The Human Stain: Chapter 14

Well you filled up my head
With so many lies,
Twisted my heart
'Till something snapped inside
I'd like to give it one more try
But my give a damn's busted

You can crawl back home
Say you were wrong
Stand out in the yard
And cry all night long
Go ahead and water the lawn
My give a damn's busted

-Jo Dee Messina, My Give A Damn's Busted

The White House, Washington D.C.

General Richardson entered the Oval Office.

It had taken quite longer than expected to acquire the necessary clearance into the president's formal workspace. He had been summoned, but naturally even direct orders from the President of the United States experienced a ridiculous delay in time due to tightened security measures.

The aging general was ushered inside the dimly lit chamber without much fanfare. The three ceiling-to-floor windows behind the president's engraved desk had the thick velveteen curtains drawn so that only the most minimal amount of daylight slipped in. The man's polished leather shoes sank into the plush blue rug that carpeted most of the room. The floor was truly expensive hardwood, but the rug hid everything save for the edges along the walls. Within the center of the floor covering was a large emblem of a bald eagle encircled by fifty stars and a red outer ring.

It was none other than a replica of the Seal of the United States.

In its left talon, the eagle clutched thirteen arrows – these represented the thirteen original states. In its left, there was an olive branch. The olive branch had exactly thirteen leaves and stood for a representation of peace.

There would be no such thing – not anymore.

"Sir, I came as quickly as I could." Richardson put himself just before the symbol on the floor, almost reverently. He could never bring himself to step on it.

The man in the brown leather seat was facing away from the general, so only the top mop of his graying hair was visible over the edge of his chair. Slowly, he turned. The room was poorly lit, which effectively cast the president's face into long shadows. There was an awkward silence, and then the leader of his country stood.

"General," he acknowledged. The shadows shifted, and the president's lips tipped upward. "…So nice to see you."

"Sir, there is much I need to tell you about the Orbiter 2," General Richardson gushed, uncomprehending of his superior's smirk.

"Oh, I know everything." The president was a smaller man than his visitor, but there was a fluid, catlike grace as he wound his way from behind his desk.

"You were briefed on it already, then?" he asked hopefully. This would save them more time, if it were true. Time was one thing they did not have enough of. A quiet rustle of fabric to the left alerted the general to the presence of an audience in the room. He shouldn't be surprised, really. A Secret Serviceman stood unobtrusively in a darkened corner, and by glancing to the right the general could confirm the existence of another. They stood tall with their hands folded neatly in front of their tailored black suits. They appeared non-threatening, but he knew better. They were the best the country had, and when it came to them – well, looks were always deceiving.

Oddly, they wore shades despite the dark conditions. The mustached man considered this unnecessary, but he was not one to question the president's personal entourage.

"You could say I was… 'briefed'." The man across from General Richardson crept closer with a predatory nature. The general could not discern exactly why the president was acting so strangely. If it was a joke, it was a severely sadistic one. Now was not the time to play pranks. It did not look good for the United States if its leader was attempting humor in the most dire of situations.

"Sir…" he tried again.

The president paused, and lightly touched a few fingertips to the polished surface of his executive desk. His hand came up again to press both digits to his lips. His mouth grew larger behind the fingers, but his eyes were cold.

"You will do whatever you can to help us with our situation, would you not?"

The general breathed a sigh of relief he had not known he had been holding. Finally, they were getting down to business. "Yes, Sir. I will serve you in whatever capacity you need."

"Good," said the man beside the desk. Without warning, he spat on the emblem at his vistor's feet and spun on his heel. "Then it begins."

"Sir, I do not understand…!" General Richardson began, but it was far too late for that.

"Fill him in."

The corners moved, and the president's personal security detail detached themselves from the penumbras. They slid silently across the room, heading towards the solitary man standing humbly before the Seal of the United States.

Tranquility, Nevada

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

"Wouldn't!"

"Would." Claire gave a sage nod.

