My sincere apologies to everyone who's been waiting for this update. Forgive me if I haven't responded to your review. Uniasus, here's your slice of Gramma. LionLover190, Risuna-Phenix, Noods, Rockubyebaby, your enthusiasm is contagious, and I hope this update makes your day. Angellic dragon, we probably won't be meeting Barricade for another couple of chapters, unfortunately. But no longer than that. Enjoys, guys. The quote is from William Butler Yeats.

As to the end of this chapter – don't stone me. She's not a Mary-friggin'-Sue, I swear I on whatever you want me to swear on. I have one word for you. Armada. Try to keep an open mind, as there are a thousand interpretations of this character out there, and mine…well, I think you're going to enjoy her. As I mentioned in the note in the prologue, this will be an AU. There are certain events that took place that were rather different than in the movie, and that story is actually halfway completed. Look for it in the near future, to learn more about this particular character. So sit tight, people, I promise everything will make sense soon.

Secondhand Sparks

Chapter Two: Fear and Love

We are happy when for everything inside us there is a corresponding something outside us.

The med bay was still tonight; Ratchet was catching a couple hours of recharge in the back, and the doors were set to emergency entry only. If someone like Ironhide or even Optimus needed access, an alert would come in through Ratchet's comm., but the doors would remain locked until he himself turned off the security device. The only current source of light came from the large, transparent tank that sat off to the far left of the doors, almost hidden from view by a tall rack of spare parts and medical equipment. The stasis chamber, compiled of concrete, unrefined lead, and bulletproof plexiglass, housed the dormant form of Barricade, keeping the slight radiation leak from his unshielded spark at bay, and stabilizing the faint energy that kept him alive.

Set up against the wall adjacent to this, the assembly line lay quiet and still. The only thing that moved in the darkness of the room was the girl, as she retraced her steps back down the side of the long, narrow machine. Pieces of Adamantium armor still lay in their molds, shining brilliantly in the cold blue light cast from the chamber. She set a hand to one piece, what looked like a shoulder guard, and the chill from the silky-smooth metal ran up her arm. Colder than it should have been, really. Running almost reverent fingers across the curve and dip of it, she leaned closer, until her breath fogged the nearly perfect reflection of her eyes. The metal seemed to retain an almost otherworldly chill, a complete contrast to the smelting heat of the casting furnace it had recently been through.

Tomorrow, she thought with a giddy swoop in her stomach. Tomorrow, you'll have a purpose. And I'll be the one to give it to you.

Hands still palming the slick armor, she turned so that she could just see the glowing stasis chamber from behind the monolith of a supply rack. The dim, blue light gave off a slow, steady pulse, almost like a heartbeat. She knew that sparks were, in the most basic of ways, the equivalent to a human heart. But it was so much more than an organ that pumped out life-giving fluids; it was the very essence of their being, the energy that kept every single one of their numerous systems going, from their weaponry to their transformations to their memory processors. It was as if the ancient Egyptian belief, that the heart was the origin of the soul, had been brought to bright and effervescent life. It both fascinated and unnerved her.

The sluggish rhythm of the pulses had a calming, almost hypnotic effect, and she let her hand slide off the piece of armor, fingertips lingering for just a moment before dropping to her side. With an air of caution and curiosity, she moved towards the glowing chamber, her footfalls silent beneath the gentle hum of the energy coming off of the machine. She'd never been allowed within a couple of yards of the thing, even though it was her project, and she had every right to inspect it if she so chose. Ratchet, whether through a healthy dose of paranoia or something else entirely, refused to let her near it – that rack in the way was her 'boundary line.' It wasn't as if the mech was going to wake up and start shooting, anyway. It was just a box full of static electricity, nothing more - so she told herself. Something nestled deep within the instinctual roots of her brain whispered something else entirely, even as she sidled up close to the chamber, closer than she'd ever been before.

