19. Moonridge
Allison wasn't sure how long she'd stayed in that cavernous room with Wheeljack and Teletraan-1, because time seemed inconsequential when lifetimes of alien knowledge were presented to her. She was reminded of the libraries she visited as a kid, small and dwarfed by the knowledge looming around her. She'd almost forgotten how they had made her feel back then, back when her world was a lot smaller, shrouded in blissful innocence.
The knowledge she'd soaked up during those days was well-trodden history and science that was old and familiar. This was a portal to an entirely new civilization, and it was being given to her without question.
One notable thing she learned was that Wheeljack was exceptionally patient regardless of how he normally presented himself—as anxiety incarnate, a state-of-being she was well acquainted with. While he gifted her the privilege of his time, she never felt that he was rushing her or eager to be elsewhere, as if he wanted nothing more than to spend the time to answer her exhaustive list of questions. Questions that were long overdue. They started off broad at first, unsure and slightly bashful, but the need to know things that had thus far been shrouded in mystery outweighed any social discomfort.
Seeing a small projection of an alien planet in its prime was one thing. Seeing actual, recorded images and video feed was real. Humbling, even. Her initial impression of Cybertron was correct. It was beautiful, glistening in the void of space, but what she saw was still only small windows of a civilization beyond her understanding. The infrastructure was massive, complex, and metallic in a way that felt organic. If the same images and videos were anything to go by, it was a world now deeply scarred and disfigured. Entire chunks of the planet heaved up and thrust to the skies or collapsed into lower regions, cityscapes crumbling and burning, craters where monuments once stood. Cybertronians she would ever know fell in battle, and she wondered how they'd feel about their final moments being viewed by a human billions of lightyears away on a tiny holographic screen.
Teletraan-1 referred to this as the Great War, the result of tensions between factions of Cybertronians feeling socially and economically forgotten; victims of a society that had organized itself into a rigid caste system.
She now understood who Megatron was: a powerful and renowned gladiator, who was as massive and imposing as the name suggested. He became dissatisfied by the treatment of the lower classes by those in power and finally did something about it. It was clear to Allison how it was easy to raise an entire army behind him. He commanded power. It was impossible to understand the true scale of things when she was not physically present in the same room, but there was no mistaking the sharp, silver and black angles and sheer mass of someone who was not to be underestimated.
Not simply satisfied with social change, Megatron turned his attention to the goal of becoming a Prime—a term that Allison struggled to wrap her head around. The best she could understand was that it was something comparable to a powerful leader, or perhaps even a form of deity on Cybertron. His initial aims were seemingly noble: lead Cybertron back into a golden age with newly acquired authority granted by such a station. But his means were extreme, and his retaliation brutal in its indiscrimination towards whom it was unleashed upon. His ambition was dangerous.
Planetary violence was the result, and the higher echelon on Cybertron elected a new Prime to combat this existential threat. There could only be one, and this just so happened to be Optimus Prime, a figure who, much like Megatron, towered above those around him. Allison noticed that unlike Megatron, whose presence clearly instilled fear in his own men, the Autobots all looked up to him. Figuratively as well as literally. Despite all the carnage and bloodshed, there was an aura of calm and gentleness in his body language that Allison was not expecting, but was reminiscent of the Autobots she had come to know. Perhaps this was whom they learned it from.
Betrayed, Megatron began to wage all-out war across the planet, burning everything in his path, including non-combatant civilians. Optimus Prime had been sympathetic to their cause initially, staunchly opposed to the treatment of the lower classes. Now he found himself forced into a position he had not intended to be in. Negotiations were no longer an option, which made Optimus Prime the unwilling leader of the newly risen counterforce to stop the spreading carnage. The Autobots apparently, had not originally been built for war, and were a hastily organized attempt at a counter-offensive to stop Megatron. They had to modify their bodies for combat, but they were outnumbered, and Optimus Prime was inexperienced. Megatron's Decepticon forces had already taken over a majority of the planet by the time the final Autobot stronghold fell. Fearing the total annihilation of their people, and Megatron wresting control of a very powerful artifact, Optimus Prime launched the Ark into space with a large contingency of Autobots with it. Megatron, not willing to let Optimus Prime and this artifact go, chased them into space, leaving behind the rest of the Decepticon forces to lord over what was left of Cybertron. Whoever had not been killed by the war either continued to fight with what Autobots remained behind, or lived in subjugation by someone named Shockwave. Allison hadn't learned too much about whoever he was, but Teletraan-1 showed her one security photo of a large, looming figure shrouded in smoke and dust, pointing at something she couldn't see. She couldn't make out much of his appearance, but something about him was unnerving.
Wheeljack had a great deal to say however. "He calls himself a scientist, but he's a megalomaniac." He spat, and his body language became tense. The panels on his body flared out in an agitated manner. "It's no wonder Megatron favors him, because they are one and the same."
Allison thought about this for a moment. She was just trying to understand. "He's a scientist, like you? Did you work with him?" Immediately it was clear she'd made a grave error in judgment.
"Shockwave is nothing like me." Wheeljack didn't need to raise his voice to communicate how much of a mistake she'd just made. It was the first time Allison truly felt like she'd just been punished for speaking out of turn, like a child again being talked down to. It was a warning to never say anything like that again, and her throat went dry with regret.
She also had no idea who this Decepticon was, or what he was like, missing some very important context that would have prevented her from asking in the first place. It was a little hard to stand there and be reprimanded, even if she understood why.
"No, I didn't work with him. We did not share the same… social group. I am very aware of his reputation though." Wheeljack relaxed, likely realizing this himself. His eyes were searching over her face looking for something that could not be found. She wasn't angry, and didn't need an apology. "His emotional programming was destroyed a long time ago. He is cold, calculated and ruthless. Nothing matters other than results, and it doesn't matter what it takes to get there, including torture."
