Sorry about the wait again, as always, hehe...I have to confess I like the ending of this chapter, not so much the beginning though...this will be the last installment of The Faces of Tomorrow chapters, next chapter is onto better things (such as setting up more plot! Yay!) while still taking place immediately after this one. (I still never managed to put in the scene I originally planned to, oh well.) Please enjoy!
Oh! WAIT! Important! I slightly altered the previous chapter (nothing too major, just clarifying who`s saying what and stuff) but I did change the dates that Miko and Raf mentioned; present day: October 26th. Photo date-stamp: November 1st. And Titania`s birthday: November 13th.
And, ugh, can you BELIEVE that Beast Hunters is the last season? They better make it good...
Chapter Six: The Faces of Tomorrow—Part Three
"…welcome to K.O. drive thru, where every patty's a knock out; may I take your order?"
Jack tried to put some semblance of cheerfulness into his voice; he tried to make sure the faceless customer on the other side of the microphone would think that serving them was one of the greatest honours he'd ever had, and that, no, it wasn't at all tiring, emotionally draining, or frustrating to stand there for hour after hour, asking the same things again and again for only minimum wage.
Somehow, though, Jack was fairly certain he failed, and he barely kept back an audible groan as the customer himself spoke.
"Yeah, I'll get the double K.O. burger special with an extra large fry and a coke, and a Spicy K.O. chicken strips combo with a diet coke. Oh, and, hey, Darby? Could I get your autograph? They put you in the Guinness world records for biggest loser ever."
Jack bit back several clever comebacks that came to mind, even as Vince's laughter at the unamusing insult rebounded in his skull—he remembered full well what happened the last time he actually bothered with Vince's non-existent sense of humour, and, no, he was not willing to pay for the jerk's meal again. So, ignoring his screaming pride—this aft couldn't survive even HALF the things you have!—Jack simply muttered the price into the microphone and watched with resignation as Vince's over-priced car—which often had him thinking that surely the jerk must be compensating for something—pulled up to the window, revealing the ginger's smirking, freckled face.
He was, however, not expecting to see Sierra—the girl he'd been crushing on since the fifth grade—sitting in the passenger seat, biting at her bottom lip. The other redhead was obviously dressed for some kind of special occasion, as Jack had never seen her wear quite so much make-up; her shoulder-length hair was also uncharacteristically let down, and she was sporting a green tank-top and a black mini-skirt he'd never seen her wear before.
"Vince, when you said dinner and a movie," she was saying, her hands held in her lap as she eyed the driver with a mildly upset frown, "I was kind of, well, expecting dinner. Not this. Y'know?"
"Chill, Sierra. Food is food," Vince replied patronizingly without even turning to look at her, so he—unlike Jack—didn't see the attractive redhead deflate slightly. Even if it had been any other girl instead of her, Jack was certain he still would've frowned disapprovingly at the way Vince was treating her. Unfortunately, he happened to do so while the high-school jerk had a perfect view of his face.
"What the hell are you looking at Darby?" Vince snapped, going from cocky-asshole to pissed-off-asshole-looking-for-a-fight in record time. Behind him, Sierra let out an exasperated sigh, and, saying nothing, turned to look out the opposite window.
"You really shouldn't talk to her like that," Jack replied without thinking, and Sierra's head snapped back around to stare at him with slightly wider eyes. "Now; that'll be twelve-sixty-seven."
At that moment, Jack was very glad he had thought to leave Vince's order out of arm-reach by the till, because, surely, the other boy would've snatched it and drove off just because the ever-lowly Darby had dared to call him out on his behaviour in a way that prevented him from making a retort without inadvertently insulting, or presenting himself as sexist to, the girl in the car. As it was, Jack could tell that, by the way Vince was eyeing the brown bags, the redhead was seriously trying to determine whether or not he'd be fast enough to actually lean through the window and grab them without being stopped.
Simply to emphasize the fact that, no, he wouldn't be fast enough—running for his life on a weekly basis had made Jack's reaction-time too quick for that—Jack reached behind him and pushed Vince's order even further out of reach, repeating himself in a carefully neutral voice that revealed none of the smugness he currently felt at having one-upped the boy at long last; "Twelve-sixty-seven please."
Scowling, Vince tossed a twenty at him, snapping; "Make sure you get the change right, Darby."
When said change was given to him alongside the greasy food and carbonated drinks, Jack barely had time to register the small smile and wave Sierra sent in his direction before Vince peeled out of the drive-thru with a violent squeal of his tires.