Bathed in the soft glow, watching the strong, steady waves of electricity roll through the compartment, she almost didn't catch herself as she leaned into the glass. She pulled back hastily even as strands of her hair slowly start to waft upwards towards the static. The girl ran a distracted hand over her head, absently smoothing the crackling wisps back into her ponytail. This close up, she could see the cracks in the armor that housed the dormant spark, the tiny slivers of blistering light that seemed to be demanding to be set free. Even in stasis mode and torn down to mere fragments of himself, the Decepticon blazed with vitality. Something else she noticed, the phenomenon that caught and held her undivided attention, was the way the waves of energy seemed to deepen and become brighter, the closer she moved to it. Was this a normal occurrence? Or possibly just the Con's twisted spark, sensing a human nearby.

The whole thing rested about level with her nose, which meant she had to stand on tiptoe if she wanted a fuller view. She scowled and hmm'ed to herself, craning her neck to get a better look at the rest of the shredded chassis. How, she thought to herself somewhat irritably, how is Ratchet going to keep me away from this once we start the building process? What am I supposed to do, install some radiation-insulated gloves into the side here and work through the glass? As if. She grunted in annoyance, carelessly reaching up her left hand up to steady herself on the transparent covering as she tipped forward.

Several things happened at once, none of it expected and all of it…well, shocking.

The entire tank shuddered and lit up like a mini supernova, and the jolt of the sudden electrical surge juddered up her arm agonizingly. Mikaela bit back a yelp and pulled back sharply – or at least attempted to. It felt as if her hand was magnetized to the glass, securing her in place as the energy swept through her. As she opened her mouth to call for Ratchet - if he could even hear her right now - she tasted ozone and felt sparks snap between her teeth. Around her the air cracked and bled lightning, the built-up friction igniting the oxygen-filled space and setting it on fire.

Her lungs felt compressed, and suddenly she couldn't breathe. The energy that was confined to the chamber burned ever brighter, churning like a white-hot firestorm in a hurricane. As she tried desperately to suck in another breath, the light from the tank phased right through the indestructible material as if it wasn't even there, and engulfed her trapped hand. It lingered there for a moment, burning as if she had stuck her limb into a chest of ice and left it there. The precious air she had so arduously fought for was released in a rush, and the corporeal light swept up her arm and wrapped itself around her, moving in long, sinuous strokes around her neck, down her back and legs. It ghosted across her bare skin, leaving a chilled, tingling sensation in its wake as it enveloped her briefly.

And just as abruptly as it had escaped, the light receded, and the entire medical bay went pitch black as the energy collapsed in on itself. Nothing. Not a flicker of light, anywhere. In the darkness, Mikaela found herself holding a much-needed breath, eyes wide and unblinking as spots floated in her vision. Blood roared through her skull, pounding in a harsh, staccato beat in time with her hammering heart.

Okay. Okay. So. That happened.

The air exploded from her chest, and suddenly she found herself on her knees – she couldn't remember how she got there, but her legs felt watery and unstable, and her entire body was a limp, wrung-out noodle. Panting, she raised her head on a wobbly neck and tried to get a look at the chamber she knew was right in front of her. Of course she still couldn't see anything, but in her mind's eye it was lit up like the Fourth of July. The image of her hand glued to the glass, the angry, twisting energy that consumed it and everything around her, stayed on the back of her eyelids. She opened them wide, and palmed away the sweat that she felt trickling through her hairline.

And then she could see again, just barely. She was looking down again, settled awkwardly on her hands and knees, and the pale blue light crept across the tips of her fingers, reflecting dully on the concrete floor in front of her. With a startled grunt, she propelled herself off the cold, hard ground, searching for something to lean on, anything besides the stasis chamber. Finding nothing but the supply rack behind her, she backed away on rubbery legs, searching with her hands for the metal she knew was there. Fortunately, it was far too big and heavy for her to tip over, and she leaned into it gratefully. The blood still pounded in her ears, drowning out her raspy breaths. She never once took her eyes off the dimly lit vault, but the only thing it did was glow – rather smugly, she could almost swear.