"Oh…" Well now his reaction made complete and total sense. Thankfully he was stuck on Cybertron, and she would never cross paths with him.
Wheeljack spoke about Iacon, though there wasn't much to say. A large contingent of Optimus Prime's remaining forces had converged to that city in an effort to protect the last of the free territories that had not yet fallen to Megatron's horde. Wheeljack himself was caught in the massive firefight that preceded their escape, responsible for activating the Ark's massive engines and inputting the coordinates through something called a space bridge. He danced around the fact that he was something of an expert of such technology (Allison could see right through his modesty), and possibly even the last one in existence. Based on his description, it sounded potentially catastrophic for Earth: instantaneous travel through two points in space; a wormhole, as Allison understood it with her meager astrological knowledge. If one existed above Cybertron, and the Autobots had ended up here, that theoretically meant there was a direct link between an entire Decepticon army and her tiny organic planet. Megatron's ship was one small contingent of Decepticons, and they were already in big trouble. Factor in a planetary force of unstoppable mechs hellbent on punishing Optimus Prime and any Autobot left, and that was a recipe for mass extinction.
"We destroyed the space bridge behind us when Megatron was in pursuit, but the Ark was damaged in the explosion. That's why we crashed." Wheeljack paused, eyes glowing thoughtfully. "If you ever see a space bridge meltdown and detonate, don't look directly at the blast." It was hard to tell if he was being serious or not, but she suspected he wasn't. His eyes were a little too narrow to suggest anything but sarcasm.
"That's good advice, but I can't say I'll ever have to worry about that…"
"Megatron tried to follow the fleeing Ark, but their ship was caught in the radiation burst and didn't make it through." It seemed the Decepticon commander was a little too eager to exact petty revenge and got sloppy. If only that had stopped them from taking the long way to her backwater little planet.
"Would the rest of his army follow him?"
"Not likely. Energon resources were already stretched as it was on Cyberton, and without a space bridge the journey would be more trouble than it's worth." He explained. "Besides, Megatron would rather take care of things here on his own. It's personal."
"Can't they just fix the space bridge?" It was a logical question to ask, even if the repairs were complicated enough that it would take decades. Maybe more. She didn't have anything to compare such technology to, but if they were on borrowed time she wanted to know.
"Not without me, they won't." Wheeljack pointed at his head. "Teletraan-1 ensured the space bridge data net was wiped clean when we escaped. That was my choice."
That sounded.. Dangerous. For Wheeljack. Having highly sought-after knowledge solely in his own brain. Allison frowned.
"That puts you at risk."
"No more than usual." Her frown deepened, and Wheeljack's eyes narrowed. "I did what was necessary.
Now they were all here, on Earth, seemingly by complete, random luck (or bad luck, depending on which side you were on). Somehow the Ark emerged somewhere in her solar system, and the Decepticon warship was led here millenia later thanks to the aftermath of a chance encounter between a Cybertronian and a single human. It was almost a cosmic joke. Now Megatron wanted to tear some kind of artifact from Optimus Prime's body, and would probably destroy her entire species in the process.
Teletraan-1 did not specify what this artifact was, as apparently that was classified, and Allison didn't ask. There was far too much to think about already. Her thoughts were well occupied once it was time to return to the infirmary, marked by the expanding stretches of silence between them. Fatigue began to settle on Allison's body like a murky warmth, made obvious by her inability to voice any further thoughts about their conversation outside of general confirmations. She barely noticed when Wheeljack dismissed Teletraan-1 until her eyes drifted downward where he had placed a hand near her.
It felt like an offering of some kind, but Allison didn't know what she was supposed to do with it as her eyes scanned the immediate surroundings. A clue would not present itself, as there was no longer a companion AI to offer her insight into this Cybertronian behavior. After several beats of silence and a very expectant hum from Wheeljack it finally dawned on her what he was doing.
This was not some new Cybertronian behavior she was witnessing, but rather a unique interaction afforded to her because of the simple fact she was human. He was offering her a ride.
It was preferable to being unceremoniously yanked off the ground, and now that Allison knew what was happening she had a vague memory of Bumblebee offering a similar gesture with the intent of getting her off of Ratchet's shelf. Wheeljack's hand was bigger, but she still eyed his palm with some trepidation as she cleared her throat.
"I'm not sure I'm going to fit in your hand, but I admire your confidence."
"I'm not going to drop ya if that's what you're worried about." His expression was impeccably neutral. Allison couldn't explain why, but this seemed to be important to him. "It's an offer, you can take it or leave it." His tone offset his words with a casual warmth that genuinely felt like it was born from an earnest desire to be considerate. Or doting. She would accept both.
Admittedly Allison hadn't been looking forward to walking all the way back to Ratchet, especially if Sunstreaker was waiting in ambush somewhere. She wasn't convinced that wasn't entirely off the table, but she felt pretty confident he wouldn't mess with Wheeljack.
Shrugging, the desire to not disappoint him outweighed any loss in dignity by being carried as if she were a luxury pet. "Okay, but if you do drop me I'm telling all the human authorities I can."
"If I drop you, I don't think you'll be telling anyone anything." he said, the words definitely teasing despite the actual physical harm that was being implied. Allison's eyes widened and she almost laughed if not for the fact that she would be the broken pile on the ground, joke or not. That's what it was though, a joke, and Wheeljack's acerbic sarcasm was putting in a lot of work. Allison's mouth opened, a disbelieving smile splitting her mouth while she struggled to come up with an equally sublime quip but she was interrupted by a restless huff of air from Wheeljack. "I'm not going to drop you," he reaffirmed, deciding that joking was no longer an option now as something ticked away within his body that sounded distinctly unsettled. It almost distracted her enough to forget the fact that she was trying to find a way to gracefully seat her awkward human body on his waiting hand.