Jack felt a smile appear on his own face as he watched the car disappear; Me; One. Vince—the smile disappeared as he let out a sigh and leaned against the window sill, chin in his hands as he ruminated on past conflicts between them—still at least a hundred ahead.
"Girl troubles again?"
Jack started slightly, turning to find Arcee parked directly across from the drive-thru window; he wasn't sure when she had arrived, but it must've been only a moment ago considering her hologram was only just flickering out of sight. Shortly after she spoke, a blue and white race car, with the number thirty-eight plastered on its doors, and a screaming red spoiler on its back, pulled in to park beside her. It seemed it was Arcee's turn to patrol with the rookie today.
"Girl troubles?" Smokescreen repeated questioningly, and Jack could hear the cocky smirk creep into his voice; "I've got tips for that! You see, back on Cybertron, whenever I was interested in a femme I would…" the younger Autobot trailed off, and Jack saw his mirrors adjust at an angle that suggested he had sent a glance at the motorcycle beside him, the front of which had turned towards the race car as though to stare.
"You would what, Smokescreen?"
"On second thought; forget I said anything…nice weather out today, huh?"
Jack shook his head and chuckled lightly, glancing at the clock moutned above the drive-thru window as he did so, before leaning slightly out the window; "You guys are a little early; my shift's not over for another ten minutes."
"Yeah, well, Ratchet called us back to base," Arcee explained, "I told him we'd stop by and get you first."
"He did? Why? Did something happen?" Jack felt anxiety constrict his chest ever-so-slightly, and forcefully stopped himself from imagining some of the more terrible possibilities; there was no point in worrying himself prematurely.
"Don't know," Arcee replied, "He didn't say anything about it; but he did sound impatient."
"Impatient?" Smokescreen echoed incredulously; "If that's what you consider 'impatient,' I really don't wanna know what you consider 'cranky.'"
The blue bike let out a sigh, as though explaining something to a four year-old for the umpteenth time; "Ratchet's been through a lot. I know sometimes he can be—"
"Forceful? Overbearing? Snappish?" the sports car rattled off.
"—Difficult," Arcee finished, and Jack was sure that, if she'd been in her bipedal form, she'd be shooting her current patrol partner a glare as she bit out; "But so can certain other members of this team."
"Ouch. You're one harsh femme, you know that?"
"I try. Now mute it; car's coming."
It turned out the car was only Bumblebee though, and the yellow Urbana 500 pulled in on Arcee's other side, whistling a greeting as he opened his door and Rafael climbed out.
"Hey guys," the twelve year-old greeted as he adjusted his glasses, and Jack found himself frowning at the distracted tone, as well as the younger boy's thoughtful expression.
"Hey Raf, what's up? I thought you and Bee were gonna have a racing tournament at base today," Jack wondered aloud.
Bumblebee let out several beeps, and Jack dared to think he sounded almost confused for a moment, before suddenly letting out a whining buzz and beeping rapidly.
"Ah, don't worry Bee, I forgot too," Raf replied.
"Racing?" Smokescreen repeated excitedly, "I love racing! The roar of energon in your engine, the feel of your wheels on the road, the rapid pulse of your Spar—"
"Not that kind of racing," Arcee interrupted, and, for a moment, Smokescreen was silent.
"But…" he began after that moment passed, somehow managing to look stumped even without a face, "what other kind of racing is there?"
"The virtual kind," Raf replied with a small shrug.
"Oh."
"Anyways," Raf went on, "you guys won't believe what happened today!"
A high-pitched whirr accompanied his statement, followed by more beeps and buzzes than Jack could keep track of.
"Wait, what? Are you serious?" Arcee demanded of the yellow scout, appearing somewhat incensed, "Bulkhead…" she growled.
"Uh…" Smokescreen began hesitantly, "is this new one gonna be mine?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa—hey!" Jack interrupted hastily before anyone could answer, feeling slightly annoyed at being left out; even though they didn't have faces, he could practically feel the Autobots turn to look at him, "Can't speak robot over here, remember?"
Raf looked slightly sheepish, blushing, "Oh, sorry, Jack. There's a new—"
"Darby!" the voice of Jack's boss interrupted, "Your shift's over! Get your butt out of here before I have to pay you over-time!"
Jack turned around to look at his overweight boss where he stood on the other side of the restaurant, fumbling with his words as he called back, "Oh—uh…yes sir!"
When the thick man waddled back out of sight, he muttered under his breath; "Aft."
