Chapter 45 - Interlude
Disclaimer: I do not own Starbucks, nor am I affiliated with their company in any way, shape, or form. I just enjoy the sinfully delicious hot cocoa they make. : ) I also don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form.
Carrying belongs to Litahatchee from her story "Night Fire".
Jazz's sleek frame darted from tree to tree, as silent as an apparition. He paused and looked up. The sinister gleaming hull stretched up and outwards, an impassable mountain of metal. Jazz took a few more steps toward the hull, trying to figure out the best place to sneak into the ship. The main entrance was deactivated so it was obviously out of the question. He put his hands on the metal surface. It was slightly warm.
He shuttered his optics for a moment. No vibrations here, so no electrical current. He used a gentle magnetic pulse to twist the metal out of his way. There was a large metal strut in his way. Frag. He'd have to find another place to get in. The process repeated itself many times, until he found one clear area. Jazz deftly lifted himself into the gap, balancing precariously on the edge. Then he began cutting away.
It took him a few moments to cut the first layer of metal away. He tossed it over his shoulder before turning back to the ship. There was a second layer of metal, a support structure woven like honeycomb. Each pocket had a thick rubber line with regenerative material in it. Every time he made a cut, the sheets would seal themselves off. Jazz groaned quietly and leaned his forehead against the strangely warm material.
This was going to take a while.
"Mr. Witwicky," said the agent in the black suit. Sam only nodded up at the man, wondering what the heck was going on. Simmons sat in the seat across him, shuffling through a folder. The other agent merely leaned up against the wall behind Simmons. After a long moment, Sam spoke.
"So why am I here?" Simmons looked up and held Sam's gaze for a moment.
"You're here under direct Presidential order, Mr. Witwicky. I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you'd better answer them carefully," Simmons enunciated clearly, inclining his head ever so slightly downwards. His gaze informed him that every second of the conversation was being recorded. Sam nodded, suppressing the shiver that ran up his spine. Simmons motioned slightly and another person stepped into the room. The person, a woman, held a drink carrier in her hand. There were three steaming cups inside. Sam's mouth watered when he smelled the succulent chocolate wafting from the Starbucks cup.
"Mr. Witwicky, you are aware of the situation with the Autobots, are you not?" Simmons asked, flicking through a very thick stack of papers. Sam shook his head and accepted one of the drinks. Simmons picked up his own drink and drank deeply as he waited for Sam's response.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sam said. He truly didn't know. Bumblebee had mentioned something about a fight before hastily taking off, but nothing more. Sam suspected that he was under direct order not to say anything more.
"Take a look at these pictures. Do you see anything familiar?" Sam took the photograph he'd been offered. There, in the lower left corner of the photograph, was a group of Autobots. They were all armed. Prime was standing in the front of the group. A massive ship loomed in upper right hand corner.
"I see Optimus," Sam quipped, handing it back to Simmons. As soon as the smart ass response left Sam's mouth, the other agent against the wall slammed his hands on the table.
"Listen up, kid. We are under direct order to take any measures necessary to neutralize those things if they start fighting. If you really want your buddy 'Optimus' to live to see another day, you'll start answering our questions truthfully," he snapped, glaring at Sam. Sam held his gaze evenly.
"I told you. I don't know. Bumblebee may be my friend, but that doesn't mean that he shares everything with me. And don't call me kid. I'm twenty three, thank you very much," Sam groused, crossing his arms over his chest.
The agent that had been leaning against the wall turned to a box on the wall. He pushed a small red button and leaned close to the speaker.
"We're going to be here for a while."
Sam and Simmons's eyes met. This was not good.
Emirate turned off the monitor screen and reached over to another console. The lights slowly powered up, casting light about the room. Emirate stood and glanced down at the sparkling in his arms. The sparkling looked back up at him with watery optics before chirping softly, questioningly. Emirate shushed Streak before walking over to one of his couches. He set Streak down between two plush cushions and began to walk away.
A desperate squeaky cry made his footsteps falter. Emirate turned his gaze back to the sparkling. The tiny mech was shivering pitifully in the cold. Emirate walked back over to Streak. He paused again, staring down at the trembling bundle.
"I have nothing against you, I hope you know," Emirate said down to the sparkling. Streak only curled up, trying to hide from the strange mech who'd taken him from his femme creator. Going against everything he believed and thought about femmes and sparklings, Emirate found a thick blanket in one of the cabinets.
