The Human Stain: Chapter 9

How can I help it if I think you're funny when you're mad
Tryin' hard not to smile though I feel bad
I'm the kind of guy who laughs at a funeral
Can't understand what I mean?
Well, you soon will
I have a tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve
I have a history of losing my shirt

- Barenaked Ladies, One Week

"So… let me get this straight. I had a shark take a chunk of my leg for lunch ten years ago, and somehow these Decepticons wound up with it? Do you know how unlikely that sounds?"

Smokescreen appeared to be struggling against the urge to roll his eyes.

"What?"

"It wasn't a…" He did not complete his sentence, and instead stared off into a pocket of air directly to the left of Claire's face. The Autobot seemed to be thinking – processing – whatever he – it, it! – did.

She had been quite surprised to see him in some semblance of a human guise, honestly. Sure, it was shocking to see him change forms as a junker-to-robot-to-decent car, but she could eventually come to understand that. It was all the same in the end. He – damn – was still a machine. Now, standing as he was before herself and Miguel, she saw him in an entirely new light.

It's too bad he's such a jerk.

Claire instantly paled, even before she realized that Smokescreen was speaking again. Where was the, 'It's too bad he's a mechanical alien from outer space'?! Why in the world did she pity his personality before the very obvious fact that he was not human? He might appear as one, but he wasn't even solid. It was all an illusion, a hologram.

Wow, I'm really going mental.

Smokescreen was looking at her again, and strangely at that. She startled, and shook herself out of her run-on thoughts. "Oh, sorry, what were you saying?"

"If you don't have the mental aptitude to keep up, I won't waste my time," he said bluntly.

"I was listening!" she protested a little too quickly.

They both looked at her, and even Miguel looked dubious.

Way to go, she thought.

"Explain this," Miguel began with exasperation, thankfully cutting into Claire's wayward thoughts. "I understand that that Trans-Organic thing would want her out of the picture since it's hard to assume a new identity when the one you stole it from is still out there somewhere. What I don't understand is how I got involved."

Smokescreen gave a gentle rise and fall of his shoulders. "It is not so uncomplicated from where I stand. You informed me this human… you called her Teresa… she died Sunday night, correct?"

"That's right," Miguel said mournfully.

"If the Trans-Organic had just arrived and she was in the right place at the right time, it would not be particular about the donor."

"Don't you mean wrong place at the wrong time? Why would it even be particular at all?" Claire was confused.

Smokescreen sighed, and looked away. "If the donor was not of the phenotype to match its processing pattern, then it would be driven to find one that was." The hologram's eyes shifted, and landed pointedly on Miguel.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you looking at me for?" Miguel held his hands up before him anxiously as if to ward off any attention from Smokescreen.

"I don't get it," Claire said, running a frustrated hand through her limp locks. "What does a 'processing pattern' have to do with this? What does that even mean?"

Smokescreen still had his focus riveted to Miguel, as if assessing the man's attributes. Miguel shifted uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny. With an exasperated hitch of his virtual voice, the apparition of the dark-haired man at last turned to Claire's query. "When sparklings are… born, as you humans put it, they begin to form thoughts. These thoughts follow one of two distinct patterns." He splayed both hands wide to illustrate as he spoke, and lifted one hand slightly higher than the other. "One pattern had more male attributes, the other female. The majority of processing patterns are male, but occasionally there is a pattern that forms a female identity. Cybertronians cannot read each other's thoughts, but we can communicate with one another in a way that allows us to decipher each other's processors. When our prototype forms are brought to the fore, we assume a shape that is male or female."

"Are you saying there are female Autobots out there?"

Smokescreen nodded. "Yes, a few… well, there were." He frowned at the thought. "I do not know of their fate now. In any case, the pattern coming from the Trans-Organic you arrived here with was male."

"Is that why she… he… walked into The 'Spoke alone last night?" Miguel's eyes widened as he started to connect the dots. "He wasn't happy with Teresa's body?"

"It wouldn't be so far-fetched," Smokescreen acquiesced.

"Are you telling me that this Trans-Organic was like a woman who thought she should have been born a man?"

"You have such occurrences?" Slightly caught off guard, the hologram fluctuated and wavered. The space of air it occupied seemed to roll in waves, much like the heat generated from a campfire. Claire vaguely wondered if Smokescreen's concentration was a prime factor in keeping his holographic representation before them – even the smallest surprise had a disruptive effect to it. A second passed, and the hologram seemed to be thinking. Finally, it nodded. "Ah, you do."