"I know," she said, finally managing to partially crawl forward onto his palm where she could sit curled against his thumb. Her body just barely fit, finding a grip against said thumb that he bent around her protectively. Her heart fluttered with feeling. Glancing up at his eyes, to somehow acknowledge how strange this was, his gaze flickered between several hues of blue. It was contentment.
This was the part Allison was not looking forward to: when Wheeljack stood. As soon as gravity slipped away she felt the force of it tug at her body to right the very real wrong of her terrestrial ass being aloft where it didn't belong. It was like being on a roller coaster but without the harness. She liked roller coasters, but definitely more so when she was securely strapped into something. To stop herself from swaying as he stood to his full height—it was always deceptive how tall he was when he spent most of his time crouched around her—she found herself clinging harder to the thumb wedged against her. Whether he noticed this or not was irrelevant, as he pulled her towards the front of his body so that she was tucked against his chest. She'd already found herself in a similarly precarious state thanks to Sideswipe, but Wheeljack handled her with more care.
Now that there was something solid supporting her body on one side, Allison realized with some dismay that the ground was actually further away than what she previously experienced. This was a detail she would have been better off not knowing, cursing her own human curiosity and intrusive impulse to look down. Wheeljack was taller than Sideswipe, something she should have considered before risking a peek to the ground once he started walking. Immediately her head spun, and she had to swallow back the terrifying impulse to throw up once the vertigo slapped her upside the head.
Wheeljack didn't speak, hopefully ignorant to the unpleasantly familiar sensation Allison was experiencing as he walked. Finding herself instinctively pressed against the colored plates of his chest in an attempt to re-calibrate her inner ear, she realized very quickly she could feel his spark. She froze, as if any movement would set off some kind of alarm or disturb the calm pulsing that similarly to Sideswipe gently tugged at her hair like an electrical current. Unlike Sideswipe however, something on the surface of her skin wavered; a layer of static swimming just on the outside of her body but it wasn't unpleasant. It was very neutral, actually, somehow not feeling like much of anything at all. Wheeljack didn't seem to notice, and everything about his posture indicated complete indifference aside from the fact that he was cupping her very carefully against him. The rhythmic beat of his spark was not unlike a heartbeat completely at rest. If Wheeljack was composed (she at least assumed that's how this worked) then she could figure this out too.
It was weird. Really weird, and sort of awkward but also kind of nice if she was honest with herself. It was nice to feel safe.
Ratchet on the other hand looked like he was about to have kittens as soon as they entered the infirmary, and Allison didn't think it should have been as funny as it was. He dropped whatever he was in the middle of doing, eyes going wide as he opened his mouth to speak but Wheeljack headed him off before he could utter a word.
"Stop worrying." Something in his chest rumbled, and being so close to him Allison could feel the physical reverberation sink beneath her skin. It felt like laughter, but in a weird, Cybertronian robotic way. "I'm careful."
"Are you?" Ratchet's retort was half-hearted at best, and he offered no further argument other than to give Allison a frustrated look once Wheeljack deposited her back on the designated bedroom shelf. She smiled at him, hoping to signal that everything was just fine, especially after the disaster he last saw her running from (or rather, Sideswipe running from after plucking her off the ground before fleeing the crime scene).
Wheeljack was the one to break the news to Ratchet that this would be the last night she spent in his space, though surprisingly the medic was more resistant to that than Allison anticipated. He was wary about her leaving the Ark, offering similar concerns that she'd already heard from Wheeljack. Allison expected him to be thrilled that she would be out of his hair—metaphorically speaking—but Ratchet was continuing to surprise her with his elusive sentimentality.
After more food, courtesy of Wheeljack's bottomless bag of tricks (and water, thankfully) sleep did not come immediately. The food sat heavy in her gut, as fast food wanted to do, but that wasn't the only thing keeping her awake. Allison knew that relocating to a human space was the right choice, but it still carried with it some uncertainty about safety. She didn't voice these concerns for fear of Wheeljack changing his mind. Mercifully, Ratchet didn't question her tossing and turning, even though she knew he had eyes in the back of his head watching her until she finally succumbed to exhaustion.
Awoken far earlier than she would have liked given her light insomnia the night before, Wheeljack claimed her from Ratchet's care to additional complaints that this was a bad idea. Despite Wheeljack's own reservations previously, he still backed her decision, which she appreciated. Allison suspected Ratchet had other reasons aside from her general safety, and that was probably the potential for danger of exposure if Wheeljack was going to be away from the Ark for extended periods of time daily. He didn't explicitly voice it, but she could read between the lines.
Allison half expected Sunstreaker to jump out at them on the way out for what she'd participated in the day before, but the Ark was empty when Wheeljack led her out the entryway (she chose to walk herself, not wanting to become spoiled). There was no Sideswipe either, and she hadn't seen Bumblebee since the rendezvous point before Ratchet siphoned the energon from her body. She hoped he was okay.
Moonridge had changed very little since Allison was a much younger human. As Wheeljack drove through the main drag of "downtown" (or at least, whatever could be considered a "downtown" for a town so small) she picked out all the landmarks that were reignited in her memory. There was the diner of course, the usual truck stop greasy spoon you would see sleepy travelers and locals shuffling into for a hot breakfast or a late night burger on their way across the state. It had its locals, usually of the older generation, that used it as a social spot sipping coffee and eating a slice of cherry pie. She remembered loving that diner with all its eclectic charm as a kid every time her family visited.
The main street was lined with rows of conjoined buildings, their old masonry facades reminiscent of a time where a horse and buggy would have been more commonplace. Certainly not vehicles; especially ones that were actually extraterrestrials in disguise. The establishments themselves had changed very little from what Allison remembered, though a town as small as this probably had little incentive to deviate from the essentials. A small grocery, a drugstore, a bakery and a real estate agency (local, family-owned of course) were familiar places to her. The other storefronts on the main drag were either inconsequential, niche shopping spots, or shuttered and empty from lack of foot traffic. A sign indicated the large lake was to the right just off the edge of the town, one that still managed to be massive despite the hydro-electric dam north a few miles back. Her dad had been interested in the history of the area, so she knew that the grounds the town stood on was actually the original lakebed from before the dam's existence. The devastating flood potential was just one of the many hazards in the volcanic mountain range that the Autobots had decided to call home, but as far as she knew it was state-of-the art and incredibly secure. She wondered if Wheeljack had ever tried to trespass there.