Smokescreen looked beside himself. It was three o'clock in the afternoon and they had been bickering back and forth like petulant adolescents over Claire's insistence they return for her Eclipse. The Autobot had staunchly refused to grant her one wish, which only led to more clamor from her end. Finally, hands tied, the human woman whipped out the big guns.

"So help me god, I will buy a soda," she had declared.

It led up to their present 'conversation', which the robot was rapidly losing. He told her it would break the truce, and that she shouldn't go back on her word and blah, blah, blah. Honestly, she had no intention of breaking the contract – she was smarter than that. Claire was merely betting on the Autobot believing that she would stoop so low, which turned out to be the case. She felt somewhat offended that he thought so low of her scruples, but hey – this was for her benefit. Beggars could not be choosers.

He had a poor image of humans in general, or at least she speculated so, and therefore he would have to believe that she would break the truce if she didn't get her car back. He never gave any good reason on why they had to stay, either. Boulder City was only about an hour or so away at most, what would be the problem?

He had resisted for as long as possible, but eventually she won out on her threat. There was one dubious part of her mind that questioned whether she had really cowed him or not – after all, he was a twenty foot tall robot with laser cannons and shape shifting abilities. If he did not want to be around when she held up a can of soda, he wouldn't be. This only led to the inevitable conclusion that he had humored her all the while because he enjoyed arguing with her. The very idea that he could be that twisted – to get his jollies off seeing her pissed off - she didn't like the thought at all. It was downright wrong.

She had stuffed the theory under some dusty files in the back chamber of her brain, forbidding herself from ever entertaining it again. Sullen, Claire rode with Miguel in Smokescreen on the way back to the motel from the lookout. They dropped Miguel off for another night, and Claire promised to be back within a few hours. From there they drove in a southerly direction, headed for Boulder City and the Boyd garage. The entire ride was met with silence, something Claire had perfected in the short time she had known Smokescreen. He did not try to initiate conversation with her, seemingly preferring the silence to anything else.

By the time they had rolled up to the Boyd garage, Claire could clearly see her 2004 Eclipse parked out front. She wanted to laugh, cry, or do a dance for joy – she thought she would never be that happy again to see a normal car that was just a car. Mick Boyd had already left for the day, and she had to accept her keys from John. Mick's oldest son never spoke much beyond the necessary anyways, so it was a relief to leave the garage behind with nothing but a glare. She still mourned the fact that she had put the Boyds through hell and risked their livelihood by entangling them with her problems, but that was the reality of it. Claire would have done anything to go back and time and make amends, but some things couldn't be fixed.

Time was one of them.

The doorbell rang.

Claire threw a long look out in the direction of the sound. Who could that be?

They had made a pit stop – pun intended – back at Claire's house so she could gather a few more personal possessions. Smokescreen had driven off, citing something about inspecting the nearby area. He had parked in the driveway while she had gone through her entire house, checking for intruders. The Autobot had told her to scream if she needed help, and she told him she would be all too happy to oblige. When all seemed inconsequential, he pulled out of the driveway and began to scope the neighborhood out.

Now that he was gone, Claire made her way to the front of the house and paused. Did she really want to open the door? Smokescreen was no doubt nearby, policing the streets in his own way. Besides, it wasn't typical for a killer to politely ring the doorbell – they generally preferred the element of surprise. Shrugging, the blonde swung the door open and was promptly presented with the visitor on the other side.

Simon.

He hadn't changed much in the years they had been apart, honestly. There was nothing about his appearance that threw her off guard, save for the tiny fact that he was, oh, well, hm, there. She stared at him like a slack-jawed yokel, eyes wide and disbelieving. His brown eyes collided with her own, leaving her to blink rapidly at his hard stare. They stood three feet apart, but it might as well have been three thousand miles. She had never hoped to see his face again, but the stark reality of his countenance before her converged with her memories and made the divorce seem like only yesterday.

"Claire," he said. His voice was warm. He smiled brightly at her, and then took a step forward.

Immediately, she took a step back. Her eyes were liquid and her mouth was partially agape in shock. "Simon… what are you doing here? How did you find out where I lived…?"

