Title: Well After Two
Chapter: The Seventh (Well After Eleven AM)
Rating: T/PG13
Disclaimer: I owneth not what Hasbro owns and make no profit from fanwork. Can be bribed with Binaltechs.
Pairing/Characters: Sam, Bee, Melissa, Jazz...
Warnings: None in-particular.
Summary: "Well, there isn't really a song for 'I'm secretly a robot trying to save the universe'," Sam said as he put a hand up on Jazz's steering wheel.
Notes: This unofficially takes place in the 'Target Exclusive' alter-continuity of the movie-verse (where Jazz lives and is sporting a sexy G1 redeco, the Decepticons have ties to corporate America, and scouts are everywhere). At this point, the author is flailing. Apologies.
-x.x.x.x.x-
Sam felt lost in the instant eruption of chatter, both in English and Cybertronian, as he tried to piece together everything he'd just heard. The adrenaline from the parking lot battle was beginning to fade and he couldn't help feeling tired. And there probably wasn't anything he could do, anyway - maybe it really was drama worth staying out of for the time being. Obviously everyone had very strong views on it that they were going to voice...
He'd been riding around inside of Starscream's... mate? Partner? Even if he tried to process the term as 'roommate', Sam couldn't help but feeling a little sick. Sure, Bumblebee had said to not judge based on human standards, but it was still an absolutely weird thought.
Looking around, Sam realized that he'd lost track of 'Bee while stomping away from Skyfire.
"Sam?"
Sam wheeled around and smiled at the sight of his guardian.
"This is weird," Sam said as Bumblebee sat down and offered Sam a place to sit on his leg. "At least to me."
"It's a problem," 'Bee replied. "I hope you can understand the delicate nature of..."
"You mean you didn't want Skyfire to drop us into Lake Erie," Sam interjected before yawning. "Yeah, and the whole part with everyone hooking up like a soap opera... Just let me know if you've got anything going on - I'd like a day without surprises.
"Understood," Bumblebee said as he shifted a bit. "My current only longing is to have the sand removed from..."
"Car washes tomorrow," Sam muttered, yawning again. "And jet washes, and motorcycle washes, and whatever-Skyfire-is washes..."
Sam opened his eyes and tried to remember what he was doing and where he was - he'd apparently fallen asleep, unless the sun now instantly rose in the middle of the night. Blinking, he untangled himself from being half-sideways in 'Bee's passenger seat, one leg kicked up into the dashboard and an arm wrapped in the seatbelt.
"Morning," he mumbled as he straightened out. "Or afternoon, maybe?"
"Still morning," Bumblebee replied, manifesting his hologram a moment later. "You fell asleep on me last night and I didn't know how to put you into the building without waking you up and making you walk there yourself."
Sam smiled. "It's okay."
And then he remembered the rest.
"Hey, what happened last night? Everyone was talking and..."
"Talk," 'Bee said with an overdramatic flop back in his own seat. "Quite a bit of it. Prowl still thinks that shooting Skyfire is a good idea and Optimus... It's hard to tell what he's thinking. He just ordered everyone to remain focused and that he'd order us all back out into the field if he had to."
"He probably thinks - last night aside - that it's too quiet. The Decepticons could have wiped out a city by now but they haven't," Sam said.
"Starscream is going with something more subtle," Bumblebee said as he turned a bit to look at Sam. "I think we should follow up on what Clocker found the other day."
"The stuff on MySpace?" Sam asked. "You think that was really them?"
"You think it wasn't?"
"I think it's a genius idea," Sam said. "If they can get it together, start a movement... and whatever else goes along with that, well... Don't ask me - technically I'm not even supposed to have an eBay account."
Bumblebee was giving him the oddest of glances and Sam realized what he said.
"Not that it's a good genius idea," Sam said, wondering if he could backpeddle far enough to get a smile. "Just... the sort of idea that you really wish you had but you didn't and, uh..."
'Bee smiled, nodding. "I understand. I think."
Sam sighed as he glanced around - everyone else seemed to have settled into their power-conserving resting states, or whatever they all did at night. Sunstreaker seemed to be covered in mud, as did Sideswipe, something Sam hadn't noticed the night before. Then again, he was fairly sure he wouldn't have noticed much of anything beyond being angry and dealing with a space jet (who was neatly parked off at the far corner of the field as if he knew better than to dare park on the pavement with everyone else).
