Title: Sparks 11: Bang On
Pairing BeexSam ProwlxJazz
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.
Sorry for the wait, real life showed up and kicked my butt. I really owe much thanks and love to mmouse15 and dragoona and thanks to all the readers
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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Bang On
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At the edge of the "Battle Born State", in a stripped silver mine, the strength of the Decepticon forces was subpar at best. Holed up in the largest chamber of the connected tunnels Megatron waited; sulked and plotting his next move.
The bulk of his forces had been forced to flee their former base of operations. An oversight of monumental proportions had allowed the escape of their illustrious prisoners. As infuriating as it was, there was nothing to be done about now.
Previously, such incidents would end with Megatron expressing his rage at the source of the annoyance, or on the nearest functioning creature. Unfortunately, he had not possessed that particular luxury as of late. It wasn't good practice to maim a subordinate, especially since there were so few Decepticons left.
Sinking to the floor of the hollowed cavern, the former Lord High Protector cursed the very predicament in which he found himself and settled into a light recharge. He was as cruel and prideful as the next mech in his position, but he wasn't stupid. To achieve his goal, he would have to bend All Spark to his will; but there would be time enough for that, once his pet was reclaimed.
As he passed the main hall, the domain of his Lord and master, Starscream growled in annoyance. He slunk through the dank, empty shafts, as his talons carved rock from the walls.
He hated being underground. He hated the terran surface.
He was a Seeker and he was being refused the very thing that kept his processors from shorting. Above all else, he concluded, flicking gravel from his helm, he hated the planet.
Almost as if he'd accessed it himself, a familiar signal registered on his HUD. Confusion flickered in the back of his processor, and he went to investigate. After all there wasn't much else to be done. His rise to power could wait until after his systems finished regenerating.
Making an awkward turn, the Air Commander scored the sensitive plating of his wings. With a shriek of pain, he cursed the rotating mud ball he was currently stationed on. Red optics winking in the darkness, he slunk towards the energy source. If at the very least, he could torment the remaining subordinates he came across.
Megatron was not the only mech in a foul mood.
Not so far away, silver-blue energy rippled along the form of a prone Decepticon, as it rekindled lost light. The glow radiated across the floor, reflecting off the other metallic behemoths in the cave. Just as suddenly as it came, it faded leaving tiny flashing lights in pale optics, before they too disappeared.
Awareness slowly returned to the mech, his processors online well before its optical receptors even began to flicker. His audials were offline, but a quick scan of the mech's surroundings filled in the details of his current location, as its rudimentary systems rebooted.
Propped against a wall of a cool, dusty, underground lair; the blind Cybertronian was suddenly aware of something settling across its framework. The smaller creature climbed over his form. The weight and movement were familiar, reassuringly familiar. Sharpened claws tapped along the dented alloy of the mech's legs, in a rhythmic beat. The piercing tones came again, quicker than before and produced a sound now, recognizable as a message. By the third repetition, Blackout's assimilated knowledge of the planet's communications allowed him to translate the taps into something more.
Though he was not fully functional, the mechanoid managed a pained smile. Activating his communications system, he was rewarded by the collection of codes and signals that signified his longtime companion.
~Greetings Skorponok~
The tapping came again, this time bearing warnings from the diminutive drone. To ensure both their safety and secrecy, wide band transmissions were out of the question. It was better if the recently revived Decepticon remained silent. Another burst of Morse code indicated the drone's relief at their reunion and its regret for what it had to do.
Its movements over the dark frame resonated differently through the copter's larger form and again he acknowledged, granting permission, almost reassuring in that terse instant.
GoAhead.
As claws scrapped across his damaged torso, the flier braced himself as the drone began to reconnect damaged wiring. As Blackout finally came online, the first thing that cut though his abused receptors was the sound of his own screech of pain.
Data flowed through his network, as his latent processors kicked in, updating systems and running checks. Optical reception returned suddenly, the downed beast returned to fully operational status. Looking to the drone turned nursemaid, the proud Decepticon pushed himself to stand despite Scorponok's protests. Moving through the pain, he almost stood to his full imposing height and crossed his arms, eyes flickering dangerously in the dark.
"My, look what the pit crawler dredged up."
The speaker was readily apparent, as he moved into to the dug out cave. Sneering at them, the Air Commander stepped inside, scrutinizing his resurrected subordinate as he circled. He stopped, turning on the drone, its tail curling and uncurling as the inset turbines in its claws and chest whirled slowly.
