out of the doorway. "I guess I'm heavier than I look."
That wrought a genuine laugh out of her. "Maybe a little bit." Her eyes sparkled, placing his toiletry items in a place he could easily reach, making everything neat and tidy. He noted she also had a double sink, but only one was occupied, kept rather neurotically on one exact half. He supposed he never considered it, having shared a bathroom with her at their previous home; but it was clear June was still used to sharing another half.
"Do I need to call the school and have someone push you around?" She asked, "or do you want to see if you can manage on your own?"
Jack groaned - he had classes on the second floor of the school!
"I think I can manage, but I'll need elevator privileges," he sighed.
"I can get that arranged," his mother assured him, "and if you change your mind . . . Surely you've made some friends?"
He couldn't help but cringe. Nick, much like Jack, was not super social to begin with. Making friends was difficult by way of his lack of really interacting with other human beings. Not to mention his mind was almost constantly plagued by Megatron, and if the young man was being honest, he did fear what would happen if he got too close to people here on Parn. What would happen to them if he managed to tick Megatron off?
Well, now he did not have that concern any longer. The tyrant had proven he was not truly angry at Jack, and he was fairly certain their relationship had been adequately rectified.
He shivered at the memories, forcing himself to push them aside and refocus on the now. On his humanity.
"Still working on it," he admitted, trying to ignore his mother's frown, "it's been a slow process. But I do talk to people, I promise."
Her hand gently stroked a piece of hair out of his face. "You're doing okay? In school?"
"I'm adjusting," he answered the unspoken question, looking into her eyes - the same blues passed down through generations - with firm determination, "I promise, mom, I'm doing okay. This hasn't, and it won't, set me back. I'll be okay."
Her expression softened. "I . . . I'm just worried."
She looked ready to cry, his heart breaking a little as the guilt, which he had expected but did not realize would hurt so much, lanced through him. He reached out, gently taking her hand to squeeze it out of reassurance, not sure what else to do. If he stood up to hug her she would freak out, and she was already worried enough.
"I'm okay," he murmured, "If he had wanted to hurt me, he would have, mom. And I know you said that doesn't make him a good person, and you're right. But he doesn't want to hurt me, to see me suffer. That's why he let me go."
June Darby looked down at their hands, her free one lightly resting on top of his. She took a deep, long breath, some of the tension leaving her shoulders, but only temporarily. He knew why - she wanted to trust him, and he wished she could, but they both knew she shouldn't.
"It's late in the day, but you're probably tired," she noted, lightly squeezing his fingers. "I've got some of your stuff from upstairs. If you need anything, just let me know."
He realized it was almost one in the afternoon. "Do you have work tonight?"
She shook her head. "Thankfully, no. But even if I did, I'd get plenty of sleep. Do you need help with anything?"
"I don't know," he admitted, "but I guess it'll be something I figure out."
A small smile cracked through her concerned façade. "We'll figure it out together," she promised, releasing his hand. She stepped aside, letting him wheel back into the kitchen. Jack picked up the medication the physician had prescribed, staring at the ironic HYDROCODONE-ACETAMINOPHEN label screaming back at him. They were to be taken as needed, though he supposed it wouldn't hurt to take them for at least a few days; getting the pain in control now would be easier than having to be miserable with the attempts to get it in control later.
He felt his mother watching, hovering as he navigated around, eventually slipping onto the couch with plenty of blankets to keep him warm.
Snuggling within them and closing his eyes, the young man patiently waited to slip off to sleep with the help of the powerful narcotic, only partially wishing he could feel the weight of his lover wrapped around his chest.
XXX
Ratchet's expression was carefully neutral as his scanner ran down Jack's body, the young man sitting rigidly in his chair. The tension between them was so thick it was almost palpable, intensified by the hovering presences waiting for the older 'bot to finish his follow-up examination.
"Energon levels are decreasing, gradually," he announced as the reports populated on his arm and in his CPU. "Are you hungry?"