"I should go inside and shower and change. I think my jeans are still damp from wandering around in that lake," Sam said as he reached for the door handle. "Sorry about that, by the way."
"Your bag is over at the door to the building," Bumblebee replied as he began firing up internet display screens. "I'll be out here. Take your time - Melissa is still asleep."
"Melissa..." Sam echoed. "Where is she?"
Bumblebee's hologram pointed over to where Optimus Prime was parked beside Prowl and Ironhide.
"Right... right..."
How he expected his summer vacation with the Autobots to not be exceptionally crazy, well, Sam honestly didn't know.
Picking up his bag, he reached inside to double-check that everything had survived intact. The first thing his hand came in contact with was his cell phone. Looking at it for a moment and doing a quick time conversion, Sam decided to call home. He rather thought he should tell his mother that he loved her.
Melissa wandered into the safehouse about a half-hour later. Sam had managed to get on and off of the phone in ten minutes, take a quick shower and find reasonably clean clothing in that time. Hoping there was still pizza in the fridge, he was just reaching to see when Melissa appeared. She was exceptionally rumpled but smiling.
"Morning!" she chirped. "Maybe... afternoon?"
"Still morning, though well after eleven," Sam replied as he located and grabbed a pizza box that felt fairly full. "Anyone up out there yet?"
"Hard to tell," Melissa said as she took the box from him and put it on the table. "I mean, for all I know they're chatting on AOL while sitting there looking like nice, ordinary vehicles. Which reminds me, Prowl and I need to finish at least a rough version of that new database today..."
"And carwashings," Sam added. "Every day is going to be carwash day. I hope you bought more soap."
"You can go buy more soap," Melissa said with a frown as she poked at a slice of pizza before picking it up. "Maybe some more food, too? You have a shiny 'government likes paying for the robots' bankcard, right?"
"Yeah," Sam said as he grabbed a slice for himself and sat down at the table. "You ever stop and think this is weird?"
"You mean how I spent my life chasing these guys only to find that getting to know them means wanting to smack them stupid?" Melissa asked as she relented and sat as well. "Not in the last... how long have I been in here? Five minutes."
"I'm sorry."
"Why? None of it is your fault," Melissa said between bites. "I can't even figure out how to get valid license plates for everyone. I mean, everyone seems to have them but Camshaft's is also registered to a real Mazda in Rhode Island and for some stupid reason Sunstreaker and Sideswipe put their names on theirs, because that's so not suspicious... You know, I honestly thought that maybe getting everyone real, legal government-issued plates because that would be perfect except..."
Melissa set down her pizza crust and took a deep breath.
"Do you have any idea how the common every-day tax-payer would react to seeing a line of exceptionally pretty vehicles including two Lamborghinis, an electric Tesla, a Hummer, a what-is-Ironhide-anyway-other-than-big?, a new Camaro, a specialty painted semi, etc. all with government plates?!"
Sam started laughing, and Melissa soon joined in.
"Not to mention that no one has a damned title or registration anyway. Or insurance," she said, trying to keep a straight face. "Can you imagine trying to sign everyone up with Geico? I think they'd save us 15 and try to send us elsewhere."
"So you're trying to do this to help everyone blend in?" Sam asked. He ate his crust.
"It's for the future, too," Melissa explained. "The idea is that after the Decepticons are gone, the Autobots would like to stay on this planet at least for awhile. With the proper paperwork and a few people-skills classes, Prowl and I think that most everyone should be able to find some form of employment."
"You've got to be kidding me," Sam said without thinking. No way could any one of the... well, Ratchet was outfitted as a rescue vehicle. A sentient ambulance had plenty of benefits. And surely Prowl would make a rather good real cop. Okay, maybe not the worst idea he'd ever heard...
Melissa frowned and shook her head. "There have been hundreds of N.B.E. sightings since Mission City. If half of those are Autobots... or even non-faction-allied robots... Well, robo-welfare's gonna hold up about as well as smacking government plates on everyone's asses."
"But it's just been online speculation... Mission City was explained as..." Sam paused. "Someone is admitting it's real?"
"Go to the store later," Melissa interjected. "Buy a few copies of Newsweek. One of the guys sent me the text, but apparently the photos are the best part. Someone got out of Mission City with a roll of good ol' 35mm film. Mostly its analysis and comments on the whole internet infatuation. And trying to explain away something that isn't a photomanip."