"It seems you aren't completely useless grounder."
Blackout bristled at the remark, obviously due to some previous incident or situation that he hadn't been privy to; in truth he didn't appreciate Decepticons treatment of his partner. To its credit, the scorpion made a rude noise, but began minor repairs to the seeker's framework. It was in a good mood; evident by the way it moved and carried its tail. It was pleased its master was back and nothing would change that.
The dirt covered flier snarled at the less than gentle pokes of his dents and scrapes, but he allowed the oversized scorpion to continue. The previous wounds he'd acquired during the battle for the All Spark paled in comparison to the damage he'd accumulated in the days after. He bore claw marks down his torso and burnt out circuitry in his processors.
The familiar damage made it all too clear just what the Air Commander had been up to as of late. Snorting in amusement, Blackout took the reprieve to pick gravel from his joints. He was fairly unperturbed by his sudden return to life, for he had been dead.
Offlined, terminated.
His spark had passed from existence and gone on to the great beyond.
Since his creation, the copter never had been a very religious mech. He'd never had any reason to be. At his death, however, he'd seen the culmination of life, existing sparks, sparks that had been and sparks yet to be. He'd never known such peace during his entire existence.
Unfortunately for him, it was not fated to last. Pain had drawn him from his rest, lighting like fire over his consciousness as he was torn from the Well of Sparks. It had not been pleasant, to say the least.
His sentiment was no doubt reciprocated by the growling mech on the other side of the cavern. The newly awakened Weapon of Mass Destruction, known as Brawl moved slowly, his limbs bearing the marks of a recent weld job. Clawing his large hands into the dirt, the mech pushed himself to his full height and bellowed.
The sound of the furious mech rocked the tunnel with the fury of an earthquake. Stalking forward, he knocked Starscream off his feet, bringing both his cannons and claws to bear. Roaring once more as dirt fell like hail, the Abrams tank punched his bladed appendage into the rock face just above the seeker's head. Despite the display of mindless, violence, and complete disregard for a superior, his contemporaries were not impressed in the least.
A clawed slap to the offending mech was effective enough to silence him and amuse the metal behemoths. Satisfied with the result, Barricade made a return to the dark corner he'd appeared from. He, just as most of the subterranean secluded aliens, had been a foul mood ever since their subsequent defeat at the hands of the Autobots. Hiding was never the interceptor's strong point.
Struggling up from his position on the floor, the seeker backhanded the scowling tank and glared at the amused Decepticons. Snarling, he addressed the assembled mechanoids.
"Lord Megatron is displeased with your performance."
Glaring back at him, Barricade leaned forward his doors twitching irritably.
"Tell us something we don't know."
Starscream turned on him, but refrained from causing any damage. He instead, opted to take advantage of another opportunity to irritate the black and white mech.
"Return to Tranquility, seek out the fleshling and observe him."
Furious at the assignment, the mech nearly refused, but fell silent as the Second in Command charged his weapons. Blackout, however, was not easily cowed; nor did he see the reasoning for the order. As usual he made his point known, all but questioning the flier's orders.
"What manner of importance is the fleshling? What of the All Spark?"
Whirling on the newly resurrected helicopter, Starscream's facial plates stretched into a twisted smile. Catching the darker chest plates the smaller seeker hauled him down to look him in the optics.
"Fool" he snipped, his voice reaching all audials in room. "He is the All Spark."
A terse silence reigned at least until Brawl finally spoke. "And what of the Autobots?"
"Follow your orders and fear them not. Very soon, they'll no longer be a problem."
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Sam Witwicky stretched his feet, squishing plush pillows into the headboard of his bed. Staring at the desk, his eyes followed the orange fishy form of Goldbug exploring the confines of her new bowl. Yawning briefly, the bored teen prodded the gauze bandaging his wrists and looked to Miles.
"How long is this going to take?"
Balanced over his friend's legs, examining the damage previously inflicted by the Decepticons, the blonde scoffed and flicked the teen in the head. "It will take as long as it takes, stop moving."
The glares and protests he received, were ignored in favor of the still healing wounds. The bruises had turned from the ugly purple to a more natural brownish color, the bloody scratches had all scabbed and it had all occurred in less than two weeks. It was amazing really, but that wasn't really what he was worried about.