However, he was glad to be taking off the stupid hat he was wearing, and, as he began to leave his station—sweet freedom!—he called over his shoulder, "I'll be out in a second, guys."
Titania glared at the door knob of the only human-sized door—and therefore the only one she was capable of opening—in the room. She stood before it, wrapped in a soft, fluffy housecoat (she had spent several moments simply marvelling at the feel of it against her skin) which she had found draped thoughfully across a chair. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she found herself wishing she had her lock-picking equipment with her, because apparently the damn thing was locked. It was either that, or someone had made a painstakingly elaborate impersonation of a door simply to throw her off and waste her time with trying to intimidate it into submission. Considering the cold draft that was wafting over her bare feet from the small crack under the door, however, she highly doubted it.
She wasn't too surprised to find the door was locked, honestly, and a small part of her was glad it was. She suspected it was Agent Fowler who would most likely have demanded it be so, in order to keep a potential threat from getting into any classified material on base, and the realization of that being the most likely case actually eased her troubled mind; it was something her Uncle Bill would've done too, so maybe they weren't as different as she'd begun to fear.
Nonetheless, the time traveller was frustrated by the impediment of her movements, and let out an aggravated sigh as she rocked back slightly on her heels, only to stop as the motion shot stabs of pain up her legs; she winced, and briefly wondered if she should simply go back to the bed and lie down again, resting like she was supposed to.
The sixteen year-old growled in frustration as soon as the thought crossed her mind, and it was ripped apart and eradicated with extreme prejudice; this was hardly a time to be lying around, trying to sleep, only to be made prey to garbled, regurgitated memories. There was work to be done; plans to be made and set in motion, weapons and armour that needed maintenance checks, new surroundings to be made familiar with, new allies with relatively unknown abilities to be catalogued in the appropriate brain-space where such things were catalogued…
Titania hadn't realized she had started pacing until the jiggle of keys and the turn of the doorknob attracted her attention, and she was forced to look over her shoulder to stare at the door that was now somehow several feet behind her. The door swung open, and Nurse Darby stepped into the room, staring at the empty bed on the other side for only a moment before turning to give the girl a pointed look.
The stern-faced nurse folded her arms across her chest, "And just what do you think you're doing, young lady? You shouldn't even be on your feet right now! Do you have any idea how serious a condition you were in?"
"Yes," Titania replied without thinking; she knew her body well enough to tell when she'd been playing Nicky Nicky Nine Doors with Death. The fact that the Energon radiation, which had undoubtedly been the biggest contributing factor to her near-death experience—it usually was eighty-percent of the time—had blinded her unique sixth sense, told her how narrowly she had escaped it. Every time she'd ever woken up without being able to sense anything beyond the radiation in her own body, she was treated to a tirade from Ratchet about how close they had come to losing her. The last time had been when she was fifteen, when she'd been caught on the edges of the blast radius of an energon grenade; the bloodloss from the shrapnel, combined with the irradiation, had kept her unconscious for six days, and under Ratchet's care for nearly a month.
As she recalled the memory of it, she frowned thoughtfully and considered her most recent escapade involving energon radiation—a much larger quantity of it at that—and found herself wondering, once more, how long she'd been out this time. The thought immediately made her gut sink with horror; please don't let it have been more than six days; please.
"Nurse Darby," she began, not even realizing the woman had opened her mouth to speak, most likely to order her back to bed; "How long was I out?"
June didn't seem too surprised by the question, though Titania's anxious tone certainly made her pause for a moment and stare at her worriedly; "Only about five hours."
"That…" Titania trailed off for a moment as she whispered quietly to herself; completely stupefied by the answer, "That can't be right." The shortest time she'd ever spent unconscious because of energon had been seven hours, and that had been because she was zapped once by a prod on its lowest setting; the same setting of which her Uncle Bill had apparently once been tortured by Starscream with, and he had been zapped repeatedly, but was still only unconscious for three hours.
Seeing the bewildered look on the teenager's face, the ER nurse let out a sigh—mistakenly assuming the days events were finally beginning to catch up to her—and walked over to place a hand on the girl's shoulder and guide her back to the bed she had so foolishly vacated; "Look, I understand this has probably been a very long, confusing day for you, but that's all the more reason you should try to get as much rest as you can."
"Right, yeah, sure…" the girl replied distractedly as she sat—with visible relief, which she momentarily failed to hide—on the edge of the bed.
"I never did catch your name," June commented, and the girl immediately snapped out of her contemplative stupor.