"No," Jack admitted, quickly following the concerning statement with "I've been eating what I can, but everything tastes . . . off."
"Likely your body was adjusting to the energon, and now re-adjusting to your human supplementation," Ratchet hypothesized, closing out the scanner. "Though the change in taste could be explained simply by your lack of hunger; you are subconsciously turned away from the food merely because you don't need it."
"True, but I don't even get enjoyment out of idle snacking," Jack pointed out, then shrugged, "I'll keep you updated if nothing changes."
The medic grunted in understanding, clearly attempting to remain casual as several other findings populated, yet he dismissed quickly. No one else seemed the wiser, Optimus waiting for Ratchet to give him the go-ahead before approaching Jack.
There was some obvious distaste in Jack's body language when the Prime neared, the sting of betrayal still fresh in his heart. Optimus internally cringed, though swiftly justified his own behavior even as Megatron had proved to him otherwise things were not as they predicted. Jack's safety was still arguably on the line, as the leader of the Decepticons was unpredictable at best. Ratchet and Agent Fowler both endorsed Jack swore no harm was done to him, with the former providing clean health records to further prove his point.
Arcee also approached, her servo lightly touching the side of the medical berth in a sign of solidarity. Fire still brewed behind her optics, but for the sake of her partner she kept herself in check. It helped to see him shoot her his typical, shy smile, one that informed her he knew he was not getting off scot-free, but at least he was safe.
Allspark, when had the bar gotten so low? At least he was safe.
At least he didn't die.
"Jack," Optimus greeted softly, stilted, still forging ahead when he received a neutral look in return, "What happened during your time on the Nemesis?"
"Not much," he found his bitterness made it easier to lie to the Prime, "I mostly stayed in bed, but if the Hydrocodones didn't knock me out I walked around a bit."
"In bed?" Arcee arched an eyebrow.
A strange expression passed over Jack's face. "Yeah. Like, a proper, king-sized bed. The Decepticons . . . Soundwave specifically he said, built a house. Like, one of those mini DIY build-a-house kits. And then put furniture in it."
He was not about to specify it even had indoor plumbing, because he was probably sounding a bit too excited about it.
Shocked faces were had all around, even Ratchet blindsided by the news.
"And that is where they kept you?" Optimus pushed further.
"Yeah. I basically stayed in this house. Megatron visited once or twice, and we would talk," saving the 'bots more questions, sure Optimus already got the hint with his previously clipped answers, he continued, "mostly about . . . what was next. He swore he'd never hurt me, but I told him we . . . weren't going to continue where we left off. I wasn't going to give him my new address, or my new name."
It was so weird, how bitter the lie tasted on his tongue. His throat felt swollen, like he was having some kind of allergic reaction, the only true indication to himself he was nervous.
No, that was not true. His hands were shaking in his lap.
Arcee's expression was a frown, clearly not believing he was telling the whole story. While she was not wrong, Jack wondered if she knew he was being intentionally vague, or if she merely sensed he was not being wholly truthful.
Optimus inclined his head. "You and Megatron were . . . affectionate in the past," he broached the subject cautiously, Arcee bristling in agitation as she wondered what exactly that meant, "did you not forge an emotional relationship during that time?"
Jack could not help but cringe, the yes ringing so clearly in his head. Even Ratchet sported a sour face, though he stood behind Optimus, who could not see it.
Your body cannot help but bond to me.
"I . . . I wouldn't call it a relationship, because that makes it sound like it was mutual," he tried to dance around the question, to recall what he had told Optimus. "But I . . . I did come to . . . to like it. But after leaving me, making me scared for my life, I don't have those same feelings. I can't."
Not a total lie, just in the opposite direction the Prime would interpret it.
Did his bond to me? He wondered to himself, trying not to think of it in the literal, sexual interpretation.
"Did Megatron attempt to reignite those feelings?" He inquired.