Scooting back, the teen turned medic brushed the edges of the inserted metal.
Sam twitched, but tried not to move. "Why am I listening to you anyway?"
Resisting the urge to smack him again, Miles rolled his eyes and reached for the required tools sitting on the bedside table. In other words, a jar of Q-Tips and a bottle of rubbing alcohol
"Doctor's orders."
Rubbing his head, Sam couldn't resist baiting his best friend. "Miles. You're not a doctor "
"Medic's assistant." he amended, twisting the cap from the small bottle in hand. Juggling it and the cotton tipped swabs; the teen shifted, moving to clean his patient's wounds.
This one unfortunately, thought he was a comedian.
"Don't you mean nurse?"
"Nope."
Sam yelped, suddenly as the insertion of a swab into port above his hips was done more forcefully than necessary. Jerking against the bed, Witwicky almost bit his tongue. His best friend, it seemed, was not in the mood to be teased. Not that Sam was in the mood to be poked and prodded. It tickled at best, made him squirm at the very worse.
He was granted momentary reprieve as Miles rose to his knees, his weight all but gone from Sam's back. Taking the fleeting freedom, the brunet stretched again, working the faint soreness from his muscles. It was bad enough submitting to a systems check from Ratchet, but now his best friend was playing nursemaid, not as if he really needed it.
His thoughts were immediately sidelined as the geeky teen dropped onto his back, poking the aperture in his neck. That one, to be honest, was way more sensitive than the rest and it showed.
Coughing and sputtering as the medical assistant worked, Sam gripped the white sheets swearing softy. It stung like hell, feeling the cotton tipped stick twisting inside, but was necessary for it to heal right or that's what Ratchet had said. Wincing, Sam was pretty sure he didn't give a damn what the Medic said, he was not letting anyone else near the holes in his body, any of them.
"I'm gonna kill you and your sisters and your toad…" he threatened tapping his foot against the headboard, desperate for the torment to be over. After another agonizing few seconds his prayers were answered and Miles withdrew the implement of torture from his neck. In gratitude, he shoved him off the bed and went to examine his wounds.
The issue of short-circuiting himself had been taken care of, as the firewall Ratchet had erected was still in place. It was weird having a tangible system running through his consciousness. It was there, he could just make it out when things were quiet, in the dark just before he fell asleep or when he woke up, he could feel the energy flicking through him. It had gone from creepy, to weird, to just being a simple fact of his new not so normal life.
Miles moved from the floor and propped his elbows on the bed, poking his best friend in the ribs as retaliation for the attack.
"Leave the Arod and the girls out of this. " He grumbled softly, but accepted the lopsided grin Witwicky threw at him.
"If you're gonna kill anyone, I vote you "take care" of those walking miscreants."
Sitting up Sam rolled his eyes and prepared for the worst, Lancaster only used big words when something really annoyed him. "What did they do now?"
"What haven't they done?"
Falling silent Sam actually had to consider that statement.
The twins, as the red and yellow Lamborghinis were affectionately dubbed, had a knack for getting themselves in and out of trouble, without getting slagged. You either loved them or hated them.
Miles's stance was pretty obvious.
They were just as much a nuisance to him as they were to Ratchet and that was saying something. From what Sam knew it, had all started the moment they'd arrived.
Not too long ago, the twins had recieved their first Earthside check up. As Ratchet's new assistant, Miles, unfortunately, had found himself squaring off with the pair of hell-raisers. First they squabbled over who would receive attention first. Then, as Miles was examining Sunstreaker, his cohort proceeded to ask Miles about some of the more lewd aspects of human mating practices.
Flustered, he still managed to complete his first preliminary exam, but only after Ratchet had threatened the duo with an oversized wrench. Surprisingly, the pair managed to escape the encounter without any damage, though not before Sunstreaker nearly crushed Miles. He'd made a disparaging remark about the Autobot's paint job and that had only been the beginning.
Not two days later, Miles managed to splatter a Mountain Dew over Sideswipe. For that mistake, he spent the rest of the day locked in a storage closet. Tensions had eventually escalated to the point where the human simply kicked the nearest tire when the Lambos got too obnoxious. His temporary solution had backfired and thus begun the bumper car stage of their relationship.
The last thing Sam heard was that Miles had begun threatening the Twins with a wrench. It wasn't a very effective threat, but according to the latest scuttlebutt, it worked well enough.
