Many people who met the Sam limping from the Egyptian desert-- covered in bruises shaped like the hands of giants and proudly boasting of two cracked ribs, second-degree burns on his hand and numerous lacerations-- mistakenly assumed that he had only died once. No one but his parents and Miles knew that this presumption was technically untrue.
At six, buzzing with energy and full of enough curiosity to put cats to shame, he had decided that it would be fun to try to swim out to an island in the middle of the lake where they held their annual family vacation. Without a life vest and without telling anyone what he was doing (wanted it to be a surprise-- guess what I can do!) he boldly set off on this self-appointed quest. Though he could swim, he had never gone very far before and couldn't get the hang of floating. So when he could no longer touch the bottom, he was a little scared, but it was no big deal. He was a Big Boy, and as such he couldn't be afraid of anything. Soon, however, he started to get tired and decided that he didn't really want to go to the island after all. He tried to put his feet down-- and remembered that there was nothing beneath him but more water as his head sunk under the surface. Suddenly terrified, he came up for air, thrashing. He tried to float but kept sinking, and his limbs started to ache and scream with the need for rest, but he couldn't touch the bottom.
Somewhere in all of that he got a lungful of water and flailed in panic, turning the wrong way around, going down instead of up. Years later he couldn't remember much of the details of what happened after that, save for the feeling of what it felt like to drown. Lungs cramping, straining, hurting with the need to breathe when there was no air to be found, surrounded by endless water in all directions, water that went down, down, deeper than a well or an abyss, down into the eternal dark.
Now, there was plenty of air. He was sitting in a chair, not splashing helplessly in the center of a lake. But the one being that, like his father, could have come diving to save him would not be arriving. And Sam was left adrift, fighting for air. (please, don't go...)
Back in the real world Mikaela came to his rescue. Features narrowing in tightly leashed anger, she speared Optimus with a glare containing slightly less wattage than a bolt of lightning.
"And what does Bumblebee have to say about this arrangement?" She questioned, tone hard with suspicion.
"Bumblebee is one of my soldiers and therefore required to obey my orders. For the time being, at least, I believe it would be prudent for us to remain 'underground', as it were, and allow the media storm time to calm."
Thawing slightly, just enough to grab onto the thread of the conversation (breathe in slowly, don't let them see you gasp for air), Sam worked to make his voice sound calm and rational. He succeeded, barely. "But no one knows he's my car. Everyone looks at him and sees-- well, a car. Doesn't that count as being underground?" He paused to suck in a deep breath, taking in so much air that his abused ribs flared in agony, "Well, not technically underground as in beneath dirt, but underground as in no one knows where he is or what he is--"
"The United States government," Thatcher cut off his rambling, "Has also requested that all of the Autobots be present for the drafting of a treaty between our two peoples. Would you prefer that your friend be bound by a contract in which he has no say? Remember, too," he continued as both Sam and Mikaela opened their mouths to speak, "That your perfect disguise has already failed once, to disastrous consequences."
Thrown for a loop, the roaring hole of pain in his chest momentarily quieted as Sam racked his brains for a time when someone might have discovered their secret. He could not think of one incident, especially not one that had resulted in 'disastrous consequences'.
Seeing his look of blank incomprehension, Thatcher glanced over his head and prompted,
"Galloway? The file."
Sam twisted around in his chair as the politician rose and transferred the briefcase laid across his knees to the table. He watched, with growing apprehension, as the latch was thumbed back and the lid propped open, exposing a neatly organized stack of manila folders. Although Thatcher did not elaborate on his obscure order, Galloway seemed to know exactly what file he was looking for and swiftly extracted it from under the others, sliding it down the table to the General.
Without taking his eyes from Sam, Thatcher trapped the sliding folder under one hand and flipped it open.
"At 11:23 am on the second of September, 911 dispatchers in the New Jersey area received no less that 214 calls from students at Princeton university claiming that a 'metal monster' was in the process of destroying the main library."
Using all the care an antique vase collector would give to his priceless collection, Thatcher pulled no less than a dozen six by eight glossy photos from the file and arranged them on the table in front of Sam.
Beside him Mikaela gasped, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. "Oh my God. Oh my God."
Like miniature windows onto the aftermath of a tornado, each of the pictures showed a different view of the gutted library: light fixtures torn from the ceiling and hanging by their wires over dustings of shattered glass; eight foot shelves toppled like so many dominoes, their books spilled out over the floor; balconies and staircases torn into nothing but splinters; wood flooring marred by smoking furrows where blasts from an ion cannon had missed their mark; day light streaming in through a giant whole in one wall, scattered chunks of plaster all that remained from before it was blown into an impromptu doorway. And other things that made him want to turn away and retch-- human shaped mounds covered with blue tarps, pools of blood so dark it appeared black.
"Sam, what it the world is all this?" his mother blurted. She reached out a hand and started sorting through the pictures. "My God, there's blood everywhere!"