Another step. "I had a private investigator look into it. I hope you don't mind." His smile was unwavering, perfectly placed like his gaze on her face.

"Simon…" she warned, stumbling back further. This was not like him – well, yes, in a way it was – he had always been determined and domineering, just never towards her. His goals seemed misplaced.

"I decided to take the day off. I hopped on the first flight out of California and rented a car. I got here as soon as I could." He hesitated, the first crack in his aggressive posture, and then returned full bore, "I realized after all these years I was wrong. I have returned to bring you back. I can't live without you, Claire."

Simon never admitted to being wrong…

She didn't have much time left to analyze the discrepancies that the scenario presented, because in the next moment he was on her. He pushed her back into the wall behind her and closed the front door in one fluid motion. The barrier slammed hard enough to rattle the walls, hinting at strength she had not known Simon to possess. He pinned her to the spot with both body and gaze, and she stared wide-eyed into his eyes from inches away. They were still the brown ochre tones she recognized, but something was, well, off. His irises were brighter, more ruddy then she remembered, almost as if lit from behind.

Those eyes burned with their intense regard. Simon had given her more than enough glares in his day, but it was never with such fiery scrutiny. Something about the demonic light in his eyes seemed beyond mere human capability.

"Si--" she tried again, but was effectively quieted. His mouth descended on hers, hot and heavy. There was possessiveness to the forced contact, and his lips were brutal.

For a lost second or two, she was brain dead. Simon was there with her, not Jen, kissing her with more desire than she had ever witnessed in all the accumulated time they had been together. Her eyes threatened to flutter shut, to give in to the familiar but unfamiliar course of actions when her mind kick-started itself again.

Wait.

Jen.

Indignation and rage rose up in her gut, as well as disgust. It wasn't towards Simon specifically, but more towards herself for nearly giving in. Claire's head snapped back so fast that a sharp crack emanated from the spot where the back of her skull hit the wall behind her. It hurt instantly, creating wildfires on her nerve endings. Despite this, the pain was ignored. Claire brought her good knee up at exactly the same time, lodging the cap right into Simon's groin. "Bastard," she hissed between clenched teeth. "Who the hell do you think you are, marching in here and acting however you damn well please with me?!"

Simon flinched visibly and reversed both from the pain she inflicted and the press of her palms against his shoulders. He did not curl into a fetal position as most men would have, however, which made it all the more impressive to watch him stand there, almost completely unaffected after a matter of seconds. The man's face schooled itself into careful lines, watching her warily.

She stared back in much the same manner, save for the feral scowl darkening her face. "You have some fucking nerve to stalk me. People are looking for you back home. Jen is looking for you."

"What about her?" His question was calm and collected, and he straightened further. His shoulders rolled several times, and Claire swore she could hear a creaking noise.

"She called earlier today and told me what you never had the balls to." The fury in Claire's voice was scalding.

Simon merely looked bored. "I told you, I want you. I do not care about her."

"Oh, is that it? You're dropping her like a load of bricks after a few years, too? You saved my life, Simon, and I'll never forget that. But, unfortunately, I think you need to leave." Claire skirted around his person, and reopened the door. "Go back to Atherton, while you still have people who are worried for you there. I know I'm not."

"I told you, I want you." He was relentless.

"…And I'm telling you, I want you gone," she countered snippily. "I won't tell Jen you just pulled this stunt on me if you leave right now. I have enough problems without adding this crap into the mix. You made your choice a long time ago… now be an adult and stick to it."

"Be rational, Claire. You like living like…" he arced his hand over his head to illustrate his point, "…this?"

Oh, hell no. Estranged ex-husband or not, he was not going to stand there and give her a lecture about the small scale of her home. She bought it herself and was struggling to make ends meet to keep it, but to have him show up and begin to compare her old home in Atherton to the one she currently owned was out of the question. He was either very brave, or very stupid.

She was leaning towards the latter.