Then again, Witwicky had skipped lunch for another session with Ratchet.
The mech had made sure to inform him that Optimus would be visiting the Dam at the end of the week and that he wanted to speak with Sam.
The walking All Spark had an idea of what it was about, but he'd wait until he heard it from the big mech himself.
Optimus, Ironhide, and Prowl were almost never seen within Sector Seven's walls; nobody blamed them.
Ratchet, on the other hand, was almost a fixture in the lower labs; he'd even acquired his own workspace in the former Cube room.
Bumblebee and Chromia only stayed for their respective charges, for neither Sam nor Trent had been cleared for release.
The jock was still being stubborn and refusing to sign the nondisclosure agreement, so until he did, he was considered a 'guest'. Samuel was still considered legally dead and the matter had yet to be resolved. He wasn't too worried; his parents had stopped talking about throwing him a wake.
On that account, Miles had apparently convinced his mom that the Tyger Pax immersion Program was now some pre-college, science-medical summer camp.
It wasn't exactly a lie, the same way Mikaela's omission hadn't really been a lie.
Even so, Sam still felt betrayed. It had been almost two weeks and they hadn't really spoken. They'd been civil anytime they managed to see each other, but that was the extent of their contact. Such a big change from the puppy love they'd developed before the alien robots.
"Sam. Dude—Earth. Now."
Fingers snapped emphatically before Sam's face, as Miles tried desperately to get his attention.
For his part the brunet didn't even flinch. "You don't look like they set your hair on fire."
He replied calmly referencing the stilted conversation.
"Huh? Close, but no cigar, and that's not the point." Rising from the floor, Miles pushed Sam over enough to claim half of the bed.
"So what is the point?" Was his the inevitable inquiry.
"What that little bastard did."
"What did Sunstreaker do to you?"
He didn't really know if Sunstreaker was the mech in question, but it was more likely than not. He had an antagonistic relationship with Miles ever since he'd scuffed his paint.
When the nursemaid didn't reply immediately, Sam knew he was right.
"Miles, what did the alien car do to you?"
"That god-awful, sports car from Hell lubricated me."
Grumbling softly, the younger man picked at the scrubs refusing to look Sam in the eye.
"What?"
"I'm not going to repeat myself."
"Lubricated? Like Bee did to…"
"Yes Sam. Lubricated.
Hit me in the head with the fuel cap and everything." he growled in reply jamming his hands in his pockets staring at the ceiling. "Thankfully my mouth was closed."
To his credit, Samuel didn't laugh; not aloud at any rate.
"I'm gonna have to talk to Bumblebee about what sort of things are appropriate to teach the "newcomers".
It took a moment for the owner of the aforementioned Autobot to realize what his friend had said.
"Since when do you call him by name?"
"Since I've been elbow deep in his inner workings. After seeing that, I can't just call him "The Car" anymore."
"I suppose you're…Wait a minute. When did that happen?"
Sam sat up; turning on his friend, panic in his features.
Mentally kicking himself for the slip, Miles decided it was better to come clean then try and hide what he knew.
Screw doctor patient confidentiality.
"He's fine; it was just a few minor repairs.
"Miles?"
Groaning, the teen slapped a hand over his face. Even he, was not immune to the sad-lost-puppy-look Witwicky had taken years to perfect.
"It was his throat, Ratchet finally got the time and parts we needed to do the work to fix it."
"I thought Ratchet wasn't having you work on inner circuitry yet."
"He's long since learned to appreciate the sort of work small hands can do; besides I was partly responsible."
"Responsible?"
"I kinda wrenched some of the cables in his throat the first time we met.
"It couldn't have been that bad." Sam reasoned.
"Meg-emo-tron or whatever tore out twelve, I wrenched four."
The blank look on Witwicky's face was more than enough encouragement for him to continue the explanation. "He only has seventeen."
"So he was…"
"Dangerously close, to becoming permanently mute."
Realization dawned and Sam sunk back into his squished pillow with looking apprehensive.
Rolling his eyes, Lancaster sighed.
"Sam, your car is fine. He'll be up bouncing around before you know it. Promise."
His words seemed to satisfy his friend for he gave a small smile.
With the minor crisis over, the blond sat back to enjoy his lunch break. Leaning against the headboard, he looked to his friend and pressed the Ipod headphone into his ear.