"What did he just do?" It was Miguel. He was looking at Smokescreen like he was seeing a ghost for the first time – which wasn't entirely incorrect.

"He's connected to the Internet," Claire explained by proxy. "He tends to check up on things he doesn't understand, I think… at least that is how it was explained to me."

"He can do that in just seconds?"

"I didn't say I wasn't impressed."

Both humans turned to regard the mechanoid again. He was watching both of them, and a gleam of amusement echoed in his features. "I'm glad to divert your attention to such inane things, but for the sake of stupidity I would just like to point out that I am still present."

Claire shot him a glare. Jerk.

Miguel redirected the conversation once more. He looked crestfallen. "Then… this thing wanted a male body. He wanted mine."

"Most likely," Smokescreen supplied, appearing sobered.

Miguel's head snapped up. "Where is she… he? What happened to him?"

Smokescreen said nothing.

It was Miguel who stood first, with Claire closely on his heels. They approached the front door tentatively, as if fearing what they might find – which was exactly the case. Slowly, Miguel reached out and swung the barrier aside. It was still partially open from Smokescreen's sudden entrance, and Claire could feel a small breeze blowing in from the outside world.

The sun was blinding, but nothing the two weren't familiar with. Claire had grown up in California, the proverbial Sunshine State, but the Nevada sun had humbled her upon moving to the area. It seemed much more direct and encompassing the closer she had moved to the equator, and she had to have a healthy respect for that. She was a firm believer in sunscreen on weekends.

The front yard sprawled into sight once the door was out of the way. Blinking rapidly, both sets of eyes scanned the short, brown grass sprouting from Miguel's yard. It didn't take them long to find it, it was quite the eyesore.

At first, no true details coalesced into Claire's mind. Everything seemed to be a misshapen mess. The rubbery mass was matted and lumpy, with the circumference of a kitchen table. A sleek black banner of hair perched atop the splotch like an obscene flag, and around it a tan canvas wove between gleaming metal struts.

Only… Claire squinted.

It's skin. Oh, god.

It was indeed a human hide. There was a clear fluid weighing down the entire blob, but no blood that she could recognize. Thick, visceral globules that might have been eyes were splattered across the skin, and Claire could see an ear attached to the material near the long ponytail.

Clamping a hand over her mouth, Claire spun on her heel and bolted for the bathroom in the hallway. Miguel made a sound akin to a dying animal beside her, and then pitched over and began to vomit in the shrubbery lining the house.

It was crushed. The Trans-Organic masquerading as Teresa had been flattened.

As she rounded the corner, Claire's eyes met with the one responsible. It was only for a second, a split-moment between sickness and stupefied recognition of his actions. There was no remorse in that face.

He stepped on her.

Before she knew it, she was slamming the door to the bathroom shut and clutching the porcelain rim of the toilet while she retched out the meager contents of her stomach. It was one thing to narrowly escape death relatively unscathed; it was quite another to fully actualize it. It might not have been human, but parts of it were. Parts of it had been copied from a dead woman's DNA – and then they were mutilated and left to dry out in the hot sun. It didn't seem fair, it wasn't justice – it was just pure desecration. If this was her future… well, she didn't want any part of it. She wanted nothing more to do with the monster in the living room, no matter how handsome she thought his hologram to be. She was just a stupid, stupid girl who had never grown up since high school. She was temporarily misled by blue eyes that weren't even there. His personality had never been something to call home about, and yet she still wished differently.

Idiot.

When all she had left to give was stomach acid, Claire straightened. Her esophagus burned all the way from the base of her stomach to the roof of her mouth. She desperately wanted to brush her teeth, but Miguel wouldn't appreciate it if she 'borrowed' his brush. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Claire steadied herself against the sink counter and viewed her miserable reflection in the mirror. That's when she noticed he was behind her.

She whirled, eyes widening. "What do you want!?" she cried hoarsely.

Smokescreen had been standing there quietly all that time, and she hadn't heard him come in. "Are you alright?" he questioned.

She gave a broken, bitter bark of a laugh. It cost her comfort, and a raging inferno ran the length of her windpipe once again. "Am I alright?" she said, as if posing the question rhetorically to herself. "No, I am NOT alright. I haven't been alright since you showed up. I wish you would just get the hell out my life and take your violence with you."

He did not say anything, but he stepped a bit closer.

