Mikaela awoke from recharge late the next day, ducking her head as she stepped out of the garage ( her new, private room that Bumblebee had given up to her out of sheer sympathy) and was immediately hit with a blast of warm air, the sun beating down on her. Hot, but not as hot as that wretched desert she had trekked through for days.
Ratchet was already awake and nowhere to be seen. Optimus was gone – out for a drive, probably, alone.
Only Bumblebee remained, sitting with his back to Mikaela, refusing to make eye contact.
"It's not your fault," Mikaela whispered sadly, staring at him from afar. She shook her head and walked around the back, towards the back porch, where she could hear Sam and Trina's yells filtering out the open back door and they engaged in a video game.
"Get some!"
"You get some," Sam swung the Wii remote in a wide arc. "Ow! Hey! Watch the face!"
"Oh, was that your face? Your face, your ass, I can't tell the difference!"
The game of fencing ended with Trina throwing up her arms and whooping happily, winking at Sam and cocking one hip to the side. She said, "haha, looks like I win again."
"Only because the game is rigged."
"Oh, stop complaining," Trina reached up and whacked Sam upside the head. She threw the remote down, noticed Mikaela observing, and seemed to reel back.
"Hey," Mikaela said mildly.
"Hey."
"Nice job," Mikaela shot Sam, a look, then her gaze softened and she crouched down on one knee so she could see the television better.
"You want to play?" Trina asked, hesitantly holding out the remote, as if Mikaela would be able to reach in and grab it with her huge metal fingers. Mikaela shook her head, not in the mood for play yet.
She had more important questions to ask.
"Have you guys heard of the Brotherhood of Man?"
Trina stiffened and Sam reached for the TV remote, going and turning the Wii off before flicking through the channels, muttering to himself.
"Yeah," Trina scratched the back of her head, coming to stand out on the porch, staring up at Mikaela with tired eyes. "They're, like, a Cybertronian hate group or something. I've heard of them, that there trying to negotiate with the government and get you guys exiled."
"Exiled to where?"
"Somewhere off this planet, I guess," Trina shrugged. "I don't even understand it."
"Hate group," Sam echoed from the living room. Mikaela bent down again and poked her massive head through the door. Sam was standing in front of the television, remote in hand, mouth turned down in a nasty frown. He said, "look at this."
On the screen, hundreds of thousands of people stood in front of a center stage. It looked like a rally, almost, somewhere in D.C. People held signs, signs spray painted with red or blue or black.
Alien, go home!
Earth is for humans!
Breath, not batteries!
Cybertronians didn't even have batteries. But it still got the point across.
Each protester seemed fixated on the stage, signs still bobbing up and down. And on the stage stood the man himself, the leader of the Brotherhood of Man.
Caine E. Fisher.
Mikaela felt her body stiffen at the sight of the man, his usual smirk, and, as he began to speak, the way his voice was like honey, rolling off his tongue. So familiar.
He was the man who had shocked her.
Mikaela listened to him speak, trying to decide if this was some kind of hoax. He was demanding that the government abide by the aspirations of the citizens and have the Autobots permanently kicked off the planet. Exiled. Voted off.
"Damn Brotherhood," Sam murmured, shaking his head. "Pisses me off, the ignorance of some people."
Mikaela cycled her vents and stared at Trina, who was toying with the hemline of her shirt.
"Has Optimus seen this yet?" Mikaela asked.
"Duh," Trina answered. "Most of the rage is directed at him. You know he's getting death threats, right?"
"Like they could do anything to him," Mikaela said, rolling her bright blue optics. "Whatever. It'll blow over soon."
From the living room, Sam gave a small shake of his head and stared at Mikaela, changing the channel yet again. "Doubt it. You know how people are."
As soon as Sam said it, Mikaela cursed her flaccid attitude and glanced at Sam.
"What do you mean?"
"I just mean that we – you – have to be more careful."
"Does this have to do with me running off the other day?" Mikaela's eyes narrowed, and for a moment she thought she saw a small flicker of fear flash across Sam's eyes. But Sam straightened up and took a breath.
"Yeah. I guess," Sam walked outside, leaving Trina to pick up the remote and flick through the channels. He stared up at Mikaela worriedly. "I mean, I know that you're a Decepticon and all…"
Sam's mouth clamped shut, and his hand came up to cover it.
"You think that I'm-"
"N-no, that's not what I…that's not what I meant."
Mikaela's gaze hardened and her fist clenched. "I'm not a Decepticon, Sam, no matter what you think."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I'm such an idiot," Sam stepped back. "I'm so sorry."
"Yeah. You are."
"Has your holoform been functioning the way you intended?" Ratchet asked, poking his head inside the shed and rummaging through various tools.
"Yeah."
"Have you and Sam…never mind. I don't want to know," Ratchet's lip plates turned down in a grimace, and he shook his head, watching as Mikaela sighed and sat in front of him, crossing her legs.
"He's adjusted quicker than I had expected," Mikaela said. "The awkward silence isn't as bad as it used to be."
Ratchet stared for a moment, and Mikaela could almost see the gears whirling in his processors as he contemplated over something.
"What?"
"Trina told me…Sam called you a Decepticon, did he not?"
Mikaela responded quickly. "A slip of the tongue," she picked up a limb and stared at it, trying to look preoccupied. Maybe Ratchet wouldn't ask anymore questions if she pretended not to care. It worked on everyone else.
Ratchet as too smart for that.
The medic reached over and plucked the limb from her fingers, flinging it over his shoulder, wincing at it crashed into the trees.
"Did you believe him?"
"It seemed like he believed it."
"Quit trying to deviate away from my original question," Ratchet leaned closer, the dim porch lights making his yellow armor twinkle.
"Look…it's not something I want to make a big deal," Mikaela began to trace circles in the dirt with one long, dainty metal finger. "I've been having flashbacks recently."
"Flashbacks?"
"Yeah. Except for they aren't my flashbacks. Not my memories, at least. Roadrunners memories."
"And you can see them with far more clarity than desired," Ratchet looked at the ground and cycled his vents, optics meeting Mikaela's for a second. "It's my fault."
"I…no."
"What we did, Mikaela, was replace Roadrunners processors with your. A simple switch."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. You didn't get all her memories out," Mikaela shifted uncomfortably. "I can sometimes feel her conscience in there. Trying to talk to me or whatever," she snorted. "It's not a very congenial feeling."
"Have you talked to Optimus?"
He was the last person she wanted to go to on this matter. He was busy, for one thing. Plus, her theory was still growing strong. No matter how much she wanted to deny, the facts just kept popping up all over the place. The idea was like a fungus, growing and growing inside her head, nothing to stop it except the truth.
"Ratchet…" Mikaela began, closing her optics and cycling her vents. She opened them and saw Ratchet sitting there in front of her, twirling a wrench in one hand, optics curious.
"What is it?"
"I….never mind," Mikaela, joints creaking, began to stand up. "It's not important."
"Ah, well then. Get some recharge and I'll see you in the morning," Ratchet stood and headed towards the shed. "If you…need to talk about anything, I'm here. It has to be medical related, off course."
"Yeah," Mikaela murmured, "thanks for the offer."
Then she turned and walked away.