Unable to bear the shocked, silent gazes of the people around him, Sam moved to bury his face in his hands, lacking the strength to continue looking at the grisly records of an event that still continued to haunt him. --But then something occurred to him, something that glinted in his mind like the possibility of a loop hole. Almost as soon as his hands touched his forehead they sprang away again, smacking down on the table with sudden inspiration. Feeling that Thatcher was not the authority to whom he needed to make his appeal (so simple, why hadn't they already thought of it?) Sam turned his pleading gaze to Optimus.
"Look, this is bad, okay? I'm not saying it's not, because it is. But you've got this backwards-- that thing didn't come after me because of Bumblebee, it came after me because it happened to see me freaking out with all those weird symbols in my head." He twiddled his fingers by his temple for emphasis, striving to make him tone logical rather than begging, "So his cover hasn't been blown after all."
It was Ratchet, rather than Optimus, who refuted his chain of reasoning. "And why do you think the Pretender happened to be mimicking someone at the very school you attended, Sam?"
His heart plummeted, though he struggled not to lose that golden glimpse of a way out, refused to let the mirage out of his sight. "I dunno, maybe it was just scouting around, scoping things out!"
But Ratchet only shook his head.
"As I am the only one of the Autobots with scanners powerful enough to penetrate the disguise of a Pretender, it was my responsibility once Optimus' body had been secured to return to the school and seek it out, lest it attempt to return at another time-- repaired-- and finish what it started," he inclined his head meaningfully towards the array of photos scattered across the table.
"Given my ability as a medic to access the core processing unit of any other Cybertronian for the purpose of repairs, I was able to...persuade...the Pretender to reveal how it had come to your school. Sam, when Bumblebee transformed in your yard to deactivate the protoforms attacking you and your father, someone else was watching in secret."
Ice cascaded down Sam's insides. "Starscream," he mouthed breathlessly.
"No. Soundwave," Ironhide corrected. The way he stressed the name lent it a certain menace, hinted at an evil darker than even Starscream could contend. "The same Pit-blasted Decepticon that discovered the location of the Allspark shard and Megatron's corpse."
Feeling that he was somehow missing a crucial piece of information, Sam glanced at Mikaela and found Mikaela glancing at him in a similar manner. It was Leo, to his surprise, that made the connection.
"Satellites!" He breathed in awe, face lighting up the way a world-weary knight's would upon tripping over the Holy Grail, "That robot-- that Soundwave-- must have hooked up to a satellite and used it to look for any cars that spontaneously morphed into robots. Oh, that is so wicked!" He fisted his hands in his hair and bounced a little in place. If the situation were not so serious, and if his hands were not curling into fists beneath the table with the desire to punch his lights out, Sam might have found the geek-out to be rather amusing.
"Your description may be crude, but it is essentially correct," Ratchet huffed.
His father, looking increasing befuddled and outraged by parts, leaned forward and pointed a stubby a finger at Optimus, then Ratchet, then Ironhide, not seeming to know who to target.
"Alright, what is all of this about Pretenders and satellites and whatnot? And what about that thing in the desert? Why did it go and kidnap us and try to murder our son just to wreck a pyramid?!"
Thatcher road rough-shod over anything the Autobots might have said, replying sternly, "Mr. Witwikity, believe me when I tell you that the less you know, the less someone might try to torture out of you."
Paling to a stark white, his father slowly curled his extended finger back into his fist and lowered his arm, clamping his lips together. Sam caught sight of his other hand reaching for and tightly grasping his mother's under the table. The worm of remorse weighing heavily in his heart began to wriggle again at the sight of his parents-- his goofy, overprotective, normal parents-- having to deal with a world that did not stop for a glass of wine and frequently did not contain its horrors to the six o'clock news. Two years ago he had longed for something, anything, to come crashing into his life and shake things up a little, give him an adventure to be read about in mass-market paper backs. Now, two years older and a hundred years wiser, he would have cut off his right leg and hand delivered it to Megatron to be able to go back to a time when the most dangerous thing he did on a daily basis was confront Trent and the closest he came to carrying the world on his shoulders was heading a group project on environmental decline ('Take the cube and run!'-- 'I have to get this to Optimus!'--).
Kids never realized how much they relied on their parents' ability to handle anything life might throw their way until the day when those selfsame parents could no longer handle it anymore. And suddenly those kids found themselves very alone, and very scared.
Staring, eyes unfocused, at the white-bordered collage of death and chaos spread out before him for his intimate viewing pleasure, Sam started to giggle. His hands found the arm rests and tightened around them, fingers digging into worn fabric; his lips twitched, pulling up and sagging again, not seeming to know whether or not to smile. Giggle, stop, giggle again.
"You know," he said conversationally, "This is just all so fucked up I can't even describe it. I mean, woah."