She waited for another excruciating, endless minute, struggling to catch her breath. Never once did the light beat out of time; it kept the same sluggish, steady tempo it had before she had come and screwed it up. Finally she discovered that her legs still worked if she moved them, and wasted no time in beating a hasty retreat. Her vocal cords worked just fine, too, as she bellowed for Ratchet to wake the hell up.

Aside from a tender palm and fingertips, she checked out alright. The same could not be said for her pride, as the medic blistered her ears for the entire duration of her exam. She took it as part of her penance for disobeying a direct order, and didn't try too hard to defend herself as a result. Will hovered in the background, along with a stoic Optimus – who didn't so much hover as loom, as unobtrusive as she was sure he was attempting to be.

Ratchet had just finished up with a very direct threat to take the entire project away from her, when Sam and Bee came bursting through the unlocked doors, the mech blaring out the Cavalry Charge from his speakers. "Crap, Mikaela, what did you do? Is she okay, Ratch? Did that Con do something to her? Hey, Will -"

"Sam."

"So what's going on? I thought the bay exploded or something. With you guys in it! Mikaela –"

Optimus took the necessary steps to head Sam off before he could get too wound up. "Sam, Ratchet informs us that Mikaela is unharmed. As you can see, the medical bay did not explode, but – Bumblebee, please quiet down; there's no need to sound that way –" Bee had switched over to the Funeral Dirge, optics overflowing with wiper-fluid as he wrung his servos helplessly – "I believe it would be for the best if you two took the night off. Bumblebee?"

Forgetting his act entirely, the scout straightened to attention and nodded sharply to Prime. "You c-c-can count on me!" His real voice still crackled from time to time, and certain consonants seemed to trip him up if he didn't catch himself. Ratchet had helped him recalibrate his vocal processors, spending countless evenings adjusting and tweaking different systems until he sounded more like the medic remembered. Bumblebee himself had certain ideas about how he was 'supposed' to sound, and strove to emulate the younger generation. Mikaela thought he sounded rather cute; Ironhide snorted and said he sounded like a glitch-head. You couldn't please everyone.

In the end it was determined that Barricade had performed an alpha-level scan on her; something that normally only Ratchet was wont to do, as part of his routine systems checks on the various humans that came through his medbay with some injury or another. It was an unofficial agreement between men and mechs – in order to learn first-hand human physiology, a few of the more daring soldiers would, before heading to their own medic's quarters, stop in to see Ratchet, for a quick scan and diagnosis. The alpha-level, or the setting most amenable to organic structures, was used to further the Cybertronians' knowledge of the human species. Ratchet and Bumblebee were perhaps the two most informed of the group, being the ones that were around the humans the most. Optimus picked things up quickly, however, as part of his effort to connect with the officials and liaisons he was constantly in contact with.

So Mikaela was officially released from Ratchet's somewhat overwhelming care, and Sam came along with her and Bumblebee. There was an anxious air around her boyfriend tonight, and Bumblebee's radio kept fluctuating, never quite settling on one station, a sure sign he was holding back a barrage of questions. She tried to settle back in the bucket seat, normally something that wasn't a problem for her, but her body was still tense, as if it knew it needed to do something, but she couldn't figure out what.

Finally she caught Sam not looking at her for the fifth time, and huffed a little. "Sam, I'm not going to go berserk and start foaming at the mouth. Is there something you want to say?"

Apparently Sam had plenty he wanted to say, and both he and Bumblebee tripped over each other's words, talking over each other eagerly. Sam wondered why she had gone up to the containment unit in the first place; the yellow bot was curious as to why she was acting as if she was injured, when Ratchet had declared her fit and cleared for duty. She scowled at both of the questions, wondering why, after all they had gone through, Sam still sometimes acted as if he were afraid of his own shadow. So her tone was a bit churlish when she answered, "Gee, Sam, I just wondered if the big scary piece of scrap would get up and dance for me, that's all. Bee, I'm fine. I'm just tired, and shook up, and wondering how the hell it all happened in the first place. Okay?"