"OUT," she commanded, jabbing her index finger towards the door behind him. With the door out of the way, she could see the vehicle he had arrived in. She expected a rented Lexus or BMW, not the empty squad car parked in the driveway behind her Eclipse. Her hand dropped to her side, and she tipped her head to the side. Her anger subsided, replaced by rampant confusion. "Simon… did you come here in a cop car?"

Claire's ex-husband glanced over his shoulder at the vehicle in question, and a wry smirk tipped one corner of his mouth upward. "Let's just say a friend gave me a ride."

"Simon," she said. Her tone was calm, but not the typical type of calm – there was a psychotic pause to it, the kind that let the one listening know that the speaker was about to scream. "You said you rented a car. You cannot rent a cop car."

"Oh, did I?" The businessman seemed pleasantly surprised by her prior observation. "I apologize, I usually rent them. Slip of the tongue." He licked his lips, and she looked away.

Claire took a deep breath. "Who is your friend? I didn't know you knew any police officers in the area." She modified her word usage, carefully dropping 'cop' from her vocabulary in case they were being overheard. Suspicious now, Claire stepped around Simon and went outside. She turned a sharp left to look down the front face of the garage, but no one was in sight. Her nerves were beginning to fry, and an uneasy feeling roiled in her gut. "Seriously, where did you get this thing…"

Strong arms seized her from behind, pinning both of her own arms to her sides. Claire froze up for a second, too shocked to move. When she realized she was being propelled forward by Simon's bulk from behind, she began to fight. "This could have been easy, dear, but we'll just have to do it the hard way." Simon's voice was a mocking growl, something she had never heard from him in all the time they had been together.

Not only that, but the inconsistencies seemed suddenly very clear at the moment – Simon never called her 'dear', either. The realization of her predicament began to settle in like a cold snow upon her mind, and she fought all the harder. Twisting and turning, she began to shriek for help for all she was worth. It wasn't very brave and it wasn't very pretty, but time was of the essence and she was no hero.

Simon's imposter grunted with the effort to keep her subdued. He was far stronger than she, but she still bucked against him and attempted to lodge an elbow into his lower abdomen whenever the chance presented itself. The pair made a jerking, graceless path towards the squad car.

Claire momentarily stopped struggling when she saw it fire up on its own. Her eyes widened, and her cries for help became more insistent. "SHIT, HELP, HELP!!" If there was a god, then Smokescreen would hear her.

No one came.

The Trans-Organic finally managed to keep her pinned with one arm just under her chest. The other came around to wrench her wayward elbow back into a painful hold, nearly twisting her arm to the point of breaking. She gave a pained yelp, and then hissed with a quick intake of air.

"Be a little quieter, hm? We wouldn't want you losing another limb."

"Fucker," she swore. Red pinwheels of pain dotted her vision. They were parallel to the squad car, and one of the backseat doors swung open. There was a metal grate separating the front from the back of the car, which was a feature in all police cruisers. It was meant to keep the suspect contained – which meant they were going to lock her up in a backseat birdcage.

The thing behind her wearing Simon's face shoved her through the open gap and towards the dark cab. "Get in, gutsack." He tried to shove her again, but was having some difficulty in manipulating her position so that she would go in.

It was slowly sinking in that this was going to happen, and there was nothing she could do about it. Claire was absolutely helpless. She was just some woman in her mid-twenties that worked at a department store to get by. There was nothing special about her, nothing unique, and the world would not mourn her passing. Those thoughts sobered her, and she bowed her head to accept her fate like a cow being led to the slaughter.

Still, if she was so ordinary, why was everyone and their uncle out to get her? It didn't add up. She suddenly thought of Smokescreen just then, and she briefly mused over the idea that he might miss her. Maybe, if they were capable of that emotion. If anyone was going to help her, it had to be herself.

"Hey, hey, slow down. I'll go easy. Just let up a little. It hurts," Claire said as calmly as possible.

The Trans-Organic sneered, and she could feel his breath stirring the wisps of hair curling around the shell of her ear. He has lungs..? A crazy idea formed in her head.

"What are you proposing?" he asked.

