Title: Sparks 9: Amp Off
Pairing BeexSam (with others developing)
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. Hasbro does. All characters are 18 or older with the exception of Annabelle.
This has been beta'd but nobody's perfect. Comments and Critiques are welcomed and encouraged.
Thanks!
Here's chapter 9. Sorry for the wait. This was supposed to be a reunion chapter…it ended up being a drama chapter… It's still fun though.
Enjoy!
So here it goes. This is the re-edited version of Sparks. Thanks to gracesolo for all of the wonderful beta work, hand holding and laughter. You're my hero hon!
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Sparks 9
Amp Off
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Florescent lights flickered far above Sam; the near silent hum a pleasant change from earsplitting screams. He was sore all over but still, somehow able to move. He wasn't sure he'd be able to run if necessity called for it. That was assuming he still had the chance. Summoning his courage, the teen pushed himself up. Dulled pain exploded to life tingling along nerves as his desire for self-preservation screamed at him. Surprised at the intensity laid back, waiting for the pain to subside.
"Okay, I'm not going to do that again."
Looking around, he discovered himself sequestered on a large table. It was just like table that once bore Bumblebee, smaller than the one had Starscream had destroyed. The thought of the winged Decepticon sent a pleasant tingle down his spine. Surprised and shuddering with revulsion Sam tried to remember what had happened.
As fuzzy thoughts crossed his consciousness, he discovered that he wasn't alone. To his left lay a large mech. Though it was unknown to him it seemed familiar and that was reassuring. Unable to discern the sense of Déjà vu he looked to his right and found Prowl. The sight of which brought a happy smile to his lips. Despite the Autobot's resemblance to a certain Decepticon, he felt safe with him near. It was weird, but the teen had already learned the benefit of following his instincts.
Both bot were silent and still, each with wires attached to them. Scooting forward Sam too realized he was trapped. On further inspection he found and IV attached to his arm. Perturbed and confused he reached to pull that damn thing out, but found himself stopped by earnest blue optics.
Optics he hadn't seen in a long time. Optics set in a dark face of a larger-than-life alien-robot, an alien-robot that just happened to be seated at the end of the table, an alien-robot that was his best non-human friend.
"Bumblebee?"
"He's refused to leave your side since they brought you back."
"Miles?"
Just beyond Bumblebee, Sam could make out the figure of his best human friend, leaning over a computer. The enigmatic blond was a sight for sore eyes. Never had Sam been so glad to see his compatriot since pre-school. No matter what happened, he could always count on his eccentric companion.
"You look like crap."
Well he could expect him to be honest.
"Where are we?"
"Hoover Dam again. Tyger Pax isn't quite set up for non-bot medical emergencies. We're down on the 7th level. You weren't stable enough to be moved to the recovery rooms on the 4th."
Miles explained as he abandoned the flashing screen. He almost made it across the room before he paused to look at the mangled police car.
"Robo-Cop over here brought you in."
The functioning yellow mech chirped at the human, prompting a correction.
"Ok, Prowl brought you in."
"Is he alright?"
"I don't know I've had a heck of a time keeping an eye on you."
It was an understatement. He'd been frantic, as Bumblebee had carried Sam into the chamber. His heart had nearly stopped when he saw that fair skin covered in dried blood and mottled bruises. Just beyond the egress, Mikaela had prayed. She knelt down, clasped her hands and prayed. Confused but thoughtfully, Long Arm had moved to her side and reciprocated the gesture. Whether he meant to or not, the pick-up found himself the role model for dozens of tiny bots. Conducting themselves in such a manner they too knelt, the more spastic of their clan silenced by their den mother in the shape of a Mountain Dew machine.
Miles had been so scared that Sam was dead. He'd even clung to Trent for support. As expected the jock wasn't exactly Dr. Phil, but he'd been a shoulder to cry on. Miles had sobbed, loudly and unabashedly into the teen's letterman jacket and the only torment he suffered was the fear and horror of Sam's condition. Trent hadn't yelled or complained, he merely took it like a man unsure how to comfort anyone.
They'd stood like that for a while, basked in the silence and Miles' snuffling. Once she'd risen from the floor Mikaela had rubbed his back in soothing circles and urged Trent to do the same. She brought with her comforting words and the news of his friend. Sam wasn't dead, he just in shock. Relief flooded throughout Miles and his legs gave out, leaving Trent to hold him up. The jock did admirably and Miles almost thanked him.