Opposite the lake, up against the face of the mountain range was an old quarry, but Allison didn't know if it was still in use. She didn't know much about it, only that it was big, and included a large cavern system that was an old mining venture. It was privately owned now and had been shuttered for some time.
The nicest surprise was seeing that the motel was nicer than she remembered it being. Maybe they'd remodeled in the decades of her absence, but it was a relief to see the rustic, wooden lodge aesthetic as Wheeljack finally came to a stop outside the main lobby doors.
Lifting her head from Wheeljack's window—she hadn't even realized she'd been resting her cheek against him—she blinked through the early sunlight and got her bearings. She'd managed to doze into a sort of trance while watching the town go by. Stretching as far as Wheeljack's interior allowed, she placed a palm on the upper face of his door.
"This is it," she said, stating the obvious, because of course he knew.
"Remember, I'll be around…" he said, letting that statement and its vague undertones hang in the air between them. "I'll give you some time to recover, and come get you when it's time." When it's time, Allison repeated in her head. When it was time to figure out how to rid her of the energon that was proving to be a major pain in the ass. She couldn't shake the thought that a timer was floating above her head, counting down to the invisible inevitability once it hit zero: she'd be found, and most likely killed.
"Okay, thank you," she said, stepping out once he opened the door. Feeling awkward staring into an empty car interior and not really sure what the appropriate decorum was, she muttered the only thing she could think of. "I'll uh, text you when I need you…"
Wheeljack didn't respond, but he didn't need to. She could feel his confirmation somehow as a vibe in the air around him. Shaking it off, she walked to the front office door, turning just in time to watch him back away. For a moment, she remembered this feeling, fighting off the memories of a very small child to replace it with something more productive now: Wheeljack really stood out in the middle of this place populated by old workhorse trucks and rickety sedans that should have probably been scrapped a decade ago.
He wasn't leaving. He would be around, and she only had to wonder exactly how around he would be.
After checking in, and cringing at the cost for reserving a room for the next seven days (she was going to need to figure out her finances sooner than she thought), she was looking forward to a hot shower and some peace and quiet. The woman who checked her in was friendly enough, in that small town kind of way, and after pointing her to the meager amenities, handed her a small pamphlet that described the local history of the town complete with points of interest. Allison wasn't entirely intrigued by that, but took it graciously with her mind on nothing but human essentials.
That feeling was short-lived once she found herself walking across the outdoor path to the individual rooms, with nothing but an empty parking lot at her side. It was immediately apparent how alone she was, something that had never bothered her before. She'd never really given it much thought at all, actually preferring most times to be left to herself in her own introverted world of bliss. Now, she felt nothing but vulnerable and exposed, and it was something she resented greatly. One more thing to add to the pile of changes for the worst.
Sitting alone on the spacious bed (after checking it for unwanted insectoid occupants of course, her compulsions demanded it), she sat in the muffled silence of the room and took stock of her situation. Taking a deep breath, she wondered if she'd made a mistake—she hadn't. She needed this. She needed a crumb of independence and control in the insanity that had become her life. This tackily alpine woodland themed, pleasantly clean and spacious room was going to be her palace of normalcy. She was going to force it, if need be.
Distractions were needed, and they happened in this order: a shower, a hot one. One that was sorely needed. Allison didn't know if she should be conscious of her hygiene around them, but she'd be damned if she let something like that slide. Just having access to a bathroom and all the privacy it afforded was like a gift.
A call to her dad was required to keep up appearances. Allison kept it brief, knowing the longer they spent on the phone, the greater the chance she would accidentally let something slip. Something like "Hey, I might need to move home soon because my workplace was destroyed by a psychotic alien mini-mech. Oh did I mention that big metal man I used to babble about as a kid is actually real? Yeah he's coming too…"
As long as he could hear her voice and hear she was fine, then that would stave off any questions as to what she was doing and why. Even if it was all a lie.
Next was food that did not come out of a grease-stained bag after spending who knew how long floating in some inter-dimensional plane of non-existence. The diner was initially on her mind, but her stomach didn't exactly long for that kind of food considering she was still warring with the intense urge to curl into a ball and scream. She decided instead to risk the short walk in the rain to the small grocery store they passed on the way. It was close enough that she could lug back a light load of essentials to fill the mini-fridge without feeling too much like there was a giant target on her back. The rain was at least pleasant, though she could not stop herself from constantly checking her surroundings. There was no sign of Wheeljack anywhere. Either he was gone, or he was that good at being unseen. Maybe she'd underestimated him.
That was the exact thought she discarded after stumbling out the front door the next morning, sleep-deprived, hungry, in need of coffee, and wondering why Wheeljack was sitting right there. The very fact that he could sit there so quiet and nonchalant after buzzing her phone at hours too early to be legal was actually unfair.
"It's too early for this," Allison muttered to herself, knowing Wheeljack could hear her. She didn't expect him to respond, and in fact, was quite surprised when he did respond. Verbal and audible for anyone in the vicinity to hear, and even though the parking lot was empty, the shock still remained.
"It's not too early for refueling," he said, far too casual as an inanimate object that, to the untrained eye, should definitely not be speaking.
Pausing, Allison absorbed this information trying to parse through what he meant. "Do you mean… breakfast ?" She stood on the edge of the concrete walk just before the parking spot Wheeljack now occupied. "You're taking me for breakfast?" She folded her arms, not because of any attitude, but the morning air was cold. "Are you paying?" Thinking about her bank account, she frowned.