There was a startled, awkward silence that slowly pulled itself taut, dragging at her nerves. Sam was blinking at her, obviously hurt, and Bumblebee's radio had snapped itself off abruptly. She rolled her shoulders in an attempt to alleviate the tension, but all it did was pull at a crick in her neck. Beside her in the driver's seat, Sam swallowed, absently tapping fingers on Bee's steering wheel.

When he finally replied, it was with a seriousness that she rarely witnessed. "You scared me. You don't – you can't do that again. Alright? It's like, ever since we first met – well, officially, anyway – we've been in constant mortal peril. It's just one thing after another, and when things finally start to get back to something resembling normal, you decide to go all Dr. Frankenstein on me and resuscitate a freakin' Decepticon. It's like," and his voice shook with some unidentified emotion, as if this were something he was just now fully realizing, "it's like you want to be in danger. You've been pulling away from everything, from me, from your friends and school and everything that's supposed to be normal and –"

"So what? I'm a freak now? Because I actually enjoy putting my talents to good use? Excuse the hell out of me, Sam Witwicky, for wanting to be helpful."

"That's just it, Mikaela! This thing, this project, is such bullshit! It's not useful, it's not remotely logical! Just because this guy apparently has some sort of intel on a dead Autobot does not make it okay to revive him and put a weapon in his hands! Extra asset, my –"

Anything else Sam might have said was cut off abruptly as Bumblebee's brakes squealed, jerking both teens forward with surprised yelps. Sam's arm shot out to cling to Mikaela, attempting to brace her from impact with the dashboard. Sputtering, the two looked at each other, wide-eyed and suddenly wary. "Bee, what the hell?"

"You are q-questioning a decision mmmade by your mate, a decision Optimus Prime sanc-ctioned. Do neither of their opinions matter to you, in the face of your fear? Won't you at least hear her out?"

Mikaela found herself blinking hard, feeling the pinprick of tears threatening to overwhelm her. She looked down at the hand that lingered on her arm, the one that Sam had caught when they had stopped so suddenly. When she stole a glance at the boy in question, she found him slumped forward, the fight gone from him. Just as quickly, she felt the anger drain from her, and she reached out to touch his hand tentatively.

He slowly raised his eyes up to hers, fear and something she didn't want to put a name to, not yet, lingering in his face. She let their fingers intertwine, squeezing him lightly. When he returned the gesture, she felt more of the frustration dissipate, and let herself relax back into the plush seat. She could feel Bumblebee thrumming softly around them, hearing with a finely tuned ear the otherworldly hum that his engine gave off. He was otherwise silent, and let the two young people have their moment.

Sam opened his mouth, paused, and attempted to start again. He looked vaguely frustrated, more with himself than anything, and she didn't interrupt, letting him find the words he was searching for. Finally he looked back up at her, determination setting his jaw. "You just need to know that you…you have people that care about you, and worry about you. I worry about you. I mean, I know, sure, you can take care of yourself, you're like, She-Ra, but even you can't run on fumes. You're not Cybertronian, and you don't have rechargeable batteries. You need a break, Mikaela. Hell, Ratchet thinks you need a break. Bee thinks you need a break, my mom – "

"Ok, yeah, your point has been made. Remember our rule?"

"…Unless they've been hospitalized or are otherwise in mortal peril, my parents don't exist?"

"Thank you."

"Yeah, well, you know what I'm talking about. That Decepticon's not going anywhere. Let's go have some fun, go for a drive, go see a – a chick flick or something – what? I can't be sensitive to women's' needs? I have a built-in radar to pick up all those little non-verbal signals you girls give off. I have cracked the code, I have –"

She couldn't help it; she shut him up with a kiss. When they finally came up for air, he had a dopey, slightly disbelieving grin plastered across his face, as if after all these months he still couldn't believe that she wanted to kiss him. That he didn't take her for granted was just one more trait that endeared him to her. With a smirk, she brushed her mouth across his teasingly, and laughed when he attempted to follow her as she pulled back. She tapped his nose with a finger, and shoved him back into his seat. Around them, Bee shifted, and Sam patted the steering wheel. "You know, sometimes you're a genius. You know that?"