"Honestly, the way you two act, it's like you're in a relationship."
"We're not in a relationship, Miles."
Flipping through the track listing, the teen laughed. "It just seems that way."
In that instant, Samuel seemed completely clueless. "Does it?"
"Well, yeah. From what I've seen you two are pretty close, and you only met like last month?"
The first time he'd seen Sam and Bee interact; the alien was rushing to protect Sam. He'd aggravated his own injuries rushing to be at the teen's side.
The big robot had even attacked a mouthy Decepticon that made an off color remark about his boy. Later, after Sam awakened, Bumblebee had clung to him and refused to let go. He'd even gone as far as swearing an oath to protect him, in front of his mother no less.
Skipping a ballad that Casey had no doubt snuck into his playlist, Miles decided to give his friend a push in the right direction.
"He obviously cares about you a lot. I mean, he practically serenades you on a regular basis. He's a total product of the eighties."
"Like you're one to talk." Sam's tone was teasing, but his mind was on something other than history.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized his human best friend was right. Bumblebee did care about him and he obviously cared about him too. Things had just gotten a bit more interesting.
Used to his friend's scatter brained tendencies Lancaster instead offered him the second ear bud. Taking it with a wry smile Sam laughed.
"Just like old times."
"Except for the secret government agency, the alien cars, and the freaky tattoos."
"All of which happen to be classified gentlemen."
In the open doorway stood Mikaela Banes dressed in a black jumpsuit with her hair pulled back in a braid. She flipped the plait over her shoulder before stepping fully into the room.
"So what brings you by?" Miles inquired casually, as he gave Sam a firm poke in the ribs.
"I was coming to see how you were doing since, the incident."
Unable to hide his blush of embarrassment, the blond looked away. "Yeah well, you know me. I'm fine." he insisted.
Moving closer she offered an apologetic smile. "Even so, I thought this might help."
With a simple gesture, the young agent tossed a plastic bag to the bed.
Upon examining its contents, Sam was stunned by what he found.
"Milk Duds?"
There was almost no way.
She shouldn't have even known the significance of the candy itself.
Not unless. He turned examining is companion's features.
"Dude, you told her?"
"Yeah, I had to talk to somebody while you were out of commission."
The statement did hold some merit, but it didn't mean he had to like it. Miles was free to make friends and tell them whatever he wanted, even if they pertained directly to his relationship with Sam himself.
Milk Duds had been a part of their relationship since the beginning. Miles used to be addicted to the round candy. It had become an appeasement of sorts, especially when things were awkward between them.
It was a way to make peace without arguing or fighting.
It was almost endearing, the gesture. It was almost as if she was trying to apologize. It wasn't that he was mad at her for joining Sector Seven, he was angry she was defending them. It wasn't unreasonable, but truthfully, he was being a bit of an ass. He looked to the pretty brunette and she smiled again.
Chewing his lip, he opened his mouth to speak. Miles, however, chose that moment to continue his rant.
"I mean who would else would I talk to…Trent?"
"He's really not that bad." Witwicky replied offhandedly.
The pair gave him a weird look and he shrugged.
"I had to talk to someone when you were you two were working."
The laughter that followed was a refreshing change from the awkward silences the trio had become used to over the last few days. It was nice and all and they realized how much they'd missed it.
When she could finally speak again, Mikaela wiped tears from her eyes and made her excuses.
"I just came by to say hi, and to let you know Trent finally signed the paper work."
She paused at Miles's enthusiastic cheer.
"He'll be out of here before the end of the day." Her words were a less than subtle encouragement for the teens to make their farewells, even if they couldn't stand the guy.
She stood silently for a moment more before moving to the door.
"I've got class right now, but I'll see you guys later ok?"
As they nodded she waved again and slipped out of the room, her boots echoing on the floor.
Silently, Miles elbowed his friend in the ribs.
When that, too, failed he shoved him to his feet.
"Dude, go after her."
Unable to argue Witwicky stumbled from his room and into the hall still shirtless.
He turned to complain, but found this minor issue rectified as Miles tossed him his shirt.
"Elevator's that way."
Nodding at him Samuel stumbled barefoot through the hall pulling a shirt over his head.
"Mikaela!"