Finally, he managed to contain the bubbling outbreak of hysteria and his mouth settled itself into a flat, emotionless line. He couldn't process this right now, so he wasn't going to. "At least Bumblebee will be safe with you guys. The Decepticons wouldn't dare attack you all directly, so I don't have to worry about him getting blown up and stuff-- and he'd finally be able to transform and stretch his legs without worrying about being caught. Actually, now that I think about it, I'm glad that he's going," he ardently refused to believe he was starting to cry, no matter how much he blinked or how blurry Lennox's face was becoming, "I mean, he's an Autobot. He's a thinking, living person who's so strong and brave and selfless that it's ridiculous," (don't stop, don't think, take a deep shuddering breath), "he deserves so much better than to be living in a dumpy old garage."
Rather than acknowledge the way he had to swallow several times before he could continue, Sam hitched a wavering grin to his face and attempted to change the subject. (not coming home to me, not coming home to me-- Bee, come back!)
"I guess my school-- sorry, my former school-- is pretty mad at me right now. Heck, I'd be mad at me too if I went and wrecked my library like that-- not that I did a lot of the actual wrecking, I don't have a gun, I can't do that level of destruction," he looked blandly at Thatcher. "That's why they kicked me out, right? Can't have a student like me trailing several million dollars of collateral damage around after him, can they?"
Vaguely aware that he was trembling like an adrenaline junky coming down off a recent high, he tried to appear as openly (sanely) curious as possible-- just a regular guy, nothing to see here, folks. Most everyone-- save for Mikaela-- seemed to be buying the act, no longer casting leery glances at him as though he would slump from his chair in a dead faint at any moment. But apparently Ratchet was more adept at judging human conditions that Sam had given him credit for. After throwing a hard look in the human's direction, he curled his fist around the camera in the cargo hold, blocking off the view, and proceeded to hiss an angry stream of static at Optimus. The Autobot commander ducked out of view for a moment, replying in the same series of whirls and clicks incomprehensible to the human ear. Though by no means fluent in dial tone, Sam was convinced that they were arguing. He hated the creeping suspicion that it was about him.
Thatcher regarded the pair of unoccupied screens for a moment as though debating whether or not to allow them time to finish, then turned to Sam.
"And how, precisely, would you know that you have been 'kicked out'?"
Suddenly, saying 'Because my girlfriend told me so' seemed like a stupid reason. He turned helplessly to Mikaela, who turned with a raised eyebrow to Galloway.
As Thatcher's attention followed their line of sight and zeroed in on the object of their scrutiny, the politician swallowed and tugged at his collar a bit.
"Technically, General, I had nothing to do with this. I merely answered Ms. Banes' questions. How she chose to interpret them is another matter entirely."
Mikaela gave a very un-lady-like snort. "Please. If you're going to lie, at least do it well," she turned to Thatcher, "I overheard him muttering about Sam while he was having a cup of coffee and reading through one of those files. When I asked him what he was talking about, he spilled the beans trying to defend himself before he even realized I hadn't heard the whole thing."
Galloway shrank from the cool stare Thatcher leveled in his direction. "I see..." the General muttered. Then, to everyone's surprise, he graced Sam with a tiny smile.
"Despite the poor opinions you may have of authority figures, son, we are not, in fact, a raving pack of monsters. You were not 'kicked out' because of the damage done to the library. The United States government requested that the Dean cancel your enrollment as a precaution to protect your safety as well as the safety of other students."
"Because it killed a bunch of people coming after me," he dead-panned.
No hesitation. "Yes."
The two distracted Autobots chose that moment to end their furious, though mostly silent, discussion, and the monitors once again filled with their alien visages.
Mikaela, suddenly furious once more, alternated between glaring at Thatcher and the reemerged Autobots.
"You guys are supposed to be super-advanced robots with IQ's of, like, 3000 or something! How can you go and do something so stupid like take Bumblebee away when the whole reason Sam can't go to college is that giant evil aliens are trying to kill him!?
If Sam hadn't been closely following Thatcher's expression, he would have missed the slight frisson of tension that passed through his frame at her words and the quick, almost unnoticable glance he darted at Optimus. Alarm bells started ringing in his head-- what was going on?
The General hesitated, visibly scraping for words. "Steps are being taken to insure every survivor's safety," he evaded, "There are still a few issues being hammered out in the first draft of the treaty--"
"An issue which is neither here or now," Optimus cut across him abruptly, "As my medical officer has kindly informed me, time is growing short, General. Important as it is to tie up these loose ends, we need the chance to discuss our future battle plan with Captain Lennox and his team. If we could continue this another time...?"
Clearly upset at having been so effortlessly snubbed, Thatcher stiffly collected the grisly photographs and slipped them back into the file.
"Of course, Optimus Prime."
He closed the front flap of the folder-- the nausea-inudcing stills vanished from view, as if they had never existed.