"You just now figured that out?"

Mikaela burst out laughing, and Sam made an exasperated sound. "Cocky S.O.B., too." With that, the Autobot's engine revved, a little proudly, the teens thought, and they pulled back out onto the highway towards home.

A minute later, Mikaela felt a hand over hers, and she looked down at their fingers tangled together on the console between them. Sam glanced at her from out the corner of his eye, and she gave him a bemused smile. It looked like he was planning something – which could end up going swimmingly, or horribly, horribly wrong, depending on how confident he was feeling. Judging by the hesitant smile curling up his mouth, she decided that this one might actually be worth hearing.

"You know…" and his fingers did a little dance across hers, "Mojo hasn't been to the beach in a while. He's probably due for a nice, long, romantic walk across the sand at sunset, a little moonlight dip in the ocean…"

"And does Mojo have his parent's permission, and say, a week off from his summer job?" Mikaela's voice was as dry as the desert outside.

"We-eell, I'm sure he could have arranged…something…already…as in I already asked Dad and Mr. Randall for both?" His smile grew as he spoke, and he looked rather smug. Mikaela had to bite back the sudden, overwhelming urge to throw her arms around him and laugh – or cry, or both. Blinking, startled by the unexpected surge of affection, she instead settled for a slow, pleased smile, and a tightening of her fingers around his.

Bee let out a cheerful cascade of notes, sounding his approval. "Now that's more like it!"

Mikaela couldn't help but agree.

Her palm was itching again. She'd gotten so used to it over the past two weeks that now she only half-heartedly swiped it up and down her shorts, letting the friction soothe it. She didn't let it deter her from the mission at hand – packing for the beach.

Exactly how Sam had talked his parents into the trip, she wasn't sure she wanted to know – but she was sure it involved some sort of mixture of blackmail, begging, and milking his Momma's Boy status for all it was worth. The fact that they weren't going with them was nothing short of a miracle. After Mission City, his parents – Judy, especially – had clung to him like burrs, setting curfews and demanding that he call them every hour that he was away from the house. Of course she couldn't blame them entirely; sometimes she envied Sam for his parents' excessive displays of devotion. But the fact that they were letting the two of them run off by themselves, Autobot guardian or no, baffled her. She was sincerely thankful she hadn't been part of that conversation.

The girl made a face at the two different bathing suits laid out in front of her. The gold strapless bikini, or the black and red floral monokini…? She hmmed to herself, rubbing her thumb across her other hand's palm absently. And she couldn't forget her wetsuit, stashed in the back of her closet for those rare times she actually got to surf. Mostly her past trips to the beach had consisted of drunken keggers and heavy make-out sessions, with some fun in the shallows. The guys she hung out with didn't exactly appreciate being showed up by a girl who could hang ten better than they could.

Both, she finally decided. Variety is most definitely the spice of life…and Sam hadn't seen either of these yet. She smirked, and went about finding space in her duffel bag for the outfits.

Later, all toiletries, wetsuit, and board wax ready to go, she headed downstairs to check on her Gramma. The older woman was digging around in one of the top cabinets, perched precariously on a stepstool, tiptoeing to see the contents of the shelf. Mikaela sighed to herself, and went to help the woman back down. "You know what the doctor said about strain on your back, right? Or is your memory going, too?"

Jodi Banes swatted her only grandchild with the colander she had found. "It's not like I was doing back flips to make pancakes," was the smart retort, and Mikaela pursed her lips.

"…Fair enough. Just don't strain it anymore than you have to. You're sure you'll be alright while I'm gone?"