"If your femme creator is anything like Chromia, I suspect she'll be by to collect you soon enough. You have no reason to fret, little one," Emirate said, wrapping Streak in the warmer blanket. Streak trembled pitifully and Emirate felt the tiniest tendril of pity. When he realized this, he shook his cranial unit and squashed the pity. He had no current use for the sparkling, so why on Cybertron would he care if it was cold? Emirate turned away from the couch, disgusted with himself.
"Ratchet?"
"Yes, Nightshade?" He peered down at the femme wrapped in his arms. The weather outside was cold and snowy. Nightshade smiled shyly up at him and placed a gentle kiss across his lip components.
"I love you, Ratchet," she sighed, making herself comfortable across his chest. Ratchet smiled and draped one hand on her waist. The other hand settled protectively over her carrying tank. He could feel Nightshade smile against his chest plates. Her tiny hands drifted down to cover his.
"Do you want a mech or a femme?" she asked, craning her head to look up at him. Ratchet shrugged and returned his gaze to the snowy world outside. Nightshade hummed quietly before looking back up at him.
"I want a little mech," Nightshade stated. At Ratchet's questioning nudge, she continued.
"I don't want a femme because it might come out like me," Nightshade said. Ratchet chuckled quietly.
"Why would you say that?"
"Do you really want to deal with two whiny, weepy, irritating femmes, Ratchet?"
"I don't think any of those things about you, Nightshade! I love you and all of your quirks," Ratchet said, planting a kiss on her head. Nightshade hummed quietly and watched as the snowflakes piled on the windowsill.
"I still want a little mech, though," she grumbled quietly. Ratchet only laughed, his entire chest vibrating.
The memory faded as Nightshade's processor booted up.
Nightshade opened her optics. Dim light streamed from above. She slowly sat up, swaying dangerously. What was going on? When she got to her feet, she stumbled. Her center of gravity was off. Nightshade gently reached out to Streak but there was no response. Her spark froze in its casing. She reached for her son again. There wasn't even a flicker of his spark. He was gone. Someone had taken him from her.
Nightshade began running through her system logs frantically. Her spark sank even further when she reached a bright red message, warning her of an unauthorized access. Someone had opened her chest plates and taken Streak from her. Anger started to bubble up in her but was soon replaced by fear. Where was Streak? Who would take him from her? Nightshade reached for him anxiously but the end result was the same. She couldn't access his spark, much less feel his presence.
The door opened. Maia stepped into the room, carrying something in her arms. Nightshade was on her feet in less than a second. She was going to get answers from Maia, even if she had to kill the femme in the process. Maia brightened upon seeing Nightshade up and moving around. Maia didn't notice the dangerous glow of Nightshade's optics.
"Oh, you're awake. Good. How are you feeling?" Maia asked conversationally, setting the blankets down in a chair. Nightshade responded with violence. Nightshade wrapped one of her hands around Maia's thin neck and slammed her up against a nearby bookshelf. Holocubes went flying every which way at the impact.
"Where the frag is my son?" Nightshade snarled, her grip tightening. Maia let out a short scream but was cut off by the glowing blue dagger not an inch from the exposed wires and lines in her throat. Her optics widened and she clutched weakly at the hand wrapped around her neck.
"I'm going to ask you again: where is my son?"
"I-I don't know! You were brought in here by one of the d-drones," Maia stammered quietly, trembling slightly. Nightshade's optics were starting to gleam white. Fuel surged into her limbs. The dagger inched closer to Maia's main fuel line and melted the rubber slightly. Maia trembled pitifully.
"Please…I don't know…"
Nightshade let go of the femme. Her rage toward the femme was unjustifiable. It was Emirate she should be trying to kill. Maia slid to the floor, hugging her trembling arms around her knee joints. Nightshade sneered down at the femme.
"Get up. You are taking me to Emirate," Nightshade growled quietly, grabbing Maia's arm and heaving her to her feet.
"Please follow me," Maia whispered quietly. Nightshade returned her dagger to its rightful place and followed Maia silently. A few minutes later, Maia paused in front of a door, knocking quietly.
"Come in." Emirate's voice was muffled slightly. Nightshade could hear Streak's subdued chirping from where she stood. It became very difficult to control herself. Maia opened the door and made to speak, but Nightshade shoved her out of the way. She strode into the room, her optics seeking out the sparkless fragger that had taken Streak from her.
"Give me my son," Nightshade growled quietly, her white optics narrowed. Emirate nodded carelessly, motioning to one of the couches.
"Take him already. I'm sick of hearing him cry for you," Emirate snapped at Nightshade. Nightshade hesitated again. The moment Streak saw his mother, he began warbling pitifully and struggling in the cocoon of blankets. Nightshade tensed as Emirate started moving towards his desk. Nightshade hovered between the couch and door, watching his every move like a hawk. Emirate sat down at his desk and pointedly ignored her. Nightshade took the chance to hurry over to her son and pick him up.