Day one aboard the air craft carrier, stomachs cramping from voracious post-crisis hunger, Sam and Mikaela had turned the enormous vessel upside down looking for a vending machine. What they had uncovered instead was a fully stocked lounge that not only boasted of two ratty couches and a TV, but a mini kitchen as well, complete with sink, fridge, and microwave. Not quite as satisfying to sugar pangs as a package of M&M's and a Coke, but the presence of abundant sandwich materials had sufficed to turn them back into rational human beings. Every day since then they had returned when the food in the mess hall proved unpalatable, often cuddling together on the sofa afterwards to pop in a VHS into the ancient video player perched atop the TV.
Gliding trace-like down the hallway, Sam found his feet carrying him towards the familiar hideaway. Clenched tightly in his left hand, dimpled from the pressure of his fingers, he carried one of the packets of promise-not-to-tell forms. From experience dealing with the aftermath of Mission City, he already knew most of what was contained within and as such had not bothered to read a single word of it when the they started passing around pens and telling everyone to get started (SAT's from hell...giggle).
Mikaela had hissed at him over his shoulder, but that still had not stopped him from attacking each page with his pen in quick succession, putting himself down for all posterity under such pseudonyms as 'Matrix Boy', 'Mr. McWilly', and his personal favorite 'Lay D. Sman'.
Now, finally free from the torture room after a grueling seven hours, tired, hungry, and drained from emotional pinball, he decided to go make himself a sandwich. Not that he wanted a sandwich, but making one was the normal thing to do when hungry, and he much preferred the simple manual labor to running as fast as his feet would carry him to the cargo hold, throwing his arms around Bumblebee's leg and blubbering all over him.
Mikaela caught up to him in the hallway outside the longue.
"Hey, Sam!" She called. Ignoring the little voice that whispered to him to turn around, crush his girlfriend to his body and kiss her senseless, he continued along his shuffling course without acknowledging the greeting.
"I know you're not deaf, Sam. I already have one man-child in my family-- I don't need another."
A hand clamped down on his shoulder-- he spun, knocking it away, and ground out, "Look, Mikaela. I really don't want to do this now, so could we jus--"
Whatever he had been about to say forced itself back down his throat as soft, rose petal lips met his with wild passion, a pair of hands knotting in his hair and pulling him down into the kiss. The Book of Lies dropped from his suddenly nerveless fingers as his arms slipped around her waste in response to her sudden ferocity. He yanked her firmly against him, clutching desperately at the warm body. He couldn't relax into the moment-- he started kissing every part of her he could reach, restlessly moving his lips from her mouth to the tip of her nose, to her eyelids, to her cheek, to the hollow of her throat, suddenly terrified that she would vanish into a puff of air the instant he let go (water everywhere-- can't breathe--).
"Wow, if I'd known you go all sex-crazy on me every time I act like a man-child I would have started doing it sooner," he mumbled against her skin. Suddenly realizing something, he gently tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her head to him so he could kiss her ear. "Now when you said 'family', you mean...." he trailed off suggestively, kicking himself when she pulled away in response.
But rather than teasing, her face was hard and serious. Closed off.
"You need to talk to Bumblebee."
Reality-- better than a cold shower. No longer in the mood for kissing but not quite secure enough to let go, he gently guided her head back to the curve of his shoulder and felt her relax there, tension sliding from her shoulders.
"I know," he whispered against her hair, wishing his voice didn't sound so broken, so lost.
"What were you doing down here anyway?"
"Going to make myself a sandwich."
Resisting his efforts to hold her head to his chest, Mikaela craned her neck to look up at him.
"A sandwich."
"Uh-huh." Then, "I'm hungry."
Her beautiful face twisted into the picture of sorrow.
"Sam..." She trailed off, and he realized with shame that she looked like she was trying to hold back tears, "You need to spend all the time with him you can before-- well, before you never have the chance to again."
"I know!" He realized he was shouting and struggled to lower his voice. "Don't you think I know that?" He gently, lovingly, placed his hands on either side of her face, "Don't you think I know that this is it, this is the end? After this it's 'Bye-bye, Bumblebee, have a nice life' and, 'Oh, next time you get the chance to come see me don't bother, I'll be dead and buried already, just leave some flowers on my headstone'!" He gazed into her eyes, struggling for words, hardly noticing as a lone drop of crystal moisture rolled slowly down his cheek. "I'm not...I'm not strong enough to do this, 'Kaela. I have to get used to him not being around. I'm not strong enough to say goodbye."
"Samuel James Witwicky," she murmured reverently, wiping away the tear with the tips of her fingers, "You are the strongest being, human or otherwise, I have ever met. So don't you dare try to get out of telling your friend you love him by saying you don't like goodbyes."