Claire spun around. "Stop!" she cried shrilly, shaking her head. "I don't want you near me, you got that? I want you out of my life, out of my presence, out, out, out!"

"It wasn't human," he said kindly, in a voice she had never heard him use before.

"The hell it wasn't! Parts of it were! It looks like a bulldozer rolled someone over. Do you know how… how deplorable that is? Not only that, Miguel had to see it! He's been through enough, and then you step on someone he liked? What's wrongwith you?!"

Oddly enough, he was not provoked in the slightest by her ire. "He would have killed you both, especially him. He was hunting last night. What else would you have me do?"

"I-I-I don't know. I just thought we wouldn't see it. I thought you would get rid of it and…"

" – and what, blast it into space? Wave my arm and make it disappear?" He reached out, almost as if to take the distraught woman by the shoulders, but then appeared to think better of it and let his hands fall away. They would have just gone through her, anyways. A sprinkling of frustration began to enter his voice, and Claire wasn't sure if it was due to her discomfiture or his inability to touch her. "This is real, Claire. You have to be able to stand up to things like this. Worse could happen, and you will die if you fall victim to your insecurities."

Was he… coaching her? Encouraging her? Comforting her?

No, of course not.

"I-I-I can't do it. I can't do this. I can't see any more gore."

"You can do this."

Dimly, she recalled a similar situation in a dream. She was getting déjà vu. "I… I need to clean myself up," she said, swiftly changing the subject. One of her hands reached out to press down on the toilet's flushing mechanism. The sound of the toilet swallowing her vomit was a jarring noise to her stretched senses, but it got rid of the smell. Claire turned away from Smokescreen, swinging one of the faucet handles sideways. The rush of clean water on her hands was a small comfort.

"For a human, you are not as weak as you appear."

That statement got her attention. She raised her head from her sudden fascination with the drain, and was nearly ready to fire back a caustic retort when she realized he was complimenting her – in his own way. Lips still slightly parted, the young woman narrowed her eyes slightly and then replied, "It's really too bad you couldn't be more helpful. I think you should take a lesson from C3PO. Nowthat's a robot."

"C3PO…?" he trailed, his features etching into an expression of confusion. His hologram flickered like a sputtering candle on the wind. Claire began to form the idea that this could wind up as an amusing game later – How Much Can You Disrupt the Hologram?

"You know, Star Wars…" Her sickness began to fade, as did her anger. The logical part of her brain began to override the emotional side, and it was becoming clear that he had saved their lives. This was now officially once for Miguel, twice for her. If he kept it up, she might actually begin to feel indebted to him. It was a horrible thought, really.

He had been 'browsing' in the time she mentioned the three-part trilogy, and apparently he came up with the reference in record time. He gave her a funny look, and then slowly curved his lips upward.

He smiled. It was small, but it was real.

She found she could not look away.

Miguel was still in love, but his love was dead. Technically, she had been dead before he even knew her.

The thing posing as the real Teresa had ensnared him, and he shuddered to think what might have happened if he had gone home with her last night. He would be dead right then, as dead as the real Teresa.

It wasn't fair.

He had rushed in after puking his brains out, full of rage and venom. He found them both in the bathroom, of all places, and had demanded the 'good' alien's attention with full-blown Spanish. It had startled both of them. "Ay Dios Mio!" he cried, using one hand to flatten his hair to his skull as he cupped the side of his head. The other was busy making wild jabs towards the front door. "Cuidadito conmigo, payo! Get rid of it!" He was referring, of course, to the blob of flesh and metal on his front lawn. He did not need to be reminded of it anymore, and the last thing he needed was a neighbor reporting it to the police. It would be more than just a little disturbing to a kid biking down the sidewalk, after all. He could not deal with the threat of cops crawling all over his property. He wouldn't know what to tell them, he could barely comprehend it himself. He had already been to jail a handful of times for petty crimes like drug use (Mandatory Marley, baby) in high school, and then got caught smoking weed outside Ashbury Paints just last month by another employee. Thankfully, his coworker was more interested in sharing than reporting him.

In any case, the last thing he needed was for the police to convict him of some grotesque murder. There was a fair bit of metal in that wreckage out front, but there were enough human parts to lead them to believe he had done something with the rest of the body.

Smokescreen departed soon after that, and was gone approximately an hour. Claire took the time to call in sick and to take another shower, and neither she nor Miguel questioned his whereabouts. They both shared the knowledge he was disposing of the body, but no words on the subject were traded. Miguel took advantage of the alien's departure and took a shower. He fell ill at ease knowing it was in his house, even if Claire seemed to know it.