"Sure, just have them bring me the bill when you're done."
"It's a miracle none of you have been discovered yet," Allison groused, shaking her head in disbelief at the stupidity of such a thing. "Alright, fine, you won me over at refueling, because it sounds just insane enough." Despite her rushed panic to get out the door once she realized it was Wheeljack pinging her phone, she'd had the foresight to grab her bag after forcing him to wait for her to make herself presentable. He opened the door for her automatically, and she couldn't stop herself from glancing around to make sure no one just saw a car open its own driver-side door. "Okay, we passed a diner on the way into town. I can at least get a good cup of coffee there."
"I'll pretend I know what that is."
"Oh it's great. Caffeine is an excellent way to wake yourself up when you spend almost the entire night fantasizing about the roof being ripped off so you can be grabbed and crushed by glowing red eyes."
"Allison… " Wheeljack didn't really outwardly say her name like that often. Especially in such a way that sounded frustrated and… distraught. Like he didn't really know what to say to make it better, but there wasn't anything he could realistically utter that would make the new trauma go away. It was simply part of her life now.
"I'm kidding." Except, she wasn't. She'd spent a greater part of the night tossing and turning, fearing the inevitability of her predicament and coming to the horrifying realization that she was terrified of being alone now. That was literally her worst nightmare.
After a few moments of obligatory silence as Wheeljack pulled away from the quiet motel, Allison cleared her throat to speak again. "I wasn't expecting to see you so soon… is something wrong?" Wheeljack said he would come get her when it was time, she just hadn't been expecting it so soon. Maybe she should have clarified with him what he actually meant by that, because she kept forgetting that time passed so differently for them. For all she knew, Wheeljack assumed that 24 hours was a lifetime to her.
"No." The response was abrupt, and completely unhelpful. "Actually, I was in the area anyway so I figured I'd check on you." His tone was a little hard to read, but it sounded curiously forlorn.
"Aaaw." Allison blushed, deciding to needle him a little bit. "You missed me. After one night."
"I had to make sure you didn't get into trouble again," he said, his voice more than a little harried and exasperated, but there was also warmth there. The sound of Wheeljack's internals softened to a purr, the noise translating as potently trenchant to Allison's ears. "We're here." It was obvious she'd embarrassed him. She wondered, if she could see his face, would he be blushing? The thought made her smile to herself.
"Okay, sure." The bright, neon lit sign of the diner—the Rusty Burger. Her mom had found the name wildly stupid for a restaurant—sparkled outside the dark, tinted windows that seemed like an anatomical impossibility for a being so durable. Facing the broad side of the diner, lined with equidistant vertical windows, Allison could see there was a fair amount of people inside. For a moment she was struck with the oddity of how close they all were, ignorant and completely unaware of the true nature of the white vehicle parked just on the other side of the wall.
It also made her nervous, because realistically anything could happen. What if one of them got too close and noticed something odd about Wheeljack that would be enough to give him away? This certainly wouldn't be a new challenge to him, she had to remind herself. He'd been navigating this world perfectly fine without her up until this point.
This was all very new to her, because now she was faced with the challenge of trying to pass him off as normal, realizing as she sat there in front of the diner while Wheeljack idled that she was sitting in his driver seat. She had to act normal, even as he opened the door for her so she could step outside. Soft chimes made her look up just in time to see her first test. It just so happened to be at the same moment a pair of older men came sauntering out the front doors at the corner of the sidewalk, clearly done with their morning social call.
The fresh morning air hit her hard, the scent of the forest somehow making its way through the town streets and filling her nose as she inhaled any molecule of bravery she could muster. The pair made their way down the concrete walk, and to her dismay their eyes immediately locked on Wheeljack. They're going to say something. She could feel it. She had the sixth sense for this sort of thing, afforded to her by the gender she was born with.
"That's a real nice car ya got m'am. Lots of muscle on that one." the one on the left spoke first. He had a very big baseball cap on, looking oddly disheveled on his graying head. He was polite enough, and Allison's initial danger sensors were downgraded to mere mild alert, even though she felt Wheeljack vibrate underneath the palm that was still resting at the top of his door frame. A flare of startled inquiry rocketed through her as she realized, somehow, that it felt… smug. Of course it did.
To make it known that she knew, Allison slapped that same palm down as she made a show of stepping away and slamming his door; just a little bit harder than was probably necessary. She tried to laugh casually but it sounded way too manic to be believed that she was someone totally relaxed with this situation. "Careful," her voice was too loud. Dial it down. "He might hear you. Wouldn't want that attention to go to his head." She'd never owned a car. People talked about their car like that, right?
Immediately she felt weird. And stupid. The two old men chuckled and kept walking. The one who hadn't spoke gave her a friendly wave and they shambled away to their truck on the far end of the walk. Allison was too shell-shocked to wave back as they drove away, none the wiser.
"Take it easy," Wheeljack muttered at Allison's back, making her jump forward off of him as his voice rumbled through her clothing. She hadn't realized she slumped against him when she exhaled in relief. "You're gonna draw attention to us."
"You take it easy!" she hissed, eyes darting around. "This is new to me. I don't know what the hell I'm doing." Someone through the window was looking at her funny, probably because she was standing there talking to herself like a freak. Allison smiled back in a desperate attempt to look charming and the stranger averted their eyes very quickly. Ah, fuck it, who cares at this point. "Okay. I'm going inside. You…be good."
The front doors to the diner were covered in paper print-outs of advertisements for local events and employment opportunities. One could barely see through the glass until stepping inside, and to Allison's relief it was less crowded than she feared. The old-fashioned interior was warm and brightly lit, reflecting orange off the red pleather booth seating. It hadn't changed at all since she last visited years ago. There was light theming on the signage and menus, modeled after the small novelty amusement park that had been a local attraction. The odd thing was, Allison knew the place had been closed down for almost as long as her last road trip through. It seemed the diner was not willing to give up the legacy just yet. There was old, dusty merchandise still in the display case in the rectangular counter that sat in the middle of the dining room.