Jack couldn't help but bristle. "He didn't assault me, if that's what you're asking," he was getting tired of the roundabout questions. "Ratchet's scans probably would've picked up on that already. We had a conversation, and I set the boundaries. He doesn't like it, but he doesn't have to. Megatron would rather I was alive and not with him, than dead in any capacity."
If Arcee had true, malleable lips, they would have curled in distaste. She glanced at Optimus, the pair of them appearing to have the same thought - if Jack lived, he could pass on the bloodline to a new, potential mate for Megatron to try again. This twisted mercy was only so Amicus' genetics could remain, and give Megatron another chance to seduce what was left of his precious lover.
It was vile, and right up the tyrant's alley.
Optimus appeared troubled by this revelation, which was beyond Jack's ability to understand, though he did not voice this concern aloud.
"Did he express a desire to hurt you?"
"No. That's why he stayed away when he figured out what had happened. But . . . He wasn't even angry about the whole Vector Sigma part of it; it was the traveling to Cybertron that had him freaked out," Jack revealed.
Even Optimus Prime had to take a second to blink in surprise, his optic ridges arching forward in a parody of a frown. "Traveling to Cybertron?"
"He thought the 'primitive human suit' wasn't equipped to handle its toxic atmosphere," Jack elaborated, "and . . . well, it's how he lost Amicus. I'm not exactly surprised he's got issues with it."
The reminder sent another remorseful strike across Optimus' spark, well aware of how they learned Cybertron's air was toxic to organics. Though having not seen the aftereffects for himself, Megatron's description was wickedly vivid.
His eyes, once pools of energon, were cracked with red and reduced to nothing but glassy imitations of life. His skin used to be golden, rich, warm. But when I held him . . . I had never felt something so cold. He was dead, his purple, blue flesh the ugliest sight I ever laid my optics upon; ironic . . . because he was so beautiful.
The shiver across his EM field was felt by both companions beside him.
"Don't tell me he's banned you from visiting Cybertron again," Arcee replied sarcastically, attempting to lift the mood.
Jack snorted. "He tried. But what I do is none of his business."
A smile twitched at the corner of her derma. "Good."
They shared an amused expression, Arcee appearing more relieved her partner was acting like his old self. Looking back on it, she knew now the expression behind his eyes was one of fear, a silent request for her to save him. She kicked herself for her failure to read him better, to know her partner was in distress and asking for help. When he was left on the Nemesis . . . The motorcycle was unsure who she wanted to kill more - Ratchet, Vince, or Megatron. Though, in Vince's defense, he was lucky to make it off the ship alive.
A ping interrupted them, Bulkhead's request for a Groundbridge informing them their time was up.
"School is out," Ratchet grumbled, appearing far from thrilled by the time. The medic lumbered over to the controls, quickly typing in coordinates before activating the bridge. The Autobots were still paranoid about Decepticon activity, and Jack had been informed of Bulkhead's injury. The poor Wrecker was relegated only to picking up his charge - the rest of his healing time was to be in the base, taking it easy and working on building his strength back up.
Jack cringed. It made two of them.
Three cars drove through, Bulkhead barely able to stop his wheels in time before his door was thrown open, Miko bolting from the passenger side with a singular mission in mind.
"Jack!" She shouted, eagerly skipping steps up the stairs to scamper over to the medical bay, and before he could warn her to be careful she had already ducked under the yellow railing. Lowering herself down to the medical berth, she landed with a heavy thump, a sound quickly rivaled by the noise their bodies made when she practically slammed into him, enveloping the older teen in a tight hug. "You're not dead!"
He was unsure how much they had been told, though Arcee had rather venomously informed him Ratchet was oh so kind to mention his return hours after he had been seen at the ER. The kids were told as soon as possible, and Miko had allegedly spontaneously combusted when the Autobots refused to let her see him.
Apparently, a miracle of science and medicine had taken place, because she was now squeezing the life out of him.
"Miko . . . breathe . . ." He croaked, eventually being released.
"Dude, I thought you were a goner," her lower lip quivered, "how'd you get out?"