The matriarch arched one finely-plucked brow at her. "Honey, I've been taking care of myself long before you happened. You're just a nice bonus." And Jodi patted her on the cheek, sweeping past her to the sink, managing to look regal with her long hair unbound and her green silk kimono open.

Mikaela shook her head, and grabbed up the box of uncooked spaghetti. "You always make me feel so appreciated." It didn't carry as much sarcasm as she would have liked, and her grandmother paused in her rinsing of the colander to look up at her. Faint silver eyebrows raised, and she studied Mikaela closely. Suddenly embarrassed, the girl ducked her head so that her hair fell in front of her face, not meeting her Gramma's eyes as she prepped the stove for the spaghetti.

Warm, callused fingers brushed her shoulder, and Mikaela peeked at the older woman through her curtain of hair. Her Gramma's smile was crooked, but filled with affection. "Darlin', you are. Never doubt that. This old lady would have been left to rot in some old folks' home if you hadn't stepped up when you did." It was a complete contradiction of her earlier claim, but both were true. Mikaela never doubted for a second that Jodi was in total control of her body and mind, yet her mother's side of the family, bless them, had different ideas.

They had refused to take their wayward niece in after Jake Banes' arrest and subsequent incarceration, but made sure that the State knew just how infirm and unfit his mother was, resulting in a two-year visit to a government-funded supported living center. It wasn't until Mikaela, after having been dumped into foster care and written off as juvie material, wrangled herself a job at a convenience store across town, pulled her average C plus up to a steady A minus, and joined three different after-school activities, that she dared petition the State for her grandmother to be released. Using a fatal combination of feminine wiles, logic, and connections made in the nursing home during her Gramma's stay, she convinced a judge to let her come home, and spring Mikaela from the misery that was her foster home at the same time.

No one would ever accuse Mikaela of being a pushover. Especially that judge, once she got through with him.

Shaking off the sudden melancholy, she tossed her hair back and patted her Gramma's hand. "I am rather brilliant, aren't I?" She said with a breezy laugh. The older woman pinched her arm in return, before letting her hand, and the subject, drop.

They spent the remainder of the afternoon in companionable silence, each knowing the other's dinner routine and working around each other easily. A call from Sam disrupted them at one point, reminding her to stock up on sunblock, to which her Gramma replied with a sardonic "He does know we live in the desert, yes?" Mikaela made a face at her over the mouthpiece and shooed her away.

The pasta was excellent, as always. Mikaela managed to wolf down two full helpings before she declared herself stuffed, while Jodi eyed the empty plate in front of her. "Sure you couldn't use a bit more? I think I can still see your ribs." Mikaela responded with a wadded up napkin. It landed square on her grandmother's nose.

"You're not going to test the neural command relays without me, are you? Because if I come back and find out you've taught him to juggle geese or something else equally ridiculous, I'm going to have to set your optical input system to pick up nothing but late-night infomercials."

"Truly, you are a diabolical creature," came the dry response as he ushered her out of the medbay. "I'll be sure to scrap that particular plan – just as soon as you're out of my sight. Now get out."

"I'm trying to, Ratchet, but – "

"Mikaela, if I hear one more excuse to stay and worry over that disgusting excuse for a science project, I'm going to disable my audio receptors and pretend you're not here. That way, it won't be my fault if I step on you."

"But we're so close, if the neural transmitter circuit's complete, he could be responding to basic script commands tomorrow – "

The rest of that sentence was spoken to a closed set of doors. From behind them, she could just make out Ratchet setting the system to no admittance.

She let out a breath between her teeth, and made a point to stomp as she left the medical wing. Outside, Sam and Bumblebee eyed her warily. "Soooo…we good then?" Sam ventured to ask.

She shook her hair out her eyes and made a special effort to smile at him, letting go of her frustration as she did so. Ratchet was right, as usual. Her project would still be there when she got back; it wasn't like he was going to get up and walk away. Absently she rubbed her palm, letting the familiar action calm her. "We're good. Did you remember all your bags?" She'd asked this when they'd first picked her up, too. With Sam, you couldn't be too careful.