"Just relax your hold and I'll get in the…" she paused, quite aware the police cruiser was not really as it seemed. Hell, nothing is these days. Swallowing nervously, she finished her sentence. "…car."

He raised her arm another agonizing millimeter, twisted as it was up and against her back. She squeaked, and tears sprung to her eyes as a new wave of pain hit her senses. If he went any increment higher he would snap the bone for sure. She had to calm herself and think fast.

"Please, just… I'll go nicely. Just don't break my arm," she pleaded, attempting to sound as helpless as possible. It came quite naturally, really, given the circumstances. She didn't expect him to comply – but he did.

The hybrid's grip eased, and a dull ache roared up her arm and into her brain. It was much better than the edge-of-the-knife feeling from moments before, but it still hurt.

Ignoring it, she did what she had briefly rehearsed in her head. It seemed like a good idea in theory, but it ended up being a very bad one in practice. With her left arm still smarting, Claire spun on her heel and used her right hand to sock him squarely in the midsection. His breath left him, just as she thought it would – if he was capable of respiration, that part of him had human lungs. The impact from her blow knocked him over, and he tottered with the force of it while coughing and holding his sides. Around that same instant, the squad car began to reformat itself into something else.

She was running, bolting from the spot. Her arm screamed at her, and she vaguely noticed the detached feeling emanating from it. Claire tailed it down the street while metric tons of metal bore down on her from behind. She could feel it rattling the asphalt, sending small fissures to race ahead of her. Shitshitshit.

Claire glanced over her shoulder to see her pursuer, and she suddenly wished she hadn't. It roared, and she threw everything she had into propelling herself forward.

It was a gargantuan entity with police logos emblazoned on its plating. She recognized it as a Decepticon, but dear lord – she wasn't one to call the Autobots approachable, but this thing made them look like fuzzy Easter chicks.

The world seemed to fade into slow motion, and Claire recognized the sensation as a response to panic and shock. She jerked her head side-to-side as she ran, attempting to keep herself aware. It was nearly upon her, and her small form could only run so far and so fast. It was much taller than she, and therefore had the advantage of catching up in a few more strides. Something slammed into the cement sidewalk just a foot or two away to her right, and she realized it was its fist.

The world exploded. She was suddenly airborne as the ground heaved upwards, sending her and a few parked cars rolling. The sound of crunching metal filled the air, and Claire dimly recognized that she was in dire danger of being crushed by a spinning vehicle. If there was by chance miraculous intervention, then she must have had it. Her body narrowly missed a van that collided with the ground topside down. A shower of sparks rained over her skin, and she felt their fiery pricks just as she too met with the pavement.

Hurdling towards black top at a rapid speed should have hurt a lot more than she expected it to. The wind was knocked from her body, much like she had done to Simon's killer. For the few first seconds, she skidded along like a crazy child on a slip-'n-slide made of gravel. She felt boneless, helpless to control her direction. The friction between her exposed skin and the ground burned with heat as it ripped away the first or second layer of epidermis. Darkness swirled just below her consciousness, and Claire struggled to stay awake.

She felt pain rip through her, and for a moment she thought she was dying. Then, strangely, the sensation subsided to a tolerable level. A new rush of adrenaline swept through her nervous system, and she mentally thanked her adrenal glands.

Slowly, Claire raised herself enough so that she could crawl. Every movement was pure, ripping agony. It was much better than the alternative, however. Pain was a nuisance, yes, but it let her know that she was still alive. Her head lolled around, and she blinked rapidly to focus on the danger behind her. Her vision was spotty, and her focus fluctuated in and out. The last, reaching rays of the sun were suddenly blocked as a mammoth form rose over her smaller one. Her personal reaper was dark and sleek, and it had come to deliver her to the next dimension.

Claire read, 'to punish and enslave…' on the Decepticon's shoulder, which had really been on the squad car along. It was ridiculous to read it now and wonder why she hadn't seen it before, but it was a fitting line for her end. Slowly, she rotated at the pelvis and swung herself around. Something wet ran down her lower lip, but she was too engrossed at the vision of the towering Decepticon to notice she was bleeding.