"Long story," not really, but not exactly one he could tell without having to stop every five seconds to answer questions. By that time Rafael was being lowered down by Vince, the redhead soon following down.
"I don't know if I should punch you, or hug you," Vince strode towards him, Rafael silently hugging Jack as he approached.
"Well, I'd say the same to you," Jack replied.
So, Vince put out a fist, Jack bumping it after a moment of surprise. Green eyes flicked down to his legs.
"So, get paralyzed or something?"
"Just busted a knee, and an ankle," Jack replied, showing the bandages on the former. "Enough so the docs don't want me walking around on it for a couple weeks. And since I sprained the ankle on the other leg, crutches wouldn't be the best way to get around. So, I've got a wheelchair until they think I can walk around without risking tearing something."
"That sucks," the redhead shrugged. "But, definitely could've been worse. Glad to see you came out of it alright."
"Thanks," he could sense there was more he wanted to say, but not in front of an audience. Instead he refocused on Miko and Rafael, the former of which already had her arms crossed and a wide grin on her face.
"So, can I push you around and see how fast we can make you go?" She asked hopefully.
"And cause me to wreck? I don't think Area 51 would appreciate me breaking their stuff," a smile tugged at his lips, "that, and my mom would kill me."
"Killjoy," Miko huffed, still excited to hop behind the chair. "But I still call driving! You gonna hang out here for a little bit longer?"
"Yeah, I think that'll be okay," he glanced at the Autobots. "Need anything else from me?"
Optimus Prime's gaze was soft, if not a touch sad. "No. Thank you for your time, Jack."
"Let's get you moved to the hangout spot in a safe fashion," Arcee offered her charge her servo, Jack gingerly sliding onto it. She took his chair with delicate digits, the others clambering back up the side to meet him there. The two-wheeler delicately stepped on the first couple of stairs, stretching out to place him at the top. She was not about to test the integrity of the wire steps, placing his chair next to him.
Falling into it Jack barely got a breath in when he was moving, yelping in surprise.
"Miko!"
"I said I was driving," she insisted, not at all fazed by the unhappy look she received from her friend. "Besides, I doubt King 'Con had video games."
He had to admit, out of all the nice things sprinkled around the oddly posh house, a working television with a gaming system was not one of them. "No, no there wasn't."
The girl parked him in front of the television, immediately fetching the games. "Then let's get back to it! I've got a high score to beat."
Her enthusiasm continued to tug a smile onto his face. "Alright, alright. But I get to be player one."
XXX
It was near Raf's curfew when he and Miko elected to head back, the pair hopping into their respective guardians after bidding Jack a very relieved goodbye. He saw them off with a wave, sensing quite acutely how Vince hadn't moved from the couch, instead idly flicking through the cosmetic options on his car. Even as his eyes rested on the screen it was obvious he was not looking at the television. His thoughts were somewhere else, Jack hesitating to collect himself.
Wheeling over to his side of the couch, he stopped, waiting for Vince to acknowledge him. His eyes slid over slowly, both of them appearing to read each other's thoughts when gazes connected. A beat, then two, before he sighed, rising to a standing position and throwing his controller on the table.
"Let's talk somewhere private," he said, Jack nodding slowly. The former bully appeared to know exactly where he wanted to go, pushing Jack into the elevator and smashing the top button, Ratchet's cyan optics watching the doors slide closed. Arcee frowned, her arms uncrossing with the full intent to turn around and stride towards the Autobot's own elevator platform.
"Arcee, it would be best to allow Jack and Vince to speak to one another in confidence," Optimus stopped her.
"You're not afraid he'll push him off the edge?" Arcee cocked an optic ridge.
The Prime did not really find her retort amusing. "Vince has shown immense improvement in character during his time here at base," he said slowly, "and I believe Jack trusts him. It would be best to allow him at least one reliable compatriot who he feels he can speak his mind to."
She frowned. "He has a therapist. He has me."