That had been some odd hours and four Mountain Dews ago. It had probably been the longest night of Miles' entire life. And it was over. Sam was back among friends and he was going to stay that way. The teen moved closer, climbed up Bumblebee to look Sam on the eyes. Gripping Sam's face he turned it to the side and inspected the skin. He wanted to know what happened and he was going to get an answer, one way or another.
"What happened to you?"
Sam remained silent and looked from the Camaro to the human. Not all his memories had rushed back, leaving the last few hours a blank slate. What had happened to him? He knew now whatever it was; he didn't want to worry his friends.
Sam sighed and closed his eyes, "I don't really want to talk about it."
"Sam you came in here with more "bling" than you did when you left, we have to talk about it."
His inference was of course directed at the changes to the teen's body. Wired into his system, four neural ports were integrated into his flesh. The silver red metal was offset by the faint glow of alien circuitry woven within them. Obviously cauterized, the medic had refrained from bandaging them as he had the rest of Samuel's body. Looking at the older burn marks along his arms, Sam refused again.
"I really, really don't want to talk about it."
"Sam."
Miles suddenly found his impromptu interrogation thwarted by yet another tenant of their converted medical ward.
"God, you freaks are noisy. Some people are trying to sleep."
In the corner of the hanger, a little ways away from the unmoving Autobots Trent DeMarco was just waking up. Scowling at the reunited friends he resisted the urge to throw up.
"Well good morning to you too sleeping beauty." Lancaster shrugged tiredly and turned his attention back to Sam.
"What's he doing here?"
"See that Autobot over there? That's his "Car". The snippy teen made use of air quotes to illustrate his point. Watching him, Sam could just tell that he was coming down off a Dew-high. Bumblebee made another unintelligible noise and the teen glared.
"Her name," interrupted the football star, rising to his feet. "is Chromia."
"And she has a heck of a better personality than you."
The jibe was rude and ill timed, and they stared at each other in a battle of my mental chicken. Watching them posture, Sam was ready to throttle both of them but too the reprieve glad for the reprieve. Sitting down he pressed himself to the plates of his transformed car, his smile tinged with exhaustion. The fingers cradled him gently, and he sagged, putting everything but Bumblebee from his mind.
The argument going on around them was interrupted quickly as a third voice spoke.
"As much as I'm enjoying all the attention sugah, I'd prefer if you didn't fight."
DeMarco whipped about at the sound of the femme's sweet voice, an unusual expression on his face and concern in his tone.
"Chromia?"
Crossing from the ugly green sofa, the elder teen moved slowly towards precious Hummer. She looked fine outwardly, but then again who was he know alien physiology? She stretched slowly extending her hands to him, the bright blue optics scanning him as he came closer. Silently the young man gripped the much larger digits allowing the Autobot to lift him from his feet.
Raising his head, Sam watched as they touched the gestures between them as familiar as his own with Bumblebee.
Somewhere in between his mind slipped away. Almost at once golden paths seemed to glitter before his unfocused eyes. The lines covered everything glowing the most brightly over the humans and Autobots. It hit him in that instant that he'd seen it before, like silver webs only these were much stronger.
"Sam!"
Blinking the human snapped for his reverie and the light was gone leaving behind a hazy after image.
Miles slapped a cool hand to his forehead concerned even more with his "condition." Shaking his
head sadly, he waved a hand before Witwicky's face.
"You aren't acting like yourself. "He hissed softly his eyes boring into his friend's.
The way he said it, it was a statement not a question. Sam bit his lip waiting for the inevitable
.
"What happened to you?"
Scared almost trembling against Bee, he refused to answer. He turned Instead, focusing on the shapes of Chromia and Trent. The brightly colored femme held the young man close, face pressed to his chest, fingers curled about his body. His smile was a little stronger, this time and he looked up to his friend and guardian.
Without a sound Bumblebee reached for him, careful not to knock Miles from his perch. The mechanical digits encircled Sam, drawing him carefully forward, mindful of his wounds and IV. Eyes to optics they were lost in their own little world. The human's lip suddenly quivered and tears welled in his eyes. Worried the alien Camaro chirped brightly and Miles caught the hint.
"It's okay Sam."