Allison was too busy staring at the cheerful beaver-covered merchandise to notice the waitress walk up to her.
"Hi, honey." There was a cup of coffee in hand and a weary look on her face, but her voice was friendly enough. "Feel free to grab a seat and I'll be right with you." Allison offered her own tired smile back and walked down the row of old chairs, finding one against the window that had a good view of Wheeljack. Slumping into the seat, she stared out at him, wondering what he must be thinking just sitting there. She had the impulse to squirm, feeling his eyes on her from somewhere within the complicated re-arranged paneling on his body. She almost had a heart attack when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn't have to read it to understand it was him, but she pulled her phone out anyway to set it face down on the table. He was watching her watching him.
Okay, I get it, she stewed in her head, casting her eyes down to look at the menu she pulled from a wire holder behind the napkin dispenser. She continued to ignore her phone, wanting to make a point like a child.
"Have you decided what you want?" The waitress was back, pen and paper in hand, ready to take her order.
Allison in fact, was not ready. She hadn't really had time to think about food yet. "Oh, uh, coffee thanks," she said.
"Anything to eat?" Before Allison could even open her mouth to say anything, she was interrupted by someone speaking for her.
"She'll have the house pancakes." A gruff voice spoke up suddenly, jolting Allison fully awake just in time to see a man sliding into the opposite side of her booth. It took Allison far too long to process what just happened, who she was looking at, and the more alarming revelation that he was unfortunately very familiar to her.
And she to him, as fate would have it. It was the FBI agent from the hospital: Agent Fowler.
"They're quite good," he added as he got himself comfortable opposite her, looking at her with brows raised in a manner that was exceedingly too friendly for someone who had just invited themselves into someone's solo breakfast. The fact that he was a federal agent was certainly not a cause for concern either.
"Are you following me?" Allison blurted without thinking. She could tell the waitress was eyeing her from the corner of her field of view but she ignored it. Agent Fowler was the absolute last person she'd ever wanted to see again. It wasn't that she felt physically threatened. He came across as someone intentionally trying to be a nuisance as a strategy rather than be physically intimidating. What that strategy was, Allison couldn't hazard a guess yet, but the fact that he was now sitting across from her was a wild, astronomically impossible coincidence. It had to be, right? Surely, he wasn't following her? She had to know. The burning need pushed the question out before she could even consider if it was wise.
Apparently in no hurry to answer her question, Agent Fowler quietly reached into his suit jacket and pulled out his badge, showing it briefly to the waitress. She nodded and left, a quiet I'll get those started for you following her as she made a hasty retreat in a clear signal that she had no interest in getting involved. Allison found her eyes following the woman's back in a desperate plea to not leave her alone with the FBI agent who rudely invited himself into her booth.
"Should I be?"
"No," Allison coughed, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "But why are you here?" She had to fight with her own impulse to glance out the window; at Wheeljack. There was no need to draw any attention to him at all.
Her phone buzzed, still face down on the table. Allison glanced at it fretfully before looking back up at the man in front of her, trying to rearrange her face into something completely relaxed and not-at-all terrified. Fowler himself didn't seem to notice, only looking down for a brief second before folding both arms on the table in front of him.
"Just passing through," He said, pulling a few napkins out of the dispenser to neatly arrange them in front of her as if it was for her benefit. Allison watched his precise movement with some trepidation, his fingers expertly folding the pile of bleached paper into a crude, but neat representation of a boat before setting it down between them. Allison couldn't tell if he was pleased behind the stoic expression. "I have business with the local sheriff. They also have great pancakes. I'd say it's quite the coincidence to find you here. Taking in some of the local scenery now that you have a lot of time on your hands?"
Allison blinked, swallowing down the urge to guffaw out of sheer panic before processing what he was alluding to. Her job. She didn't have a job anymore, because it had been wrecked by Rumble. He didn't know that though… she assumed.
Now that Allison was reminded of this painful development in her life, she realized it was kind of odd that she hadn't been contacted by her former boss. Or anyone for that matter. A question was on her lips, to ask Fowler if he was responsible for that, but she pushed it back down. The bare minimum of personal revelations was required when talking to him; in fact, she shouldn't even be talking to him at all without a lawyer. Or a very large protective Autobot on the other side of the window… who so far was behaving himself as requested.
"My dad is out this way. Figured I'd visit since it's been a while." That was probably more personal than Allison intended, but also technically not a lie.
"That so?" His gaze on her changed then, from simply curious to deeply scrutinizing. Whatever came out of her mouth next was absolutely critical. "How's the dog bite?"
Blood freezing in her veins, Allison felt her chest tighten at the question and what it implied. Now would have been a terrible time for a panic attack because it would be terribly embarrassing. And incriminating. She wasn't entirely confident it wouldn't be the match strike needed for Wheeljack to burst through the window, and she didn't want to be responsible for even more property damage. It was an intrusive thought she was going to have to ignore. He also wasn't that stupid.
"Oh, uh, it's fine. It's sore." She wasn't lying about that either, but the context she was conveniently leaving out made her fidget, rubbing her palms against her knees.
This didn't escape Agent Fowler's notice, his eyes staring into hers, searching. His blatant eye-contact was unnerving, like it was something he was trained to do. "I imagine it must be, a bite of that size." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Something wrong?"
Allison went still, realizing what she was doing and how that made her look; like she was tweaking out and guilty as all hell. Of what she wasn't even sure of at this point. She was the one that got attacked, why was she the one being interrogated— and that's definitely what was happening, even if Agent Fowler wasn't overtly stating it—like she was a criminal? He was going to make her nervous by default, especially when this was the second time he'd decided to pop up in her life in a very short period of time.