"Titania Dar—" Titania cut herself off suddenly, and her inner voices began shrieking at her, viciously whacking her over her metaphorical head with sticks formed from single-word insults. Moronic—Stupid—Idiot—Amateur!
Seeing that June was still waiting for her to finish with a curious, almost half-startled look, she swallowed thickly and tried to smile, hoping that it didn't come out as a grimace, "Titania; it's just Titania."
Nurse Darby didn't seem to believe her, but she nonetheless offered a soft smile, and deigned not to ask; "Well, Titania, it's nice to meet you. Is there anything I can get for you? Water? Food? A magazine? I imagine you must be hungry at least."
Titania certainly didn't feel hungry—all of her misgivings were taking up too much stomach space for that, she supposed—but she knew that, logically, she needed to eat. So she told June that a meal would be appreciated and then asked for nothing more.
"Are you sure you don't want anything else; like a book or some cards?" The Nurse pushed, frowning slightly.
Titania merely shook her head, "No, but thank you."
June sighed, "Well, all right then; I have to go to work soon, so I'll call my son and tell him to pick something up for you. I won't be back until tomorrow, and I expect you to stay in that bed the entire time I'm gone, are we clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," Titania replied, though she had no actual intention of doing so.
As though sensing such, June folded her arms and gave her a severe look; "I mean it, young lady."
Titania merely nodded in a deliberate manner that somehow seemed to say; "I know, but I'm doing it anyway."
With a sigh of defeat, June turned and began to leave, only to pause in the doorway, looking back at her with a soft, but nonetheless scrutinizing, look. She seemed to reach some sort of conclusion as she took a single step back into the room, arms tightly wrapped around her chest as though she were the one who suddenly needed to be held together.
When she spoke, her voice was so quiet that, for the briefest of moments, Titania thought it was one of the voices in her head.
"Who did you lose?"
Silence stretched between them as Titania stared back into those knowing eyes, and she felt her heart trying to press against her spine in an attempt to retreat as far from that knowledge as possible.
The sixteen year-old bowed her head, staring at the floor, and bit out with more venom than she meant to: "It doesn't matter anymore."
The words felt like someone had dumped a bucket of glass shards directly into the chambers of her heart, and each beat dug them deeper into its flimsy walls. The voices in her head had been stunned into silence, until one tentatively whispered; "How can you say that?"
"Titania…" June began, "It's okay to grieve."
"I did," she replied, her tone clipped, and a part of her wondered if that was actually true; did screaming at the sky count as grieving? "It didn't bring them back."
And it won't help me save them now, she added silently, her lips pursing.
"If you ever need anyone to talk to, just know that I'm willing to listen," June told her, every word carefully dipped in a mixture of sincerity and concern. She left without another word once it became clear that no such discussion would be taking place any time soon, and she closed the door gently behind her.
And so Titania sat alone in the silence once more, and stared at her hands as though the path to the coming future could be traced in their scars.
For a long moment, June simply stood outside Titania's room with her hand on the doorknob, the key in the lock, and questions poking sharply at her mind.
There was something about the girl that troubled her deeply; in fact, there were a great many somethings that troubled her. However, there was one thing that stood out from the others, and made her heart ache painfully, always giving her the urge to pull the sixteen year-old into a tight embrace and tell her everything would be okay.
It was her eyes. Eyes that were the exact same stormy, grey-blue shade as her son's; eyes that would harden with determination the same way his did when he knew that being strong was the only choice, eyes that became two small anchors to those who had none.
But unlike Jack, the fire in Titania's eyes sometimes sputtered with a soul-reaching agony, as though some other-worldly creature had reached into the very essence of her existence with nothing but malicious intent, and had brutally ripped out the most vital piece of her, smiling all the while.
June didn't know what—or who—that piece might have been, she only knew that, from the bitter snap of Titania's voice, something had been left to fester in its place.
She dreaded what it might be.
The Nurse sighed as she finished locking the door and pulled out the keys, taking a moment to feel awful about treating her patient as a prisoner; she could understand Bill's reasoning for it, but that didn't mean she liked it.
She began walking down the hallway as soon as she tucked the keys into her purse, mind still filled with depressing thoughts she couldn't seem to shake off as she took out her phone and speed-dialled Jack's number.
"Hey Mom, what's up?" he answered after the first ring.
"Hi Jack, I need you to pick up some things for me and bring them to base. You're still in town, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I just got off work; is it true there's a new girl at base?"
June sighed; "That's why I'm calling; I need you to pick up something for her to eat. Oh, and can you pick up a bouquet of flowers too? I think she might enjoy having something to brighten up the room."