The former squad car leered closer, balling one of his fists together. He had long, pincher-like digits with a car tire just behind them on the back of each 'hand'. His face was distantly recognizable as somewhat human in form, with large plates that served as eyebrows dipping low over small eye sockets. Like the Autobots, his chest was composed of the grill of the squad car. He had blunt feet that did not match his metal talons, but it did not matter. Both were terrifying.

The Decepticon raised his clenched fist far over Claire's head, apparently readying himself to crush the human below like the insect she was sure she appeared to be.

With her heart thundering in her chest, the young woman scrunched her eyes together and waited for the crushing force that would turn her into quivering blob of flesh and organs. Her mind helpfully flashed back to the image of the flattened Trans-Organic, and she accepted that she would look the same minus the metal.

Claire waited.

Nothing.

Sirens wailed in the distance, meaning someone had either heard her screaming in the driveway or saw a giant metal robot storming down the street – either would do it. She didn't have long to question the source of the sirens, however. Something else blotted out the sun, leaping at her impending doom and taking him down with it. There was a dizzying snowball of metal that rolled sideways off the street and into a neighbor's house. It drove a wedge straight through the middle of the dwelling, and then the two burst apart and finished off the remainder of the structure. More cars were demolished in the ensuing chaos, and car alarms blared as if competing with the growing scream of sirens.

Claire could not tear her eyes away from the two robots. Her savior was none other than Smokescreen, and just in time. A second later would have been too late. Where were you?! her mind cried.

Wiping the back of her hand over her lower lip subconsciously, Claire did not even look down when she came away with a streak of red. It smeared her face like war paint, the consequence of razing herself against asphalt.

Meanwhile, the shit had hit the fan.

A helicopter buzzed low overhead, sweeping the mangled hair from her face. A small fear began to grow in her, and she found she was no longer taking automobiles or any machine at face value anymore. It nagged on her now, even. How did she know the helicopter or the police she heard were not more aliens coming to aide the Decepticon? Why was she not surprised that she was even questioning it?

Claire winced as the wind burned her face, but otherwise continued to watch the two giants engage in battle. I hope no one was in that house…

Frankly, there wasn't a house left. There was a pit filled with debris that had once been a basement, but that was all. The two mechanoids were circling one another, hunched over like wrestlers in a ring. Smokescreen's cannons were out and above his shoulder blades, rotating fractionally for every step the large Decepticon took sideways.

Warring emotions filled her – anguish at the knowledge that Simon was most likely dead, fear for Smokescreen (she didn't want to admit to this one), and fear for her own well being. Simon's clone was still around, and she would - no, could not let herself forget that.

They were going to fight, and Claire didn't want to be underfoot in the vicinity when that happened. She rolled back over and began to crawl away as fast as her protesting limbs would allow. While doing this, she glanced up. The wind generated by the helicopter came in waves like the surf on an ocean. It cleared the dust from the air, just enough for her to make out the local television station's logo on the helicopter's side.

Lights, camera, action! You're on, she thought grimly. If the world doubted the existence of giant robots before, they were in for a rude awakening.

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

A/N: Hey guys, thank you SO much for all the reviews for the last chapter. Actually, I think I got more reviews last chapter than I have for any chapter, so you guys are awesome! I love getting reviews, but eh… who doesn't? ; ) It's getting to the point where there are too many reviews to respond to everyone in this chapter without making the A/N needlessly long, so I'll just reply to you through if you review from now on.

Oh, and I know you guys will like this: I am making character profiles for as many of the characters as I can. Go to my Author profile page and click on the 'Homepage' link. So far I have Claire and Miguel's portrait up. Smokescreen's hologram form is next, followed by Simon. I'm doing cel-shading now for a hard anime look instead of the soft shading like that first picture had. ) Hope you like it!

I'll be out until the 14th or a little longer since I am moving to Nebraska (CRAZY) and it'll get busy for me. I should have Smoke out for you by this weekend.