"Yes, your Grace, I am ninety-nine point eight percent sure I've got everything this time."

She shook her head and leaned up to get a kiss. Beside her, she heard Bumblebee shift into alt mode, radio flicking on as he did so. "California Girls" drifted through his open windows. With a groan, Sam pulled back and went around to the driver's side, smacking the hood. "Bee, I think it's time we had a serious man-to-mech talk about your taste in music."

They were out of the city limits in two minutes flat, the heat waves rising from the asphalt washing over them and into Bee's interior. The hot wind felt good against Mikaela's face, and she leaned into her door, letting her head rest against the frame and watching the desert whip by. Beside her, Sam and Bee were in an intense debate involving the Beatles and anything created before 1995. The whole time, Sam never let go of her hand, and every so often, she would catch him glancing over at her. Finally she turned so that she could watch him argue.

He was never still. This was perhaps the first thing she'd noticed about him, when she had actually stopped to notice him at all. His hands were always busy, his face mobile and never able to hide anything. Everything, from his quirking eyebrows to his tapping toes, was forever in motion. It was as if the moment he was in wasn't moving fast enough for him. It was like him, she knew, to always want that next step, to run straight at whatever was coming. He was a bundle of nerves and giddiness and feeling, and sometimes it left her a little exhausted just to be around him. As for herself, she was content where she was, never asking for anything else, never wanting what she couldn't see. But somehow he'd grabbed hold of her, and dragged her headlong into the deep end, where she found herself struggling to keep her head above water, afraid of what lay beneath the surface.

Bumblebee was the perfect medium. Funny how the two of them, with such distinctly separate outlooks and personalities, got on with him so well. Sometimes she wondered what they'd be like if he weren't there to buffer them, to anchor them to each other. Would they still be tied together, or would they have just worn down the connection that had sparked between them with their rampant differences?

Mikaela wondered. She hoped she'd never have to find out.

Sam snuck another glance at her and found her watching, and he threw her an unrepentant grin. She pursed her lips at his expression, and his smile grew. "What, I can't ogle my own girlfriend?"

As ever, she couldn't stop herself from smiling back. "Baby, save your eyes for the beach. You haven't seen anything yet."

A six hour drive felt like two, when they were able to entertain themselves without having to worry about who was driving. Sam usually remembered to keep one hand on the wheel, to keep up appearances should they pass anyone, but they were mostly left to themselves.

It was mid afternoon, and both of them were getting hungry. They'd worked their way through the small cooler full of junk food in Bee's back seat, but cold Twinkies and Milk Duds only go so far. Fortunately, their journey was coming to an end. Bee whistled to get their attention, and they tore their eyes away from each other to see where they were.

A long driveway wound in front of them, and at the top of a small, steep hill rose a house. It was built low and sprawling, in the style of the old ranch houses. Beyond it, they could hear the low roar of the ocean as it careened against the wall of the cliffs the home was situated on. It was a barren, wild looking place, strangely beautiful in its simplicity.

Bumblebee trilled softly in appreciation as he rolled to a stop. Mikaela silently agreed with him as she unfolded herself out of her seat, stretching out the kinks in her back. This was what she had needed; Sam had been right, after all. No cities, no traffic, no bright lights to blind and distract her. Out here, there was space to breathe - and with their own private beach, no less. But hey, San Francisco was just half an hour away, if Bee was driving. Plenty of room, plenty of water, and plenty of therapy shopping. It made Mikaela's toes curl to think about it.

Sam grunted and groaned as he peeled himself out of his chair, clinging to Bee's door as he found his feet. Bumblebee laughed and wriggled his appendage, making Sam sway dangerously. "Okay, out-of-shape human needs a little support here, do you mind?" Apparently Bee didn't, because he kept right on doing it. Mikaela, used to their fraternal bickering, ignored the two and headed up the steep but short flight of stairs up to the porch of the house. They had called earlier, and she knew the person who owned the property was going to be there. Before she reached the screen door, however, it swung open.