"You don't know what it's like!" He cried, crushing her to him again, holding her recklessly close as if invisible hands were trying to snatch her away, "You don't know what its like to suddenly realize you'll never see someone again, never talk to them again, never sit with them again."
Fiery images consumed his mind's eye, showing him a continuously looping tape of Optimus turning to face the descending horde of Decepticons. (--dancing the dance of death with all of them at once, so many (too many) against one and still he fought, still he sought to protect him, even as one move came too slow, one punch to late, and Megatron had him from behind, Megatron with his arm locked around his neck, driving his blade into his back and out through his chest, and still Optimus struggled, struggled against death, all for him, but it was too late and his optics flickered and died, flickered and died, blue life fading and leaving only gray--
"Yes, I do, Sam," her voice caressed him-- a velvet promise, a solemn prayer. She copied his posture, positioning her hands on either side of his head, carding her fingers through the sweaty hair over his temples. "I know what it's like to say goodbye. After all, I had to watch you die," she leaned up and kissed him under the jaw, "And if you know what's good for you, you won't dare do that to me again."
Sam's world inverted again, but this time it didn't send him tumbling into a bottomless sea. After all his ploys, after all his games and tricks to try to keep from saying those three little words, trying to keep the woman in his arms from moving on when she discovered he was too easy, Mikaela had finally told him that she loved him. Satisfied for the moment that he had secured a measure of affection from the girl he was absolutely crazy about, he had responded in kind. I love you. Three little words, libraries and oceans and universes of meaning. He had never doubted for a moment his own sincerity when he silently swore by all the myriad things those three little words implied, but until that moment it had never really dawned on him that Mikaela had sworn to those unspoken things too. She didn't just say that she loved him-- she actually loved him. It was enough to lift the dark cloud around his heart, if only a little. He had something to go home to after all.
Just when he was thinking about kissing her again, a bright flash of light shattered the moment.
"Perfect pose, my man! Awww, you guys are so cute together!" Leo. Standing a few paced behind them, phone held up and at the ready to snap another picture, he grinned. "Two questions: 1) are you guys going to make out, and 2) can I join?"
Seeing the fierce glares both tried to light him on fire with, his leer faltered and he amended,
"Can you at least wait to start the action until I can go get my camcorder?"
Sam lifted Mikaela's hands and kissed their backs in a gentlemanly fashion. "Hold that thought. I have a geek to beat to a pulp. Be back soon!" He bent and retrieved his fallen booklet from the floor, handing it to her. Then, he turned to face the intruder.
"Dude!" Leo scurried away from him as he approached, but he still narrowed his eyes in a conspiratal manner and whispered, "You and me, we're in this together, Sam. We know the ways of technology--" he breathed the word with all the reverence of a fanatic, still backing away from him, "--Us techy bros have to stick together around the ladies. If you don't watch it, they will eat you aliiiiiiive."
"Well, then I guess Mikaela can have her fill of you after I trash your phone."
Sam lunged, but Leo anticipated the move and held the infuriating device just out of reach. He wiggled it back in forth in a taunting manner.
"You already trashed one of my phones! Besides, you might want to hold off on me and worry about yourself-- you forgot to pick up your blackberry when you dashed out of there like a wimp fleeing from a pack of jocks. Those guys? They are reeeaaalllllly serious about the security thing; they might destroy it if you don't go get it."
Sam froze in the middle of his assault, suddenly winded. His entire conversation with Bumblebee from that morning was still recorded on the blackberry. That someone might decide to read it did not scare him nearly half as much as the thought that if the blackberry were destroyed his last conversation with Bee would be forever lost. He couldn't risk that. He couldn't lose his last link to his best friend.
Abandoning his pursuit of Leo's phone, Sam leapt into a sprint back down the hallway, sandwich completely forgotten. At the last minute he called over his shoulder to Mikaela, assuring her that he would be right back.
Running at full tilt, it only took about ten minutes to make it back to level three. This time, however, they would not let him near the conference room, most likely because Lennox's team was still inside planning on how best to go about handling the surviving Decepticons. A few minutes of shouting at the guards about getting his phone back, however, did eventually result in the return of the requested article. Snatching it from the guard's hand, he turned his back and quickly scrolled through the recorded messages. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. It was still there. He would still be able to read it in the years to come and feel close to Bumblebee, even if the alien were a world away.
Pocketing the blackberry, he retraced his steps back down to the lounge at a much more leisurely pace. Both Mikaela and Leo were within, albeit occupying different corners of the room. Leo stood with his back to the cabinets in the kitchen area, fiddling with his phone and laughing. Sam suppressed a growl, closing his eyes and counting to ten. When he opened them, he had mellowed out enough to decide that he didn't care what the other boy did. Sticks and stones, and all that.
"Welcome back, Sam!" Leo greeted without looking up. "Your girlfriend dumped that rule book of yours in the sink."
Sam tried to smile at the sentiment, but couldn't quite remember how to do it. His eyes sought out the other occupant of the room.