"Um, okay; any kind in particular?"
"Whatever looks nice, Jack, you choose. I'll see you when you get here."
"Ok, love ya."
"Love you too, Jack."
June hung up with a click as her phone snapped shut, just as the base's resident, jolly green giant walked around the corner in front of her, Miko perched in his hands.
"Oh, hi Nurse Darby!" Miko greeted loudly, leaning dangerously far over the edge of Bulkhead's hand, much to her guardian's obvious worry; he carefully set her down, and the girl ran from his grasp up to the Nurse.
"So! How's mystery chick? Can I see her? Just for a minute?"
June sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose; she'd been wondering when she would have to deal with this. "No, Miko."
Miko put her hands together in imitation of a prayer, her eyes wide and pleading; "I just wanna ask one question, really quick! Please?"
The Nurse gave her a stern frown; "No."
"Agh! Fine!" Miko exclaimed as she threw her hands up in frustration, and then folded her arms across her chest with a huff, turning her back towards June.
With a sigh at the exchange student's antics, June resumed walking down the hall, waving to Bulkhead as he stepped aside to let her pass. She paused just as she was about to turn the corner, turning to throw the young Asian—whom was now slowly tip-toeing down the hall—a knowing smirk.
"Her door's locked by the way."
The girl paused, one foot still above the ground, and then stomped said foot viciously; "Ugh!" She then promptly pivoted on her heels and marched in June's direction, back toward the Silo's command centre.
"Between you and Ratchet, fun is an endangered species!" The girl pronounced as she bypassed the ER Nurse, grumbling discontentedly as she went—don't touch this, Miko, don't touch that—not allowed to see the Zombiecons, not allowed to storm the spacebridge—oh, you killed Hardshell? Well, too bad!—and, with a sigh, June raised an eyebrow at Bulkhead, whom was now trailing behind them as they walked.
He merely shrugged, as though to ask what he was supposed to do about her; it wasn't like he hadn't tried to be a good influence.
As June thought of all the incidences with the fifteen-year-old that no amount of said good influence had managed to prevent—at least the ones the Nurse knew of, anyway—she found herself realizing she was mildly relieved that Miko wasn't the type of girl Jack was interested in.
Ratchet was pacing restlessly back and forth in front of the main console when June, Miko, and Bulkhead re-entered the command-centre. He paused long enough to send both Miko and Bulkhead a warning glare that clearly said he would reformat the green Wrecker into a toaster, and Miko would be the toast, if either of them so much as made another peep in his presence.
The Wrecker mimed zipping his lips, chuckling nervously as he held up his servos in a placating gesture; Miko, however, glared, huffed, and looked away defiantly, nose slightly raised into the air. He scowled at the fiteen year-old a little while longer before he resumed his pacing, not noticing as she childishly stuck her tongue out at his back.
Nurse Darby shook her head slightly before checking her watch, sighing at the time; she'd been hoping to see Jack before she had to go to work, but it seemed that was not to be the case.
"I have to go," she informed the room at large as she began making her way to her car, "Jack's bringing food for Titania, make sure she eats it. I'll be back tomorrow. Call me if there're any problems."
Ratchet gave a noncommittal grunt and didn't even look in the Nurse's direction.
"Uh, bye Nurse Darby," Bulkhead waved, and June smiled at him slightly before climbing into the driver's seat and driving out of the base, brake-lights disappearing around the bend in the tunnel.
Miko proceeded to stomp moodily up the stairs towards the couch and tv, earning a glare from Ratchet due to the clanging of her shoes, and then plopped herself onto the sofa, turning on the TV and picking up a controller.
The medic seemed willing to ignore the quiet zchoom-zchoom noises emanating from the TV in favour of simply enjoying the fact that Miko was not causing as much noise as she usually did.
Having nothing better to do, Bulkhead stomped over—earning his own silent reprimand in the form of angry optics (though, really, he couldn't help that he had to stomp everywhere)—and settled down to watch Miko try to beat Jack's high score, resigning himself to a tense and awkard silence at least until one of the others returned.
Fortunately, he did not have to wait long as the roar of a sports engine echoed towards them through the tunnel, headlights bouncing off the grey walls as Smokescreen barrelled into base, transforming with a fancy, acrobatic manoeuvre he most likely learned in boot camp, and skidding to a stop right on top of the large Autobot insignia embossed on the floor. Arcee and Bumblebee followed a few moments later, though at a much slower pace, and allowed their passengers to disembark—Jack with a brown paper bag and Raf with a vase of assorted flowers—before transforming.
