FUN AUTHOR FACT #2: I currently have eleven Microsoft Word pages full of rejected story chapters, chapter snippets, character back-stories, plot lines, questions asked to myself about characters (with my answers), raw crack cocaine, and a random chapter that may be thrown in after the story that involves Chromia and the Mongolian Desert. On the other hand, I have a little over twenty-nine pages already submitted (before final editing that it). This leaves me with twenty-four pages in the document that has the raw material of the story but has yet to be published/hasn't been fleshed out completely. You can take four more pages away from the final number due to these pages being published. Fun fun!

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Transformers: The Eye of Icarus

Chapter Nine: Shaken, Not Stirred

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'Find me,' he would whisper, 'not to save me, but to save them.'

For the second morning in a row, Gloria found herself throwing up right after bandaging her arm as best as she could. Her mind didn't feel like it was working anymore beyond involuntary actions between the headaches and bouts of light-headedness. Somehow showering and dressing herself, she stuffed things into her newly dubbed 'evidence bag' between illness: papers from her journals, pencils and pens used, and a camera with photographs of the walls and window of the guest room. Her legs were able to coordinate themselves down the stairs, hands clutching onto anything to keep her from falling head over heels down the stairs. The medications she took to alleviate some of the problems weren't working. This left her with having to deal with them as they came and went. Stumbling into the living room, she sprawled unceremoniously on the large ten-seater. Shivering from the cold that seeped through her clothing, she pulled the blanket from the couch back and wrapped around her to try and get comfortable. Maybe if she stayed still long enough her symptoms would subside long enough to try and sprint to the garage. If this is what dying feels like, she bleakly pondered, then I just want to get this over with.

…..

"How long have you been like this?"

Eyes open, she saw she wasn't alone. A man in his mid twenties stood before her, arms behind his back at a casual attention. The formal dinner suit he wore was more suited for a cocktail party than the living room or her sick presence. In a fluid motion, she flipped over the back of the couch, feet thudding on the floor to create distance between her and the man. Her blanket fell to the ground.

"Who are you?" She sputtered, circling around the couch when he began to move around the couch towards her. "You know," his matter-of-fact tone automatically irritated her; "you can worry others if you don't show your face for some time. Especially in the condition you're in. Someone might think you've died."

"Why would you care?" Her phone was too far away to call the police. So was the house phone. The best thing to do was to back up towards the fireplace while he continued maneuvering around the couch to get to her. She just had to reach the nearest weapon to use against him before he figured out her intention…

"Unfortunately, I can't say much. Ideally, I shouldn't have had a need to show my face in front of you. Even as I speak, I'm going against several cardinal rules that the organization I work for."

"Such as?" She asked, finally around the couch. Her feet slowly began to backstep, keeping an eye on him at all times.

"For one, I normally would have needed an approval before I could have been allowed inside. I suppose I'll have to apologetic when I get back." The stranger was now close enough for her plan to go into action. "I'll make you sorry!" Her hands wrapped around the fireplace poker beside her, swinging it at his chest. He flinched, the rod passing cleanly through like he was made of fog. A moment of bewildered silence passed between the two of them.

"What was that for?" He angrily protested, brushing his arm before approaching her aggressively. Keeping the weapon extended towards him, she maneuvered away from him. He was wary of her, not wanting to have to deal with being struck at. She saw his eyes fuming silently at her in annoyance. She looked like she had seen a ghost.

"What WAS that?" Gloria demanded, waving the weapon in front of her to make him stop his advance briefly.

"You swung that- thing- at me!" He sounded disgusted, offended at her actions.

"If you get out of my house then I won't go for your head next time you intruder, illusion thing!" He resumed his approach, making her dart away towards the end of the living room and nearly into the kitchen.

"Well, you let me into your house to begin with. That makes me less of an intruder a more of a guest." He coolly observed, anger unexpectedly gone. The man/illusion/supposed-guest-no-long-intruder examined his suit for anything ruffled while the statement took its time to sink into her head.

"What?" Aggravation flickered across his face momentarily at her question, but returned to its calm and undisturbed features. "I'll jog your memory shortly, but first-" his hand darted forwards and pulled the poker out of her grasp. To her amazement, he not only bent the iron poker in half, but also twisted it for good measure before lightly placing it into the nearest trashcan. "Now, isn't that better? And you don't have to keep darting away from me; I'm not going to hurt you. Besides, I'm not interested in… someone with your features." A look flickered across her face, but he couldn't decide what it was before she retreated fully into the kitchen. Had he insulted her? He had to wonder. Humans were much more expressive than what he was used to dealing with. Following her footsteps, he made his way into the kitchen where she stood stiffly, arms crossed over her chest (and by the knives too, he noted). Casually glancing around the rather large space, he began to take note what was around him. How does one make small talk with a human girl anyway that didn't involve war and tactics? "You never told me who you are." Gloria icily brought up. His eyes darted to her face, seeing that she expected a response.

"I'll keep it brief to not bore you," his fingers brushed against the marble countertop as he made his way around the open area, "and because most of what I could tell you is under a vow of silence. The most I can say at this point in time is that I was assigned to look after you once you had stepped off base for an indefinite period of time. I was informed to show myself only when necessary. For example, when your life is in danger." He stopped to look at a painting that hung above the sink, noting the thick application of oil paints.

"So, is my life in danger?" Voice on edge, eyes expecting another answer.