A chill traveled over Allison's skin and her world got cold for a moment as she tried to think of a way out of this horrible social moment that had been forced upon her. She thought she was trembling, because that would have helped her case, but then she noticed that it was the table and the seat she was on rattling and not her own skeleton.
The glass window next to her vibrated, and Allison watched as Agent Fowler's eyes drifted to it, pulled to what was outside. She followed his attention, seeing nothing but a large semi-truck drive by. It was predominantly red, with a silver trailer attached to the cab, followed closely by a black and white highway patrol car. They drove by without any real notice from anyone else in the diner around them. Neither of them were an unusual sight in this type of area, so Allison found herself frowning, confused. Her own eyes followed them briefly, before her depth perception returned to focus on the parking lot.
Wheeljack was gone. Her throat clogged as a wave of panic shot through her. How had she not noticed him leave? Would no one think it odd that a car she stepped out of not that long ago (the driver's seat, mind you) had driven away of its own volition?
Had Agent Fowler noticed?
"Something the matter, Allison?" His attention had returned to her long before her eyes returned to the table. If he suspected anything, he didn't voice it. In fact his tone was infuriatingly neutral.
"That your friend?" Allison blurted, trying to sidestep his question by pointing out the other law enforcement presence. She didn't really know why else he would be so interested in random passersby.
He raised an eyebrow. "Which one were you referring to?"
She narrowed her eyes. "You said you had business with the local sheriff." Allison thought this was obvious, ignoring the fact that Highway Patrol was not really the same thing.
The waitress returned, balancing a plate full of pancakes dripping with syrup. She placed them on the table, along with a cup of coffee. Allison's stomach cramped just looking at them, completely put off her appetite after the last few minutes of existence. She glanced down at the pile of carbohydrates and sugar (it did look delicious) and frowned because of what it represented.
"You know I could have a gluten allergy or something, right?"
For some infuriating reason, this made Agent Fowler laugh, and he raised a palm and fished around in his suit jacket with the other hand. "That would be a lie, because that doesn't exist." Allison scowled at him, because it was a lie, but his reasoning was still annoying and unnecessarily belligerent. "This one's on Uncle Sam." Okay, settle down, Allison thought with an internal wince as she watched him pull out a wallet, followed by several crisp bills before placing them on the table. Something about the wording sounded more threatening than it should have.
"That's really not necessary," Allison protested, feeling somehow as if she'd just failed a very important test. He was doing this on purpose, because now she owed him something and she was going to figure out what that was at a very bad time.
Agent Fowler stood up from the table and adjusted his tie. "Don't worry about it. Remember to call me if you see anything." He waved at the waitress and walked away. Instead of walking out the front door, he disappeared down a hallway ion the back of the diner where the restroom and kitchen were located. Allison couldn't help but look around the dining room, trying to decipher if anyone else found this strange at all.
A spray of dirt and rocks were kicked up in a cloud of dust as Wheeljack skidded to a messy stop, hastily unfolding in transformation before momentum carried him forward one bracing step. Below him, a steep cliff face yawned, carved out by the massive flow of water that spilled into the valley.
On top of the waterfall sat a power structure: a hydroelectric dam, to be more precise. Wheeljack had known about it for some time, opting not to take advantage of its convenient location because it was a little too close. That, and it was intensely guarded by a constant rotation of human security personnel, ensuring that the facility was never empty. It would have been impossible to slip in undetected.
It was only when he heard the low, subtle hiss to his left and slightly further down did he realize he was standing completely out in the open at the edge of the rockface. One human deciding to take in the view would be all it would take for him to be seen.
Stepping back somewhat sheepishly, Wheeljack ducked below the brush line and out of the immediate line of sight to pick his way down towards the source of the noise.
"What's so important that I needed to be here, 'Bee?" Wheeljack crouched, turning his attention back over the side of the cliff in the same direction the Autobot scout was facing. Bumblebee was nearly perfectly hidden beneath the brush, his smaller size giving him more of an advantage despite his coloring being anything but natural. Cybertronians were not adapted to organic environments, so their methods of camouflage were next to useless. Wheeljack felt awkwardly sized crouched next to his smaller companion.
"You wanna take it easy out there buddy, and maybe not give away our position?" Bumblebee cautioned, giving Wheeljack a piercing look. "I've spent a lot of time in cover. I don't need you blowing it for me."
"Yeah, yeah, why am I here?" Leaving Allison behind was not ideal, but when Bumblebee pinged him saying he needed his help he wasn't going to leave the scout hanging. Wheeljack had to trust that there was only so much trouble Allison could get into while sitting inside the human establishment amongst a small crowd of her own kind. He'd sent her a message before leaving, so hopefully his sudden absence wasn't too much of a surprise.
Bumblebee gestured back down towards the roaring column of water, spilling out from the solid construct of the dam. "It's too early to tell exactly, but I've been keeping an eye on this place for some time. The humans started increasing their security after some chatter about irregularities in the energy conversion." Bumblebee turned back to him, optics narrowed. "Know anything about that?"
Wheeljack paused, feeling offended. "That's got nothing to do with me, if that's what you're asking." Bumblebee frowned, tilting his head in inquiry, and to indicate he expected more of an answer from him. Venting air, Wheeljack shrugged. "You assume I would know considering my… expertise ."
"I assume you're the one to ask since you've made it a hobby of yours to become an expert on human energy production."
Wheeljack folded his arms. "I'm not exactly an expert." Bumblebee's stare was withering. "Okay fine, I might know a thing or two, but I don't have anything to do with this if that's what you're asking. I avoided this place entirely."
Bumblebee hummed thoughtfully, but his frown was full of worry. Snark aside, Wheeljack shared his concern. Something was messing with the dam, and it wasn't the Autobots.
"I've got a bad feeling. Something doesn't feel right."