"And he was very truthful with you in the past," Ratchet saltily retorted.
Her servos clenched. "This is different. He was scared, threatened. Megatron let him go-"
"Allegedly."
"-and he seems fairly confident he won't come for him again," she was noticeably, and understandably, frustrated, her winglets twitching against her back, "I want to do nothing but protect Jack. Why can't he talk to me?"
"Just like he can't talk to his mother," Ratchet slid his gaze over to her, "he's afraid of an overreaction, of another change that will inconvenience you. He doesn't want you to suffer for it."
Optics whirred in dilation, her mouth hung open as the retort on the tip of her tongue died out. Slowly Arcee closed her intake, optic ridges still bent in a parody of a crinkled brow.
"How . . . how do you know that?"
"Just a guess," Ratchet ensured he remained nonchalant, "though he did impress upon me that he did this to protect us, the Autobots. He acknowledges it's not a responsibility we think he should possess, yet he has taken it upon himself to ensure we stay out of Megatron's path when they interact. As much as I dislike to acknowledge it, he has spent time with the barbarian, and perhaps knows him just as well as the best of us. Jack understands if we attempt to step between Megatron and his goal, he will retaliate, regardless of Jack's wishes. And he does not want anyone, especially you, to get hurt on his behalf."
Arcee processed his explanation, newly troubled by the revelation. It made sense when Ratchet did all but spell it out for her, though she despised admitting it. Jack's closeness with Megatron was curse, no doubt about it. But like any curse, it was wrapped up in deceptive blessings appearing to be disguised.
Jack did get a little nervous when Vince moved him towards the edge, though the redhead made a point of putting on his brakes and leaving an easy five or six feet between them and the edge. The air was unnaturally still, jaded eyes taking their time to look across the landscape before re-settling on him.
"Fuck you, Jackson Darby."
The declaration was startling, and rather unexpected, Jack immediately snapping back.
"For what? Saving your life?"
"For making me wonder if I'd killed you," Vince shook his head. "You were gone for days, and each one made me more and more convinced you were dead. I heard you scream."
Jack grimaced, watching as Vince made a very similar expression. The elder looked mildly distressed to recall what happened, and he couldn't blame him, not in the slightest.
"I almost turned around and went back for you," Vince sighed, "but by then the other Decepticons were moving, I was terrified, I didn't know what else to do. So I kept running forward."
"And that's what I would've told you to do," Jack replied. "Vince, you did nothing wrong."
"That's a first," he retorted, kicking a stray rock so hard it fell over the edge, scuffing his boot.
Jack looked away.
"Look, I'm sorry," he said, "not just for that, but for even getting you involved in the first place. It was stupid, and it was selfish. All of it. Anything I've ever done with you was because I was too stupid and selfish to own up to my own scrap. And I'm sorry for that."
Vince snorted.
"Yeah, I didn't think it was because you actually liked me," he quipped, huffing.
"No! No it's not-" Jack wasn't sure how to backtrack, "it's not that I don't-"
"Save it, Darby, I get it. Not many people can stand to be around me, but that's mostly my own fault. I'm not exactly Autobot material, and I'm definitely not 'friend' material. But, you know, I'm involved, so I have to deal with it."
Jack frowned. "Well, you don't exactly make yourself friendly," he pointed out, "but . . . you did try to save my life. Which is more than I would have thought you'd do before I got to know you a little better."
"Glad I exceeded expectations," his voice still held a hard edge to it, but he didn't appear angry. His hands were loose in the pockets of his jacket, eased into a casual standing pose next to Jack's chair. His red hair fluttered in the breeze as it whipped through, a touch harsher due to them standing at the edge of the mesa.
Jack sighed. "Look, I don't know you well," he watched Vince turn his eyes to meet his gaze, "but you can be a pretty cool guy when you want to be friends, Vince. I get it, it's hard to fit in, especially when you don't really have a guardian to help you integrate in with the group. But what you did on the ship . . . you work well with the team. When you're not trying to be Mr. Tough Guy."