"What?" Sam couldn't believe Melissa hadn't mentioned that little detail yet. He had been a few days without television, but...
"I haven't mentioned it to anyone yet," she admitted with a slight shake of her head. "Things just seemed tense enough yesterday and..."
She trailed off before standing up and heading over to the door. Sam heard it a moment later - everyone seemed to be transforming and stretching for the day.
"So soap, food, a few copies of Newsweek... Anything else we need?" Sam asked as he absently put the remnants of the pizza away.
"Nothing a polite girl like myself will bother you with," Melissa replied with a smile as she opened the door. "Here's to another bizarre day!"
Sam stretched as well, walking out into the sunshine. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were standing right there, rather filthy, and looking at Sam as though he had ought to know exactly what to do.
"I need to go buy soap if you think I'm washing either one of you," he said. "Until then, get Arcee or Melissa or Skyfire to turn the hose on for you."
He didn't listen for the retort. Instead he headed for Jazz, who had been oddly quiet and was still off on his own, untransformed.
"Hey," Sam said as he reached to rest a hand on Jazz's left rear quarter. Apparently it worked on horses - Sam remembered that from summer camp one year.
"'Sup?" Jazz asked as he opened a door, letting a stream of music outward.
"I need a lift," Sam said. "Thought I'd let Bumblebee dry out a little after last night's beach party."
"Where to, man?" The volume of the music decreased as Sam slid inside, a little surprised at how comfortable - and low - Jazz's interior was.
"The nearest town," Sam said. "I've been tasked with getting food for Melissa and myself - and soap for you guys."
Jazz laughed as they headed towards the road. Sam reached for his seat belt.
"You've been so quiet," Sam commented as they drove. "I dunno... I thought..."
"Earth-stuff," Jazz replied. "Culture n' stuff. Music."
"Huh?"
"Everything you ever need to say, there's a song for," Jazz explained. "Made it easy for 'Bee to talk to you before Ratchet an' the AllSpark fixed him up."
"Well, there isn't really a song for 'I'm secretly a robot trying to save the universe'," Sam said as he put a hand up on Jazz's steering wheel. It felt a little odd - being in someone other than Bumblebee. He hadn't even offered 'Bee a wave or anything... Suddenly he felt guilty but he didn't say anything. Instead he glanced out the window at cows lingering in a cluster near a farmhouse. Already they were miles from the safehouse - he assumed the unassuming farm was the nearest neighbor.
"Nah, he just didn't find it," Jazz replied as he switched stations. "There's music for everything."
Laughing, Sam nodded. There probably was a song like that out there somewhere.
"So what have you been listening to?" Sam asked a minute later.
"Musicals," Jazz said. "Movie scores, pop songs, big band, death metal, new wave, singer-songwriters, happy hardcore, folk songs in every language I can find... It's fun."
"Did you have music on Cybertron?" Sam asked, still trying to process Jazz's list. He couldn't imagine any of it in juxtaposition, let alone in the same day. Or at all.
"Of course," Jazz answered. "But... art, culture, creativity... those are some of the first things to go when war breaks out."
"Oh."
Sam was quiet for the rest of the trip to the quiet general store in the middle of a small town. Two rusty pick-up trucks were the only things in the lot when Jazz pulled in, and even nearby, at the combination Pizza/Burger/Chicken Wing place, there didn't seem to be much happening. The quiet was sort of nice, considering what Sam knew he was going back to.
"I'll only be a minute," he said as he opened Jazz's door and got out. Usually he told Bumblebee to stay put, more as a joke than anything else. But... he didn't want to offend Jazz, who had just been... rather honest with him.
Sam opened the door and wandered in, grabbing a handbasket on his way by. Soap. And food...
Melissa had been right - Ironhide was gracing the cover of Newsweek with the tagline 'We Believe. We Think." spelled out in blocky white text. He looked at the rest of the row, at Time and the tabloids and local papers, at USA Today and People and (since it was there) Better Homes & Gardens. All alien-free.
"When...?" Sam asked under his breath. Everything had been quiet for weeks - long enough for school to end for the year and for most of Mission City to be metaphorically swept under the rug as a terrorist attack using new technology... But America had won, of course, and things were...