Mikaela, he noticed with some interest, sat ramrod straight on the couch, so absorbed in the images flashing across the TV screen that she did not hear him enter.
"Kaela?"
Her head whipped around. When she saw him, her face closed down, expression becoming unreadable.
"I think you need to see this, Sam."
He came closer as she returned her attention to the TV. Rather than a soap opera, Judge Judy rerun or a cooking show, she was watching CNN. Lifting the remote, she thumbed up the volume.
"....and authorities are still on the hunt for the illusive Samuel James Witwicky, shown here, reportedly missing for the last five days since disappearing from Princeton University after a deadly attack on the school claimed thirteen lives. So far, no one seems to know who, or indeed what, he may be, or why the creature calling itself 'The Fallen' so desperately wants to find him..."
All the air left his lungs, and Sam found himself rooted in place, unable to move.
He had, naturally, known that practically everyone in the world had set off on a man hunt for him after the Decepticons held civilization itself for ransom and demanded him as the price. But after being caught up in the battle in Egypt and having seen the power of the Fallen utterly destroyed, some part of his mind had assumed that everything would just go back to the way it was and no one would give a hoot about him anymore. Obviously, he had been wrong. Dead wrong.
"Woah, what's going on over here?"
Leo, catching onto the tail end of the news broadcast, wandered over to stand beside him. Seeing Sam's flickering picture thrown up on the screen, he paled, eye widening.
"Shit," he whispered emphatically.
"...just last night, we received word from our on-sight reporter in the middle east that one of the great pyramids of Giza has been torn down, supposedly the work of the giant machines seen three days ago in every major city all around the world. No live footage of the destruction has become available, however, due to a fifty mile wide perimeter around the sight preventing anyone from entering. The Egyptian government has also been refusing to allow any news helicopters access to air space over the sight, and it is rumored that F-22 fighter jets have been stationed all around the no-fly zone to shoot down anyone attempting to enter..."
"That's not all," Mikaela warned them through trembling lips. She flipped the BBC, a British news station.
"....no leads on Samuel James Witwicky, as seen in this snap-shot, have yet come to light, but the hunt is still on to track him down as quickly as possible..."
Next she changed it to a spanish station. Though Sam could not understand the words the swarthy reporter bleated into his microphone, english captioning made it possible to follow along with what was being said. It was hardly a mystery what they heralded as the top story, though-- here, as with the other two, his picture remained a constant feature in a little box in the upper right hand corner.
"...some speculate that these creatures are not part of a terrorist plot at all, but are rather visitors from another world. Though their reasons for wanting this boy, Samuel James Witwicky, are unknown, many within the population are calling for his immediate apprehension to try to prevent wide spread destruction as threatened in this message--"
A sandwich. Just a normal sandwich. He wanted a sandwich, needed a sandwich, so he was going to make himself a sandwich. Leaving an enraptured Leo standing hypnotized by the alerts flashing continuously across the screen, Sam turned deliberately away and went to the kitchen area, fumbling open cabinets to dig out sandwich supplies.
*Click*
An arabic channel, with a voice-over in english.
"--fear is at an all time high. No one knows what these creatures are and if, or when, they will return. Our egyptian brothers are still refusing to allow anyone a glimpse of the ruins of one of the great pyramids. Some speculate that its destruction is merely a demonstration, an expression of displeasure with how long it is taking to locate Samuel J--"
A plate first. Then bread, two slices of wheat. Shaking fingers pulled open a drawer, pulled out a knife, dropped it. Picked it up, dropped it again. Get out another knife, set it on the counter. Open a cabinet-- peanut butter, ketchup, mustard. Sandwich, sandwich, sandwich. ('Bumblebeee!')
*Click*
Chinese this time. Continuous scrolling announcements at the bottom of the screen.
"--disappeared from Princeton University in the United States. Large contingents of soldiers, local police and volunteers have begun organizing to start combing China for the wanted boy. But so far, no one seems to have any idea where S--"
Yank open the refrigerator; jelly, onions, lettuce, tomato, cheese, ham, roast beef. Pickles. Keep it normal, keep it sane. Just a sandwich, Sam. Just a normal sandwich. (no air, nowhere to go-- can't breathe--)
*Click*
A dark African man, skin almost black, standing in front of a peeling background. Something that sounded like Portuguese.
"--mass outbreaks of sectarian violence among christians and muslims in the north, each claiming that the arrival of these otherworldly visitors is a punishment for the other's sins. The only thing anyone can agree on at this point is the need to find Samuel Witwicky before any more atrocities on the scale of the recent happenings in Egypt can occur--"
Can't remember which end of the knife to use, get out a spoon. Scoop out a large glob of peanut butter, slather it on the bread. Onions next, then jelly, and a few slices of meat. Squirt ketchup in a spoon, try to smear it on the other piece of bread, rip a hole in it. Oh well. Mash it back together again. It's only bread. You can tear it to pieces and always mash it back together again later. Tear and mash, tear and mash. (How do you expect the bread to survive having so many holes?)