In his own little way, Miles was right, they had to talk. They couldn't just keep dancing around each other. They'd been through too much for things to stay that way. They'd fought evil aliens' intent on taking over their planet, after all.
Whipping around the corner, Sam managed to make it to the elevator bay just as the elevator closed. Swearing softly he resisted the urge to kick the metal doors. He'd just missed her and he didn't know where her class was so he'd have to talk to her later.
With so much time on his hands as of late, he was really getting tired of waiting.
Slumping against the wall, he sighed his surprise, the movement was punctuated by a loud ding. Turning to the sound the teen was greeted by the sight of Mikaela leaning against the open elevator doors.
"You wanted something?"
Stepping forward, he stared dumbly, his feet silent against the cold floor.
"Can I walk you to class?"
"That would be great." She smiled warmly and extended her hand.
Slipping inside he took it and a post at her right. Standing there under the fluorescent lights in black and heels with her hair pulled up, she was the most beautiful he'd ever seen her. He had to tell her how he felt. There was no use denying it anymore.
"Mikaela," he began, looking from her hand to their hazy reflections in the doors.
"Yes Sam?"
The brunette inclined her head slightly. She was still shorter even in the boots. Turning her towards him, Sam leaned forward and kissed the girl of his dreams. Unnoticed, the elevator continued its ascent and stopped on the designated floor. The bell rung and he pulled away, staring ahead as neither spoke. The doors opened and he nodded sagely, convinced his theory was indeed the truth.
I'm not in love with you."
Pressing her lips together, the former jock-concubine gave him a reassuring smile.
"I know Sam, I know."
Looking at her, really looking at her in the first time in what seemed like ages Sam smiled back.
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Reclining on the makeshift operating table, Chromia hummed to herself with half an audial focused on the medic reprimanding her.
"You usually take better care of yourself. This is the sort of thing I expect out of Firestar, not you. Not to mention the fact I just repaired most of these systems."
His rants were nothing new, but it was reassuring to have the grouch medic fixing what she couldn't and warning her about what she could. It almost made her wonder what else he knew.
"So…how is he?"
The statement caught him off guard, but he covered it in an exaggerated show of tightening a loose connection. She winced, but pressed on, unwilling to just give up.
"Ratchet."
He ignored her words, focusing instead on an inner mechanism of her chassis. Her irritated grumble reached his audial receptors, but he paid it no mind, at least not untill she trapped his hands against her open frame.
"Ratchet."
He looked at her then; his optics hard and distant. It was a look she'd seen before, a look many under his skillful hands had seen.
He only ever used it to distance himself from the work before him. It was just another one of those things that made him such a skilled medic.
Frustrated by his actions, the Lieutenant sat up, still clutching the brightly colored hands to her chest. He gave her an irritated look, but she ignored that too.
"How is he?"
"Doctor patient confidentiality."
He replied smoothly, citing the old excuse.
She snorted and tried again.
"I'm not asking medically and you know it. I want to know how he is, because by the Pit he won't even speak to me."
"Chromia."
She shook her head, refusing to listen to anything until he heard what she had to say. He was notoriously stubborn, but then again so was she.
It was part of their programming.
"I haven't seen Ironhide since the fall of Simfur and the loss of the All Spark. All I want to know is that he's alright."
When no reply came, she squeezed his hands and continued; her voice softer than he'd ever heard it.
"Ratchet, I am his spark-mate."
Drawing back, the larger bot pushed his patient to lay back against the table. He brushed her hands aside and he resumed his work in silence, initializing the recently uploaded programs. When he finished he closed the plating gently and examined its bright surface.
"He's alright. He wasn't at first….."
The older bot looked to her, watching, as he spoke.
"But he is now."
The less than subtle inference immediately set the femme on edge and she frowned. His words had been what she'd wanted in the first place and they weren't reassuring in the least.
She knew what he meant.
She should have seen it before.
Their time apart was not the only reason 'Hide was avoiding her.
He'd moved on. To be fair, she could have handled it, but the revelation of with whom.
Resisting the urge to take her frustration out on the messenger, she stood.
Silently she cut the medic off and turned away intent on leaving both him and his warnings behind.
"Chromia." He began, reaching to stop her.
She evaded the gesture, her recently calibrated joints whined in protest, she ignored them turning to address the CMO.
"I understand completely, I'll do nothing to ruin all your hard work."
Watching her stalk away, Ratchet had a suspicion she wasn't just referring to his efforts repairing her systems.