"Not in the way I expected it to be. You're ill, but not with something that a perfectly normal individual would get. But," his pale blue, nearly grey eyes looked right at her, making her shudder, "I think you've already figured that out." Moving down the counter, he occupied himself with studying the patterned tile behind the range. "Did Donovan order you to follow me?" She was surprised to hear him chuckle at the mention of the name. "I answer to a man of a higher caliber than Donovan. He merely suggested that I watch you based on my volunteering for a previous assignment. Only when I got clearance from my commander did I take up this assignment. Honestly, I wasn't too fond to be your guardian at first, but I think it's starting to grow on me." The kitchen filled with the diligent hum of the dishwasher working. His gaze darted back to the corner as he watched Gloria move towards him. "What's your name, or are you under some kind of oath to never reveal it?" He looked away briefly, a list of names in his head. "You may call me Mark for the time being." Calmly watching her pace pace before him, he remembered how she often did that when she was nervous or excited. Which one was it this time?

"So, how exactly are you a guest instead of an intruder? By now any same person should have called the police." Pulling her hand from behind her back, she flipped open her phone and let him watch as she dialed in 911. Her finger hovered over the 'send' button as she looked up at him, expecting an answer. He was mildly impressed with how she had snuck over to her purse to reach her cell phone by the time he had walked into the kitchen. There were two directions he could feed into this scenario but decided to play it safe. Best to let her think she had the upper hand for the moment. Appearing disinterested, he moved around her to continue his scrutiny over the kitchen by looking at the clear glass cabinet doors where the glasses were held before throwing out his bait to her. "For starters, I could get you back to base to talk to Donovan. I know you were planning on heading over there before I let myself in. Do you really think that you'll get an audience with him so easily?" She saw his point. "You need me right now, more than you realize or want to admit." Their eyes met again, their interests conflicting.

"And why should I even trust you?" She asked, finger lightly brushing the 'send' button. She wasn't going to let herself be pushed around by a nice suit and pretty eyes. "You first break into my aunt's house and have been creeping around for God knows how long. Then you suddenly dematerialize or something so that the poker goes straight through you. Next thing you do is bend it in half and twist it like it's warm taffy and throw it away in the garbage. Either I'm experiencing a very strange hallucination from whatever is making me sick or I should stop asking questions." Mark stopped and stood beside her for some time in silence, the clock on the wall diligently ticking the seconds away from their lives.

"I do think you did me an injustice in the living room," finally cutting the silence with a stern voice, but not to scold her, "I've been nice enough to let you drive me around town, patient enough to listen to your stories and discussions you've held. To be honest, I wasn't too happy that you messed under my hood and then took me to that boy of yours to screw with my perfectly engineered system." The dishwasher stopped to leave them in total silence. "I don't think you're insane either." Mark examined the watch on his left wrist briefly, suddenly uninterested in his own discussion. Glancing over to Gloria, he noted to note she had connected the dots based on the confused, utterly terrified expression that was plain on her face and in her eyes.

"You're-? No, that's a joke, right?" She firmly stated, shaking her head. "Ha-ha, right?" Mark's features seemed to solidify her crazy idea. And a deep-seated fear she never wanted to face. "Prove it to me." Not even bothering with shoes and socks, she went into the garage, hand waving him to follow. Making his way into the garage after her, he leaned against the doorframe while watching her make her way around the Stingray. He could tell she was looking for something.

"I don't see any wires." Her hands ran over the hood and made their way to the trunk, feeling for something. Anything

"Nope." He chimed in, putting his hands inside the pockets of his pants. It was hard not to grin at her scramble to find anything that could disprove her idea.

"There isn't someone hiding inside, either." She tapped a finger against her lips, thinking. Inside, her mind felt like a record threatening to skip.

"Correct again." Checking his watch once more, he realized they didn't have much time to sit around leisurely like this. "And I think I would know if there were any remote controls…"

"Three exceptional observations, my dear. Now what do you want me to do?" His tone was bored with an edge of impatience.

"Turn on the engine and honk the horn or something." Gloria commanded, looking at him. He curtly responded, not enjoying being commanded by a small human girl.

"Done." The car came to life, engine violently announcing itself to them. The horn honked twice rapidly to placate her. Raising an eyebrow, he saw her standing still in shock while the car rolled back to almost touch the large door out.

"What else do you want me do? Run myself into your aunt's kitchen? Personally, I don't like the prospect of denting myself on piping and house framing." Once more, his eyes darted to his wristwatch (maybe that was his nervous habit? He would have to ask someone later what exactly constituted a nervous habit) and stepped down the stairs to stand beside Gloria. "Now, would you like me to drive to the base while Donovan is still there or would you prefer to have this day off finish your panic attack?" Ignoring the rather rude tone of voice, Gloria realized that she needed to get her priorities straightened for the day before she fell ill again. She had to stuff the emotions that had just been throw out of their lairs back inside. "Your nose is bleeding. The left." Focusing, the familiar sensation of a runny nose confirmed his observation. "I'll be back." Retreating back inside, she dealt with the third bloody nose of the day while she got her evidence bag. He was in the driver's seat when she stepped back out, closing the door behind her. Hitting the button, the garage door silently opened. The sky was overcast as the weatherman had predicted. She got in the passenger seat and got herself adjusted, seeing that he was looking at his watch again. He seemed irritated once more as he spoke.

"Best for you to try and relax. I may be going over the speed limit since we're running a bit late."

Done! Let me flail a bit and say that I had a great vacation. Well, ignoring how we couldn't go to the beach to swim that I normally do because of the jellyfish breeding season in South Carolina. Just ask my foot that swelled like it had been stung by an angry pack of bees when one got its tentacles wrapped around my foot and ankle. Morgan was right when she told me that that was the reason we stay inside with our computers. But I'm so glad to be back and see your smiling… visitor/hits?

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