"Whoo-hoo! I win! Oh yeah! Beat that!" Smokescreen whooped, and Arcee put a hand on her hip, staring at him with thinly concealed annoyance.
"We weren't racing," she stated. Bumblebee beeped his agreement with the motorcycle before proceeding to buzz about speed limits and stop signs, but the rookie wasn't listening anymore.
"Ah, you guys are just—OW! Ratchet! What are you DOING?"
Autobot and human alike could only stare in shock as they watched the grumpy old medic take hold of Smokescreen's red chevron and bodily drag the whining recruit—Owowowowowow—over to the medical berth.
"Lie down," Ratchet barked, releasing his tight grip on the sensitive protrusions of the younger mech's helm. As he turned around to power up some equipment, Smokescreen rubbed gingerly at his chevron, giving Arcee a dirty look that said; "I told you."
Arcee merely rolled her optics before asking; "Ratchet, what's going on, does this have anything to do with the girl? Raf told us she said she's from the future."
"Yeah, what's up with that?" Smokescreen piped up eagerly, only to receive a harsh smack to the back of his helm, "Ow! What was that for?"
"Lie down and stay still," Ratchet growled, and, once Smokescreen had done so, though not without eyeing the medic quite warily, he began running a deep chassis scan, "And, yes, Arcee, she did make such a claim. However, this scan will prove, beyond all doubt that she is ly—dear Primus…" the medic trailed off, staring, gobsmacked, at the image displayed on the screen before him; one single, relatively large object displayed in red, listed as an unknown obstruction.
"Uh, what is that?" Smokescreen asked hesitantly, staring at the display. The others, all six of them, were staring as well, waiting for an answer Ratchet was not inclined to give as he slowly raised a servo to his comlink and hailed Optimus.
"Here, Ratchet," the Prime's voice responded, and the medic couldn't help but notice that he sounded so, so tired.
"Optimus, it's about Smokescreen's scan…what she said…the relic…it…" Ratchet trailed off, at a complete loss of words, as he tried to wrap his processor around what it could all possibly mean.
Meanwhile, deeper in the base, tucked away in his small office, Optimus stared down at a cracked, slightly flickering screen with old, weary optics. In turn, Agent Fowler, unable to look at the picture any longer, stared up into his sober face—it dawned upon the man then how old this being really was—with a horrible realization.
It was an understanding that their war had already taken so much from so many, and, it seemed, had decided it still had not taken enough.
"I know Ratchet," the Prime replied after several moments of silence, "I know."
Even when Agent Fowler clicked the old phone shut, the image of Jack, Miko, and a newborn Titania—dated November 13th 2018—still seemed to bore into his processor, and, for the several days that would follow, all he would seem to see when he looked upon the sixteen year-old Titania would be the face of her mother, filled with exhaustion, deep-burrowed grief, and yet still managing to be in awe of the life she had brought into the world. He would see her father, smiling that loving smile as he held her, the tears streaming down his face as anguished eyes looked upon her and simply knew.
He had given life to her…
He had damned her.
And, voila! Dramatic, I know, eh? ;) I must confess this is probably one of my not-so-good chapters for this fic...it was quite an uphill battle with this one.
Ok, Anonymous reviews!
Guest: Glad you liked it!
FFV: Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and, as for Miko and Jack possibly finding out about Titania's relationship to them...sorry, that would be too big a spoiler if I commented on that actually. Guess you'll just have to wait and see. However, yes, Optimus, Ratchet, Fowler and Titania have no intention of telling anyone about her heritage (but we all know how plans never survive first contact, right?). As for Titania's fear of not being born, to her, at least, it's justified, since she has no idea what kind of affects going back in time will have since it's not like there's a handbook (I bet she wishes there was though, hehe). In regards to whether or not she would actually disappear if they didn't get together, Ratchet will be explaining his time-travel theory somewhere in the next two chapters (I hope) but, again, I will point towards the fact that none of the characters know for CERTAIN what would happen (even though I do, in this case), but Ratchet's theory will indicate the route I am taking in time travel with this fic (which will actually be important to the sequel I vaguely have in mind already). As for your question, yes, it's totally legal to do so. In fact, tons of people do that just so they can keep track of their favourite stories, and never post anything themselves. I had this account for almost a year before I actually posted a story. Do sign up, please! I'll be excited to actually be able to respond right away, rather than make you wait for each chapter! Thanks again for your review!