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After bidding Mikaela farewell with a simple kiss on the cheek, Sam Witwicky wandered blissfully back to the elevators. She'd laughed at the gesture and warned him not to get too used to it. Pressing the button, the tattooed teen found himself humming along with the less than desirable background music.
He hadn't really expected that or rather, he hadn't expected her to be so accommodating.
No, that wasn't the word.
He didn't think about it too hard.
He'd never been in such a situation before and probably wouldn't be again. It had been kinda nice though, having a popular girlfriend. Having a girlfriend had been pretty cool, but it just didn't compare with having a new car.
As he checked his watch, Sam's smile spread that much more. Bumblebee would be back from patrol and they'd have the rest of the week to themselves at least until Optimus returned.
The big guy had been in conferences with Secretary Keller and Tom Banachek since last week and wasn't scheduled to be back until Sunday.
The weekend. It was a welcome reprieve from everything. He'd already made plans to driving with Bee, unauthorized of course. Neither was taking too well to being followed. It was a "necessary" precaution he could definitely live without, unfortunately neither the government nor the Autobots agreed with him.
Once off the elevator, Sam stepped into the wide gallery, which overlooked the cube hanger. The nearly empty space was now designated as a temporary lab and the site of almost all Autobot human interactions. Only that floor and the two above it came even close to being large enough to house even the smallest of the alien robots.
It was alright, most of the agents were content watching the robotic invaders rather than conversing with them. He didn't blame them in the least; it was rather disconcerting talking to an alien four or five times your own height. He was still just getting used to it himself.
Footsteps behind him drew his attention and revealed just that man he expected to see.
"Hey."
Trent waved and moved closer, his eyes taking in the unknown equipment and surrounding earth. In a way it was actually kind of pretty, in an artistic sort of way.
"Nice rocks."
"Yeah, the striations are probably due to water flow."
Looking surprised, Sam could only nod dumbly.
"Yeah, that's cool."
The conversation dropped as suddenly as it had begun neither having anything Non sequitor left to say. They always had that sort of interaction between them. Pressing his forehead to the glass Witwicky spoke again.
"I heard you're leaving."
Tapping the glass beside him, the jock nodded, a grin crossing his face.
"Yeah, and it couldn't have come soon enough. All this secret agent crap just isn't doing it for me."
Smiling, the shorter teen nodded in reply. "I hear what you're saying; just take it easy, alright?"
The star tight-end gave Sam an incredulous look, before turning back to the glass, his smirk spreading that much more.
"Witwicky, don't start mothering me, I got an alien car doing that already and so do you."
"Just don't get yourself killed."
"Funny Witwicky, I was going to say the same to you."
As he spoke the aforementioned, Hummer emerged from the cordoned corner of the room.
"That's my ride. I'm out of here."
Flicking the geek in the head, Trent DeMarco grinned again.
"That's for stealing my girl."
Rubbing the bruising spot Sam shook his head. "I didn't, we're not!"
"Stop pussyfooting around then. Get with the girl, or not. Just don't keep her waiting. Life's too short for that."
With that bit of wisdom, Trent disappeared around the corner with a final farewell.
"See you around Witwicky!"
As the teen departed, Samuel made his way down to the hanger proper. He'd become used to traversing the wide empty space and its occupants tended to give him wide berth. Was the universe conspiring against him? Things were happening like a bad soap opera.
It was like he was some main character who was supposed to put all the pieces together and realize he was in love before the heroine left him for good.
It was silly really; there was no way he was in love.
Was there?
Truth to be told, he was a bit thickheaded when it came to such things.
As if cued, the brilliant yellow form of the alien Camaro rolled into view, loud music blasting from its radio.
"Heyyou!Yesyou...Yesyou,theonethatlooksdelirious...Comeoverhereand-"
Moving to touch him, Sam nearly jumped at the static charge that met his fingertips.
Maybe someone was trying to tell him something.
"Hey Bee."
The car rumbled at the touch, cruising forward to bump his knees. The touch was soft; it was the Autobot's own way of greeting his companion and friend. It was almost affectionate. Moving slowly, the teen brushed his hand over the warm metal as he figured out just what he wanted to say.
Staring at the alien being that had ultimately changed his life forever, Sam found a shy smile working its way across his lips.
"Bumblebee? We need to talk."