*Click*
"--no word yet on exactly what has occurred to the pyramids in Egypt or where the mysterious Samu--"
More meat. Cheese, lettuce, tomatoes. Crush the two pieces of bread together and mount the completed work on a plate. (throw knives and spoon into the sink with the worthless book of papers, book of lies)
*Click*
"--question on everyone's lips is where is Samuel Wit--"
*Click*
"--suggested that now is the time when the needs of the many outweight the needs of the f--"
*Click*
"--hunt continues for S--"
*Click*
"--..'Deliver to me this boy'...--"
"Hey...Sam?"
At the sound of Leo's voice, Sam wheeled around and threw the plate and its captive sandwich as hard as he could into the wall. Condiments splattered everywhere with a dull thud, painting the white wallpaper red and brown and purple and yellow. Without any means of support, the plate fell to the floor with a sharp crack of struck ceramic, though it did not break. For a moment the sandwich hung suspended by its own stickiness on the wall. But as they watched-- one gaze empty, one startled, and one flat out terrified-- it languidly slid to the floor beside the plate, leaving a trail of technicolor ooze.
Leo gaped for a little bit, then rasped, "That only missed me by about three inches," his eyes slipped to Mikaela, who had risen from the couch in shock at the sudden commotion. "Your boyfriend just tried to kill me!" He squeaked at her.
"Then I guess it's a good thing he missed," she retorted, starting forward, "...Sam?"
"Give me a minute. Please."
All the coiling, sparking energy had rushed out of him the moment he threw the plate, leaving him feeling curiously drained and empty. Empty was good. He didn't feel happy or sad or frustrated or terrified or one of the many un-nameable things he had felt in the past 24 hours. Instead he felt suddenly calm. Rational. Reasonable.
Straightening up, he went to the sink and turned on the water, not bothering to remove the non-disclosure agreements fouling up the basin. Then, he washed his hands.
"Okay," he nodded to himself, switching the water back off and drying his hands. "Okay."
He turned, finding Leo still gaping at him, phone clutched between his hands. The coil in his chest wound a little tighter at the sight, but he didn't think that he was in danger of it breaking free again.
"What did you want to tell me? You know, before I took a break from reality and had a spaz moment."
Pressing his eyes closed and shaking his head as if to clear it, Leo forced a toothy smile back onto his face and jogged the last few steps to come stand beside him. If Sam had been in a mood to care, it could have stirred a little pity in him seeing the other boy having to try so hard to maintain his carefree playboy mask (the mask of the warrior, not really a mask at all-- which is real, the Bee or the Hornet?).
"Just this," he turned on the phone and called up a web page through his WiFi internet access. "I saw how you went nutso over me taking a video of you-- seriously bro? the nutso thing is not cool-- so I decided to make it up to you by putting together this little piece of hotness. Check it out!"
The way he had earlier that morning, Leo started the video. It resembled nothing so much as a crudely realized photoshop monster-- the clip started with a cropped picture of Mikaela leaning amorously against a stick figure representation of Galloway with a sign pointed at his head that read 'A-Hole'. The stick figure leaned in to french her, and then the scene changed to the video from breakfast of Sam attacking Galloway, this time with the little scrawled caption beneath it reading, 'Don't you touch my girl friend, bitch!!!". The miniature epic summed up with the completed picture of Sam and Mikaela together surrounded by little hearts and topped by the words 'THE END...?'
Okay, so Sam had to cut the guy a break. He was trying.
"Thanks. That's, uh....some spectacular drawing you've got going there."
"Yeah, I know, right? Just wait until this thing becomes the number one hit on YouTube!"
Simultaneously, Sam and Mikaela froze into twin blocks of granite.
"...Youtube?" Sam breathed, hoping against hope his ex-roommate wasn't that hopelessly stupid. "You're going to post this on YouTube?"
Not catching the dangerous undercurrent to his voice, Leo scrolled up to the top of the page and gestured to the familiar logo. "Already done!"
"...You IDIOT!"
With a feral strength he hadn't realized he possessed, Sam snatched the phone from Leo and hurriedly removed the incriminating video from the internet movie sight. He feared that the damage had already been done, however.
"What IS IT with you, dude?" Leo cried, wrestling his phone back, "That was my best post yet!"
And the spring inside of him snapped. Sam pushed the other boy up against the counter, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling them nose to nose.
"Were you dead for the last ten minutes, or did you truly miss the fact that everyone, EVERYONE in the world is currently hunting for me?" Calm. Even. Deadly.
Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Oops."
Wild-eyed, snorting with slow, measured breaths through his nose, Sam slammed him up against the counter one more time for good measure and then let go, retreating back a few steps to avoid giving into the temptation to do far worse.