Head down the teen avoided looking into anyone's' eyes wiping the leakage from his own.
"What did I miss?" he inquired curling his fists in his lap.
"A couple of things."
"Like?"
Mass panic in the streets. Oh, and Optimus Prime… uhh… fainting…" Miles concluded neatly.
Bumblebee honked at the youth, who twitched but changed the subject again.
"My car got jacked, right after you did incidentally."
"Man I'm sorry."
"Not as much as I was, oh and DeMarco panicking like a baby cuz his car's an alien." The blond obviously took great pleasure in that particular fact.
"Anything important?" Sam corrected his voice wavering as he spoke.
"Mikaela's working for Sector Seven."
"What?" The fury in Sam's tone surprised even Trent who stopped and stared.
Rethinking his faux pas Miles desperately tried to extract his foot from his mouth.
"Maybe she's just temping for them or something. I haven't seen her since you were brought in."
As he spoke however he only found he was digging himself deeper. Slapping a hand over his face he sighed. "I'm just making this worst aren't I?"
"Sam?"
A joyful shout drew their attention, and Mikeala rushed towards them.
"You're awake!"
Sam's surprise upon seeing pseudo-girlfriend was stripped the moment he laid eyes on her uniform. There in the top pocket of her blazer was a Sector Seven ID card. As she closed the distance, she noticed his expression and she stopped, confusion etched in her features.
Miles jumped down from the Camaro and whispered an apology as he made himself scarce.
"Sam?" she repeated softly.
At the sound, he gave her the most awful look.
"You're working with them?" he accused venomously, sliding from the table.
She refused to answer, the guilt clearly written across her face.
"How could you?" Sam demanded stepping forward.
Meeting him head on Mikeala refused to back down.
The Sector Seven they'd encountered wasn't the same one she was now working for.
"You can't hold everyone accountable for act made in haste."
"That's a hell of an understatement." He replied maliciously, the IV pulling as he moved.
""They hurt Bumblebee!"
At the mention of his name the mech chirped at the pair attempting to intercede. Without his voice however, he was having a heck of a time. No signal he encountered bore anything remotely encouraging or relevant to the situation. Holding up his hands he attempted to separate his friends. His intrusion was ignored and they started shouting.
"They didn't set out to, they were trying-" Mikaela began again.
"Did they tell you that? That doesn't make it ok!"
From across the room Trent interrupted. "Give her a break would you!"
"Stay out of this!" Sam snarled back.
Mikaela however rallied to his defense. "Sam! Leave him alone!"
To the surprise of all parties present Bumblebee finally found something he could work with.
"Why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends?"
The room fell quiet as all eyes turned to him. Unfortunately that silence was short-lived.
"Shut up Bumblebee!"
Suitably chastised the sixteen-foot robot whined sadly. Chromia snapped to his defense and argument began anew. The teens were practically screaming at each other in the large hanger. Angry and hurt, tempers flared nearly followed by fists, until a long silent mech finally spoke.
"Enough. Look at yourselves. If this is how your species treats itself, I'm surprised Optimus Prime holds you in such high regard." Prowl rose from the berth, his tone captivating and firm.
Rising to his full height he looked them over, before shaking his head in disappointment
"Bumblebee, Chromia see to you charges. I hope for your sakes we do not have another incident like this. Do I make myself clear?"
Without a word every one of them nodded, shamed by their behavior. He was absolutely right.
Lifting Sam from the floor, the somber Camaro replaced him on the table he'd occupied before. Retreating a safe distance, Mikaela glanced at them. Sheepish and embarrassed Sam looked away as his fingers played across the newly acquired port the back of his neck. Shock and pain registered first as energy rippled through his completed circuit. Power rippled through his hand cycling throughout his neural center and back along his appendages. His locked memories rippled back along his mind, the most painful and recent forcing a scream that died on his lips.
The boy's guardian seized him as Prowl summoned Ratchet. The uninjured humans found themselves carried from the room as Chromia fled before the CMO's wrath. Clutching the finger that held her Mikaela could only stare with dawning horror as the severity of the situation struck her. DeMarco on the only hand was thinking about something else.