Vince frowned at him. "I can't tell if you're being genuine or giving backhanded compliments."
"I'm trying to compliment you," the young man huffed in exacerbation. "I'm just not very good at it."
That earned him a snort. "You really are an awkward nerd."
"And you're a dumb jock," Jack fired back with equal jest, earning an eye-roll from the redhead.
"I'm not even in any sports, numb-nuts," Vince pulled, of all things, a small wrench out of his pocket, twirling it between his fingers, "I'm a mechanic."
Jack blinked in surprise. He knew Vince liked cars, but figured he just bought fast models and had friends soup it up for him as a fun side project. It somewhat made sense in his mind, if only because Sierra was a cheerleader and he knew Vince hung out with her a lot, so he figured the man was in sports. He assumed the older boy got his muscles from football, not cars. In hindsight, it made sense, and his initial assumption was rather . . . stupid.
"Oh. Guess that explains the fast cars," Jack raised an eyebrow. "But, street racing? Wouldn't that just damage the car and give you more work?"
"It keeps me out of the house longer," Vine paused, noting how the raven-haired teen opened his mouth, then closed it. "I'm fine at home. It's fine. I just don't like being there. Not my scene."
"O-okay," Jack wasn't sure if he wanted to call his bluff on that. His mom worked in the ER, and knew Vince's mom when she would occasionally haul a drunk in for a jail clearance. She never felt safe around that woman.
Vince kicked another rock.
"Were you telling the truth?" He asked, the question following the awkward silence which had befallen them. "The ex didn't intentionally do anything, did he?"
Jack's cheeks flushed. "He's not an ex. Well, he's- we were never- never anything official. It's . . . it's hard to explain." He took a breath, hating how Vince seemed to be assessing him. Jerk, he had chosen not to pry about his private life, though he supposed this wasn't exactly private, considering every Autobot knew about it. His mom knew about it. "But yes, I told the truth. I'm fine. I just hurt myself. If anything, he tried to fix it, but it wasn't exactly graceful."
"Obviously," Vince glanced down at his knee. His jaw clenched mildly, eyes flickering as he recalled that terrible encounter. The fact he managed to keep it together was nothing short of a miracle, especially when that monstrosity got up in his face. Then, to see him refocus on Jack . . .
Somehow, the expression which followed was more dangerous than the enraged glare he had given the redhead.
"I promise I'm okay," Jack interrupted his train of thought. "If something happened, I would have told Ratchet." He sighed. "I'm a lot of things, Vince, and I let things go too far, but I swear I know my limits. I- we . . ."
Did he even really want to mention too much? Vince was probably weirded-out already, and probably did not need to know more than what he already witnessed. Jack also hesitated, feeling as though he was attempting to defend Megatron and what they did.
"I set boundaries with him," Jack leaned back in his chair, "when we first interacted with each other. And he respected them. I don't know if he . . . truly respected them, or if he was just being patient. But a part of me wants to believe that, you know?"
Vince's jaw worked subtly. "You know he's super evil, right?" He questioned.
"Acutely," Jack felt a bitter taste work its way across his tongue. "Like I said . . . it's complicated."
Vince raised an eyebrow. He wanted to ask another question, something a bit more personal, but he already suspected the answer; it wasn't one he wanted to hear, one he wouldn't be able to stomach, so the redhead bit his tongue.
"Yeah," he replied lamely. "Sucks when it's complicated."
Unsure what to say to that Jack remained silent, the pair of them viewing the last few rays of sunshine. Eventually Vince huffed a gruff "I need to get back," the elder pushing the young man back into the elevator and descending with him into the Autobot base.
As they did, the warmth of the desert air slowly replaced itself with the chill of the interior. Jack forced himself not to shiver, somehow feeling as though he was entering a lion's den. He took a breath, reminding himself they were allies, they wanted to keep him safe.
Even when his pathetic heart yearned otherwise.