Realizing he hadn't turned on a television or even checked his e-mail for the last week, Sam suddenly had a grand desire to do both. Yet his mother hadn't mentioned anything -- of course, she knew. And they'd only talked for a few minutes and she'd really only said that Mojo was fine and did he have enough underwear and there'd been an awkward bit when he'd said the name 'Melissa'... he supposed that would distract his mother well enough. Unless she really didn't know - if the news really was just hitting...
As covertly as he could, he dumped five issues into his basket. Going through the checkout would be awkward, unless the clerk wasn't paying attention at all. Maybe he could just say that he really liked aliens and had a friend who really liked aliens. He also had an alien sitting in the parking lot, but that didn't need to come up. Otherwise, it was mostly truthful, if he considered Melissa a friend -
Dammit! Sam turned and stalked off in the direction of the soap (he hoped). The world wide web would be buzzing already and yet a single Autobot hadn't said anything. He was sick of being in the dark about everything.
Soap. Dishsoap would have to do, since they didn't have that either. He grabbed four bottles and groaned - in no possible way would the clerk not think he was absolutely crazy.
And when Sam got to the food aisle and began loading in canned pasta and anything else that looked easy to make without much mess, he figured he could just say he was in a militia and they were gathering supplies to resist the alien invaders.
Though that wouldn't explain the soap.
"That your car?" the clerk asked when Sam reached the only checkout. She was middle-aged, likely owned one of the trucks out front. She began ringing things through without really looking at them.
"Belongs to a friend," Sam replied. "Mine's, uh, in the shop and he, uh, let me borrow it."
"Nice lookin'," she commented as she handed him the first bag. "Every now 'n then someone comes through with somethin' nice. Can't haul a trailer with it, though."
"Nope," Sam agreed. He pulled out his wallet and handed over his rather dull looking government debit card that had a fictional bank name on it but a very real Visa logo.
"Aw, hey," the clerk said as she got to the magazines. "You like this stuff? Dun know what it's doin' in Newsweek - I thought they covered real stuff like wars and cancer 'n stuff."
"It's interesting," Sam said. "It's okay if I buy that many copies, right? I have a few friends who..."
"Sales is sales," she interrupted as she bagged them and looked up. "Go ahead 'n swipe your card through the reader. 'N tell yer friend he has a nice car."
"Yes, ma'am," Sam replied. He didn't think he could get out of there soon enough.
Jazz hadn't moved when Sam emerged, not that Sam thought Jazz would have moved. He supposed at one point he'd meet an Autobot with the attention span of a gnat who would chase after butterflies and bunnies, but that was hopefully far in the future.
"Can you access the web?" Sam asked as he got into Jazz. "Like, now?"
"What's up?" Jazz asked. Sam forgot for a second that he was in a friend, not a real car and flung the bag with the cans a little harder than he'd meant to. He winced, but Jazz didn't comment. For future reference, Jazz was not built to be a grocery-getter.
"Ironhide is on the cover of Newsweek," Sam said as they backed out of the parking lot and onto the road.
Jazz stopped short.
"Ironhide?" he asked. "When they could have put a good looking 'bot like me on the cover?"
"I think you were busy at the time," Sam said flatly. "Mission City pictures."
"Rub it in, why don'tcha," Jazz said as they sped back into the fields.
"It's bad," Sam said. "I mean, if everyone knows."
"Might help flush out Starscream."
Sam sighed. He wanted to understand the Autobots' brand of undying optimism but it was difficult.
"And, Sam, the 'net has been talking about it every second since it happened. Remember that interview with your parents?" Jazz slowed down for what had to be the most useless four-way stop sign in the entire universe. Coming to a full stop, Sam couldn't see another vehicle in any direction, let alone any worth stopping for.
"I know," Sam said. "But that was... I dunno... So Optimus knows about all of this?"
"He knows," Jazz said. "He might even have a plan. Sometimes we think he has a plan and afterwards he says we were just winging it."
"Last night, I thought he'd..." Sam wasn't quite sure what he'd thought - that Optimus would be angry or yell or just drive off or what. Maybe punch Skyfire just for being there. But Optimus hadn't done much of anything but ask for more details about the actual mission and if they'd learned anything other than how to get shot up. He'd been... almost too calm.
"He knows better," Jazz said. "There'll be time for emotions later."
"So you've been listening to musicals?"
"Sam, I've been listening to everything."
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