Her femme processes were screaming for Streak to be put back into her carrying hold where he belonged. Her processor wanted Emirate's blood smeared across the floor, walls, and ceiling. Nightshade reached for Streak and quickly drew him close to her chest. A soft warning click from Nightshade's vocal processors and Streak immediately quieted. He curled up tightly against Nightshade's chest plates, trying to burrow into the warm, safe space he knew. Emirate chose that moment to stand back up. Nightshade's optics instantly went back to white at the sudden perceived threat.
Emirate gave her a calculating, unreadable glance as she backed away from the couch slowly, not once taking her optics from his face. He gave her a sharp nod before turning to Maia.
"Maia, take her back to Chromia," Emirate said carelessly, waving his hand at the ivory femme. Emirate crossed in front of his desk and began rifling through a box of sweets. Nightshade growled quietly at the sound of his voice, the tension in the room growing tenfold.
"Why did you take him?" she asked, her voice shaking as she tried to reign in her anger. Emirate let out a long, self-suffering sigh as he turned his optics upward.
"I don't need to explain anything to you, but I will this time only. Optimus Prime needs to understand just how serious the situation is. Prime has two days to meet my demands or else little Streak will die," Emirate said flatly, turning back to Nightshade, "Now get out of here. You are not allowed back in here for any reason unless I call you. Understand? Good. Now go."
Maia recognized the anger seething behind Emirate's neutral face plates and she hurried forward, placing one gentle hand on Nightshade's shoulder.
"Please, let's go," Maia said quietly. Nightshade may have attacked her, but Maia honestly did not want to see Emirate strike her for her insubordination. The blue femme didn't know how Emirate ran his ship just yet. Maia began pulling back gently, trying to shield Nightshade from the blow that was sure to come.
"Touch my son again, Emirate, and I will take pleasure from slitting your throat and watching you die," Nightshade snarled, her optics glowing brightly. Emirate crossed the room in three quick strides. He raised his hand to hit her, but seemingly decided against it. He gently ran one finger down her cheek plate before grabbing her chin and forcing her to look up at him.
"Threaten my life again, femme, and you will regret ever having spoken," he said softly before pushing her away. Emirate turned his sharp gaze over at Maia.
"Maia, take her back to Chromia now. You know how I hate repeating myself."
"Yes, sir," Maia said softly, grabbing Nightshade's arm and almost hauling her out of the room. Once outside of the room, Nightshade wrenched her arm from Maia's death grip and pushed the femme away.
"Touch me again," Nightshade warned quietly. Maia nodded and glanced back at Emirate's door, wringing her hands worriedly.
"Please follow me," Maia begged. Nightshade gave her a curt nod.
"Lead the way."
Maia nodded, relieved that Nightshade was cooperating. She hurried down the hallway. After a few minutes of silence, Maia stopped in front of a door and pressed her hand against a button. It hissed open and Nightshade went in.
"I will see you in the morning," Maia said softly, "If you need anything, a drone can retrieve it for you."
At Nightshade's questioning glance, Maia elaborated.
"Emirate wants to see me tonight," Maia said, ducking her optics down respectfully before speaking once more, "Have a pleasant evening, Nightshade."
With that, Maia turned and disappeared down one of the long, twisting hallways. Nightshade only stared after her, horror filling her spark. How long had poor Maia been dealing with the physical and mental abuse? Nightshade felt her fuel tanks heave but she managed to repress the sensation. Streak chirped quietly, glancing up at his femme creator, not understanding the negative emotion. He nuzzled her chest plates softly, reminding her that he had needs, too.
Nightshade responded with a soft coo of her own, unwrapping the blankets and opening her chest plates. She was surprised when Streak all but launched himself back into the warmth and safety of her carrying chamber. He wasted no time in uploading into her systems and raiding her energon store. Nightshade chuckled quietly, patting her chest plates gently. Streak had inherited his father's voracious appetite.
It was a little over five minutes later before Streak had finished taking what he needed. The little mech then proceeded to curl up tightly and start his recharge sequence. Once she'd made sure that Streak was asleep, Nightshade peered into the room she and Chromia had been sharing. Chromia was sprawled out over the berth, recharging heavily. Nightshade smiled as she sat on the edge of the berth, scanning over Chromia. She and her sparkling were in perfect condition, though they would need energon in a few hours.
Sudden exhaustion consumed her. Nightshade stifled a sleepy yawn and curled up beside Chromia. A few moments of recharge wouldn't hurt.
And that's it for now. :)