"Now where the hell is Lancaster"
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Taking the elevator and several back stairwells Miles moved up to the first floor. Stalking past the vehicle bay he scowled. Rows of nondescript black vehicles stretched across the lot, each equipped with weapons and emergency gear. It was no wonder why it wasn't on the visitor tour. Oddly funny, but unimportant and he walked faster; he'd had enough of cars anyway. Slipping out to the receptionist station he prepared to plead his case.
It took some serious lying, cajoling and near pleading. The base was still on high alert after the whole robot thing, but Miles Lancaster managed to convince the agents on duty to let him slip out for a few hours.
Security risk, ha!
He couldn't possibly figure out how having the alien-robotic-cars in the basement would promote security, but it wasn't his problem. He needed a break. He was getting away from stupid teens and their stupid aliens. He couldn't go home, but he didn't have to stick around either.
Taking one of the many tour buses, he headed for the nearest hint of civilization. It turned out to be the town Sparks. He'd passed it a few times during his commute to the Dam after the alien's had deemed his use as a hostage. It wasn't a bad little city. If it could be called a city, the first time he'd been "escorted" to the base, he hadn't even realized it was inhabited. The town was small; maybe a few houses and some official type buildings. No fast food places of any type. Besides that, it was ok; slinking off the bus he moved to explore the crumpled schedule in his back pocket.
Poking his head in the tiny convenience store on the corner, he cheered. In the back nestled among the homogenized milk and the eggs was his drug of choice. Grabbing a six pack, he moved to the counter. Just beyond it a bored teenager girl sat perched on a stool, lazily reading a gossip rag. Dropping the pack of carbonated soda on the counter he earned her vicious glare. She had more dye in her hair than Dame Edna and was chewing ravenously on a stick of gum. Ignoring her pointed stare, he pointed to one of the racks behind her.
"Can I get two of those?" He asked in his best imitation of his father.
"I.D?" she demanded popping a bubble.
He wasn't legal, but he tried anyway.
"Sure I can't have 'em?"
"No chance perv." She retorted tapping her nails against the counter.
"I'm not a pervert, I'm an artist." He insisted drawling the syllables.
"Sorry kid, you need I.D."
"Want me to tell your boss you're harassing customers?"
"Listen-"
"You give me the goods, I give you a bi-g tip and you never see me again."
Which wasn't an understatement, this was probably the last time he'd be able manage something so reckless. He grinned hopefully; she looked him up and down popping her gum.
"Are you really an artist?"
Three messy napkins and an empty ink pen later, he'd finally managed to gain his dubious prize.
Bidding her farewell, he gathered his bags and stepped out the door. Striding along the sidewalk with a six pack of Mountain Dew and a paper bag he wondered aloud.
"If that was so easy, should I have tried my luck with beer?"
As he made for the bus stop he saw it; a bright red sports car parked in the lot just across the street. It was sleek, sexy and incredibly conspicuous. Against his better judgment he crossed the road and moved in for a closer look. The make was unfamiliar, but then again he wasn't a car buff like Mikaela or Sam. Pushing the thought away he circled the red beauty, almost touching it.
Staring at the obviously expensive car he knew something was off. It had nothing inside, no roadmaps, no drinks or even CD's. It was surprisingly clean for being on the absolute edge of civilization. The fact it was in the middle of the desert. All the facts added and he came to the inevitable conclusion.
'It was a Decepticon.'
"Slag." he sighed sinking onto the brilliant hood, the metal warm under his butt
Reaching in to his pocket to call for some sort of aid, Miles realized he didn't have his phone. He still had Trent's! Groaning he sat his bag and the bottles on the hood of the possible Decepticon.
No one had come out and yelled at him yet. His theory was looking more and more likely. Five minutes passed and he shoved a plastic bottle in his bag. Nothing. Sitting there in the hot sun he arrived at two separate conclusions. First it had to be Decepticon. His second conclusion however was more important that the first.
'I'm sitting on a Decepticon.'
"I'm doomed,"
He was trapped. He couldn't run; he'd be killed on the spot. He didn't think the alien robot car was going to take kindly to being sat on. Not that he could do much against a Decepticon anyway. He couldn't call for help; he'd be killed once they realized who he was contacting. Closing the phone he reached for another Dew. After all he had nothing but time.