He was just winding a belt through the loops in his jeans when his mind gravitated back towards Teresa. He was fortunate, he supposed, because he had had a few fleeting hours to know what she might have been like. True, that Trans-Organic creature was not she, but it had her smile, her walk, her long black hair – all of these things were things the true Teresa would have had in abundance. It was a bit on the creepy side, but he liked to think that it had retained her memories, her perception of the world, the way she would tease him. He could not bring himself to think of the other, more gritty side to what he had experienced with her. The idea that the thing was just luring him in like a black widow was something that shook him to the core.

Denial was always a very good mistress to him.

So, he persisted on, believing the better of the two reasons. If he gave himself that much, he could pretend that everything was going to turn out alright. He vowed to remember what he shared with Teresa. He wished in vain he could have known her in life, but such wishes were for the birds. She was gone, gone before he even knew her.

He felt cheated.

They made a motley trio – one man, one woman, and one Transformer posing as a human. The lengthening shadows outside heralded the arrival of dusk. The penumbras had gathered beneath the eyes of the two humans, who were currently packed together on the loveseat in the living room as Smokescreen stood before them. They had eaten a quick lunch derived from the remnants of Miguel's Chinese take-out from the day before. The hologram hadn't eaten, of course, even though Claire had offered. She did not really expect him to put a wonton into a mouth that wasn't really there, but it was the principle of politeness that motivated her. Miguel had given her a weird look for it, but she ignored him.

"So now what are we going to do?" Miguel asked, once they were all gathered together in the den.

"Good question," Claire quipped morosely.

"It's simple. We need to leave as soon as possible."

"What?!" Miguel and Claire chimed in unison. They were staring up at Smokescreen like he had grown a second head.

"We cannot stay here. The Trans-Organic is gone, but Claire's spawn is still searching for her," Smokescreen explained with a sigh. "Beyond that concern, there are tracking units inside the processors of these new Decepticons. Other Decepticons will be here shortly. I am but one Autobot, I cannot withstand an army."

"More…?" questioned Miguel hesitantly.

"Yes, more like the kind that destroyed your…" Smokescreen paused, found the right word, and then finished. "…pub."

"You must have visited a UK site," Claire muttered. "It's 'bar' in the U.S."

His eyes snapped to her. "Bar," he repeated peevishly. "At any rate, there will be more. We must leave for Mission City."

"So… that big metal guy controls all the Trans-Organics?" Miguel postulated, a bit confused.

"Correct… in theory they do. We are not quite sure of their relationship yet. It may be strained or shattered. All we do know is that large numbers of Decepticons and their Trans-Organic creations have landed as of last night. We had no idea there were so many Cybertronians left in existence."

"I'm sure you'll fill us in on the ride, then."

Miguel whipped his face around and studied Claire. Now she was the one with the second head. "You aren't serious, are you? You're actually going with this thing?"

Claire snorted. "You expect us to fare any better here? My home isn't safe, they know where I live. Now your home isn't, either. What are we supposed to do?"

"Zebrowski is so going to fire us for this."

For once that day, Claire looked truly happy. She flashed Miguel a bright smile and appeared instantly lifted by his comment. "They say every cloud has a silver lining."

Miguel blinked, cocked his head to one side like a curious squirrel, and then let out a laugh.

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head wryly, "I guess you're right about that."

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All original characters are mine.

A/N:First off, I want to say that I did not make up the Trans-Organics; they are actually part of the original Transformers universe. I thought resurrecting a new version of them would be a good plot idea. Basically, they were created on Cybertron by the Quintessons (the organic race that later created the first Transformers). Due to their unstable dual natures, the Trans-Organics could not be controlled and were too primitive for their creators. Thus, they were sealed far below Cybertron and the Quintessons started to dabble in pure robotics before creating the Transformers.

Secondly, I want to thank soaringphoenix, Elita One and dandyparakeet for all the good reviews. You guys are the best, and it really means a lot to me to log in to find what you said about my story. I am losing steam on this fic, but I haven't given it up entirely. I will still be updating, but not as much as before (i.e. almost every day). If you have read this story and liked it/hated it, please let me know. I don't even care if you say you'd rather read the TV Guide – say so. Any criticism that makes me a better writer is well appreciated.

Miguel's Translations:

Ay Dios Mio!: Oh my God!

Cuidadito conmigo, payo!: Don't fuck with me!