Straightening up and rubbing the small of his back, Leo glanced to Mikaela for support. She folded her arms over her chest, lips thinned to a pencil line.
"Look, how should I have known that--"
The phone rang in his hand. He jumped, fumbling with it as though it had suddenly turned into a live snake. After many tries and endless repetitions of "Miss American Pie" he managed to flip it open and bring it to his ear.
"Joe's pool hall, eight ball speaking. How may I help you?"
The response was so loud he yelped and held the phone at arm's length, distrusting gaze giving the impression that he thought it was a snake in disguise and might actually bite him. In fact, the response was so loud even Sam could hear it clearly.
"YO, CHIA PET! GIVE THE PHONE TO DOUBLE-OH-ZERO OVER THERE ON YA LEFT!"
Sam would have recognized that voice anywhere. Mudflap.
"What?" Leo yelled towards the phone, helplessly befuddled.
"WHAT, YOU DEAF O SOMETHIN'?" Skids. "GIVE. THE. PHONE. TO MISTA SECRET AGENT MAN!'
"W-what, you mean 007? As in James Bond?"
"BOY, YOU REALLY IS STUPID, AIN'T YOU? NOT DOUBLE-OH-SEVEN, DOUBLE-OH-ZERO, AS IN STUMBLEBEE'S PET!'
"Sam? You mean Sam?"
"UH, DUH."
Leo slid a glance at Sam.
"He's not here. You got the wrong number! I'm Leo McCool."
"NO, YOUSE LEO MCSTUPID! HE'S STANDIN RIGHT NEXT TA YO SORRY ASS! NOW PASS OVER THE FRAGGIN PHONE!"
Leo paled, whirling around as if to discover the Twins hiding under a table or stuffed in the freezer. "How can you see us?"
Sam, looking around at the same time, discovered the answer to the riddle in the form of a camera in one corner of the ceiling. A single red light glowed down at them like a malevolent eye. "Up there."
"DOUBLE-OH-ZERO SHOOTS AND SCORES!"
Leo followed Sam's gaze and almost dropped the phone. The camera slowly rotated to face them, pinning them with its red eye.
"SAY HELLO TO THE CAMERA, BITCHES!"
Faster than he would have thought humanly possible, Leo all but chucked the phone at Sam. Fearing a continuation of the boisterous shouting, he held it a little away from his ear until a tiny, whispering voice crooned, "Let's talk all secret like, Sam-mah-man."
Shrugging at Mikaela when she mimed asking what was going on, he touched the speaker to his ear.
"Mudflap? Skids? What's going on?"
"Shh. Not there. We got a big old surprise for ya, but ya can't go talking about it with the hotty and chia pet hangin around."
Sam felt his ire rising again and forcefully beat it down. "Her name is Mikaela, not hotty."
"Woah, cheeel double-oh-zero, no need to pop a cap on us. Micky it is for miss hotty."
Resigning himself to the inevitable bestowing of nicknames, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Guys, if this is some kind of a game, now is really not a good time."
"This ain't a game, man. This is serious business! We got somethin we gotta show ya, but you have to ditch Micky and Leo McStupid first."
Sam hesitated, first and foremost because he didn't trust the twins to be 'serious' any more than he trusted that Megatron was really just a misguided do-gooder. And not that he particularly relished Leo's company, but he enjoyed any time spent with Mikaela. And he really, REALLY did not want to venture down into the cargo hold where he was sure to run into Bumblebee.
Sensing his hesitation, they replied, "Ya don't have to go far. We're waiting to meet you in the stair well between levels uno and dos. But ya gotta hurry, or you'll miss all the action!"
Sam looked to Mikaela, torn.
The twins sweetened the deal. "Da bosses been hiding stuff from you, double-oh-zero. You really gonna take that lyin down?"
Remembering vividly Thatcher's meaningful pauses and the obvious tension between him and Optimus, Sam realized it wasn't really much of a choice at all.
"What do I need to do?"
....Oh wow. This is long. And somehow, I'm STILL not finished with this blasted chapter! (*puts up a sign that says part two of three*)
In any case, this story has me bitten with rabid plot bunnies. 0_o Right now, I really don't see how I'll be able to stop. This is getting bad for my health, though-- this is the third (fourth?) time in a row I've been up till 3 am working on this baby. Seriously-- bitten.
Trust me when I say that this is NOT just one big beat-up-on-Sam story. There is a REASON all these seemingly bad things are happening to him, the whole picture just hasn't been revealed yet. When it is, I think you'll like it. And someone, please tell me how I'm doing on my Sam/ Mikaela romance. I didn't like them as a couple in the movie, but now that I'm getting into the groove of things I can see why they should have been good together in the movie (*scratches head*).
And as always, please review! I won't know whether or not you like my story if you don't review!!