The downside about having time to waste was having nothing to waste it on. Flipping through the magazine he'd purchased for the third time Miles groaned. Naked chicks with fake boobs were still naked chicks with fake boobs and he wasn't really interested. The articles inside the rag were just as vapid as the rest of its inhabitants. Tossing the booklet on to the hood of his unidentified Decepticon Miles leaned back to watch the clouds. As expected, the scarlet metal was incredibly hot, he shifted uncomfortably before opening the second bottle.
As he twisted off the bottle cap, Lancaster came to yet another tragic conclusion. Just in front of him was another car. He hadn't even heard it. Even more suspicious it was exactly the same as the one he was seated on, except for the paintjob. It was a brilliant sunshine yellow. He grimaced and took a drink. Looking over the new vehicle the teen's mood sunk even lower. He never really cared for the color yellow. That was it; the cars were out to get him. He was trapped and now he was outnumbered. The carbon copy car was parked backwards, almost hood to hood with his Decepticon in the form of chair. Blinking, Miles almost swore it moved closer.
He had to do something, anything. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to out run it, so he was going to have to out think it. Wasting no time the blond simply propped his dusty sneakers against its bright shiny hood. If he wasn't going anywhere then neither were they. Balancing himself against their hoods, he smirked. If the pair of Decepticon's were going to kill him he'd at least give them a reason to. He wasn't about to flee in terror, not now, not ever.
All at once the phone in his pocket chirped, surprising him thoroughly. Fishing it out of his pocket he stared it dumbly. It rang again and he quickly answered.
"Miles!"
"Mikaela?"
"You are in serious hot water." She insisted over the line.
"I don't see how it could get any worse."
"What are you talking about?" she demanded in return
"I'm kinda in a situation right now."
"Situation?" She sounded incredulous and a bit angry. "Why didn't you just call?"
"I'm in sensitive company, a rock and a hard place if you will."
"Miles, you've compromised security and now you're speaking riddles. Reggie is gonna be on my ass if you don't start making some sense."
Rolling his eyes the blond grit his teeth and tried again.
"I'm between a rock and a hot car if you catch my drift."
It was potentially risky, but he was already in trouble. Fortunately the Mikaela caught his hint.
"Stay put, we'll get there as quick as we can" She promised
"I will." He acknowledged, quite relieved.
"Just one question though?"
"Shoot."
"Why didn't you just send a text?"
Reaching for the still cool caffeinated beverage, the teen didn't bother to answer.
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Junior agent Mikaela Banes of the new and improved Sector Seven hung up on the obnoxious teen and rolled her eyes. Decepticons had cornered Miles just after Sam had escaped from them. It was like something out of a bad movie. A really bad movie, the kind where someone always died protecting someone they loved. She grimaced at the thought. There was no way she was going to a funeral. Tucking her cell back into her pocket she approached the larger than life machines that she'd become so familiar with.
"Ironhide?"
Slowly the large mech turned and crouched, optics as large as her head focusing on her.
"We've got a problem."
The slight tilt of his head was almost human as he prodded her for more information.
"Miles left the Dam, went off to who knows where and is now cornered by a pair of vehicles he assumes are Decepticons."
"A pair?"
"Of Decepticons" She repeated firmly.
The mech snorted, his smokestacks expelling hot air. It sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
"Ironhide?"
"I can track your friend through the closest cellular base site.
Slipping into his alternate mode the Autobot addressed her again.
"Let's go"
The suited young woman moved forward only to be stopped by another mech. His once broken window had been replaced, his frame had been repaired, white paint shone weakly under the fluorescent lighting.
"Long Arm?"
He rolled closer nudging her softly.
"Allow me to accompany you."
Confusion stretched across her features and she stared at him unsure how to respond.
It wasn't like she saw giant robot-cars every day. Ok, so maybe she did, but this was certainly a change. Usually she was the one tagging along. The mech, as far as she knew was a nice sort of robot. He was polite, thoughtful and he'd saved her twice. What was there to think about?
Ironhide honked loudly reminding her of the situation. In reply Mikaela waved him off, before climbing back into the driver's side of smaller pickup. The door closed and the earth-born Cybertronian waited until she was buckled before following the weapon's specialist.
It was better to be an active participant rather than just an observer. She hated not being in control. That was part of the reason she'd joined Sector Seven in the first place. Not that her feelings had mattered. God, Sam was such an idiot! Sliding her hands to the steering wheel, she pushed away the lingering irritation.
They were totally breaking up.