The woman standing there was tall, made more so by the well-worn but polished military boots, fastidiously laced, the pants tucked into them. The plain white tee was spotless, tucked in neatly as well. She could just make out the silver chain the woman never took off, hidden beneath her top. The boots crossed themselves, the woman leaning smartly against the doorjamb with her arms folded. "Well? You didn't come with just the clothes on your back, did you?" Even her accent was neat and tidy, giving away her British upbringing. She jerked her chin out towards Sam and Bumblebee, who were still going at it. "Go and let's get the ninety-million trunks you've got crammed into the boot, and tell those boys to stop dithering and come and give their host a proper welcome."

Mikaela couldn't resist that tone of voice; she saluted smartly, rapping out a "Ma'am, yes Ma'am!" And she made a face at her before leaning in to give her a one-armed hug. The woman grunted, returning the gesture somewhat stiffly. "Damn straight. Now quit being such a nancy and let's go bring your things in." And she smoothed one hand over her already immaculately tied-back hair absently, shaking off her momentary awkwardness. The woman never had been comfortable with physical shows of affection.

"Captain!" Sam waved enthusiastically from behind Bumblebee's open trunk. He already had his duffel bag in one hand, and he reached back in to haul out Mikaela's more formal luggage case. As he struggled with it, giving out the appropriate manly grunts and swears, the Captain came around and pulled it the rest of the way out one-handed, barely straining herself. Sam scowled at her. The Captain just rolled her eyes and turned to nod to Bumblebee, still idling in alt mode. "Autobot Bumblebee, an honor to see you again."

The Autobot let out an impatient sputter and spat the rest of the bags out at Sam, who swore extensively and ducked. Bumblebee wasted no time in transforming into his root mode, rising to his pedes to greet her properly. "Cashhh-aptain Starling, it is an honor to be-ee here," his real voice warbled as he responded in kind. She looked steadily back at him, not even blinking as he gave her a salute, this one far more formal than Mikaela's. Captain Starling touched her fingers to her forehead in a brief but no less serious gesture. Looking back down, she nodded to the teens, and scooped up a couple more pieces of luggage. "Come on, kiddies, get your gear and follow me."

She spoke to Bumblebee as they made their way back up the driveway. "The garage is around back, in the cliffs. We'll meet you there shortly, after I've gotten these two settled in." Bee hummed happily, waving them off, and cut through the scrub that covered the desert floor. As he disappeared around the hill, Mikaela saw that her surfboard was still strapped to his back, and bit back a grin. Trust him to know what was really important.

Sam spoke up. "Captain? Listen, thanks for putting us up –"

"More like putting up with – "

"That too. Thanks for putting up with us uneducated, useless, vacationing civilians and letting us crash at your awesome beachside pad."

Starling just shook her head, the short ponytail at the crown of her skull flicking with the motion. She lead the way inside the cool, quiet house, guiding them through a spacious kitchen filled with stainless steel appliances and smooth, dark counter tops. An open doorway was tucked into a far corner of the kitchen, which led to a wide, shallow set of stairs. They started the trek up, the Captain still carrying the pieces of luggage as if they weighed no more than pillows. "Mikaela, we've discussed this. You must find a muzzle for that boy. I won't listen to his prattle the entire time he's here."

"I've got it covered, Captain. I will keep his mouth very occupied while we're here. You won't hear a peep out of him."

"Remind me to always knock, then."

"Mik-ae-la!"

"Sam."

"I knew I should have made the two of you stay out in the garage. And how many times must I remind you to call me Alexis?"

Sorry, not too much happening in this chapter; it's important, though, setting up several plot arcs that will come into play later. Just remember that.

Any complaints, about the characters, the writing/grammar/etc, any errors you may have spotted…feel free to tell me. I enjoy concrit immensely.