"You think it's the Decepticons?"
"I don't know…" Bumblebee admitted. "It feels way too fast for them. And why here? If their energon reserves were a problem there are much bigger places to hit."
"But a smaller place like this is more discreet. Easier to miss." It was doubtful, because even with Wheeljack's immense amount of learned caution through repetition, even he wouldn't be able to pull off that kind of heist. The Decepticons would not have nearly enough finesse to be able to achieve what he couldn't.
Following Wheeljack's own logic without him voicing it, Bumblebee tensed from a sudden recollection of repressed memories. "When has Megatron cared about being discreet?"
"...Good point."
"If the Decepticons attack it, I don't think the structure will hold." Bumblebee shifted, his optics fixating on Wheeljack in a pressing manner. "If that dam fails…"
"There's gonna be a lot of casualties." This was not the type of infrastructure that would have ever been used on Cybertron, even though they used water in other ways. It was not something integral to their functioning like it was for organics. That hadn't stopped Wheeljack's natural curiosity into how it worked, so in his quest to create an Energon solution he had become well acquainted with the technology and some of the downsides it presented. The dam failing would mean the entire town of Moonridge and its surrounding area would be destroyed.
There had to be another explanation. Bumblebee was right, this was small game to the Decepticons, and it was far too soon for them to even have the resources in place to fly under the radar like this. But, he trusted Bumblebee's gut instinct more than he trusted the Decepticons operating under the influence of logic and reasoning. Maybe they were underestimating Megatron's legion, and maybe they'd learned a few tricks during their long journey. Primus knew they had to time to strategize.
"I hope I'm not overthinking this."
"The last time you did that…" Wheeljack regretted what he needed to say. "You were right." He didn't like admitting it, but Bumblebee's insistence that Allison was not as safe as he thought (or wanted to believe) had turned out to be true. Wheeljack would carry the guilt of his inaction as long as he functioned, because Bumblebee and the twins were the only reason she was still alive.
Sensing this, Bumblebee did not continue down that path of conversation, simply offering him an understanding look. It wasn't full of blame, or judgment, even though Wheeljack personally felt it should be.
Changing the subject, and because it felt appropriate to sidestep any further acknowledgment of his poor decision-making, Wheeljack scanned Bumblebee's frame and the state of Ratchet's repairs. After his recent injuries, he looked to be in good shape. "How's your sensor array?" The more obvious injury had been the panels on his back, snapped during a fight Wheeljack wasn't present for. He should have been there.
Bumblebee shrugged, his attention turned back towards the dam before speaking. "My wings are fine," he said, the array panels shifting to put Ratchet's repairs to the test. His voice was detached, as if he wasn't quite paying attention and this conversation was an afterthought. An astrosecond later he looked up suddenly, maybe sensing the confused, almost stunned look Wheeljack was giving him. "I mean—"
"Heh, she does that," Wheeljack chuckled, feeling warmth calm his frame. It seemed Allison had gotten to Bumblebee too. He thumbed at the rotary panels on his back. "She called mine wings too." A fondness settled over his spark, remembering the strange things Allison would fixate on when she'd been a much younger human; she still fixated on them now. "Still can't figure out why…" It confused him to this day, how the little eccentricities were just as amusing as they were perplexing. He wouldn't ask her to change. It was... special, because they were a unique insight into not just the curious musing of a human child, but how she saw the world; how she saw them.
"Honestly, I like that better than calling them doors. Though, considering who we're up against, actual wings would be good right about now." His optics quickly shifted towards Wheeljack, before lingering. "How is she?" The noted concern in his voice was apparent despite the simplicity of such a question. Wheeljack was grateful for Bumblebee's empathy.
"She's fine," Wheeljack said, feeling the impulse to fidget as he remembered Allison sitting alone where he had left her. She hadn't responded back to him, so he wondered if she was worried. He would have to deal with that later.
"How are you ?" Bumblebee's further inquiry almost didn't cut through Wheeljack's distracted mental pacing. By the time his optics met the smaller Autobot's, Bumblebee was frowning. For a brief moment he looked down, where Wheeljack hadn't even realized he'd placed his hand against his own chassis above his spark.
"I'm fine." Bumblebee's optics tightened on him in obvious distrust. Wheeljack tensed, but begrudgingly decided that he couldn't hide anything from the scout anyway. "Fine. Spark's been a little twitchy, but it's nothing—"
"—Nothing?!" Bumblebee's optics widened. "That doesn't sound like nothing. Have you talked to Ratchet?"
"Of course I've talked to Ratchet, I don't have a death wish." He did not miss the way Bumblebee's brow raised. "Don't look at me like that." Wheeljack was already tired of this conversation and didn't want to talk about it anymore. He'd been trying not to think about it too much after Ratchet gave him a clean bill of health. That didn't mean it was nothing, but the answer was still eluding Wheeljack.
Monitoring his own systems was fruitless. He hadn't detected any further anomalies since his conversation with Ratchet, so there was nothing to test. That left a big unanswered question. Wheeljack did not like unanswered questions.
The scout was quiet for a moment, and Wheeljack knew that look far too well because it made him uncomfortable. He had enough to worry about, and he didn't need the additional burden of other Autobots concerned for his physical health on his list of priorities either.
Bumblebee was a friend. Of course he was worried.
"Can't have you going offline on us," the scout finally said, his face pinched with apprehension.
"I'm not going anywhere. I'm too busy worrying about Allison to go offline." Lamenting about the responsibility he now felt for the human made a disquieting notion resettle itself back into his processor. He didn't begrudge this responsibility. He probably welcomed it far more than he should have because he cared too fragging much. There was nothing to blame her for after all, but there was one detail that had been rattling around in his head that he could not ignore. Whatever Allison imagined the worst possible case could be, she was wildly underestimating just how catastrophically bad things were about to get.
If Megatron was here, then so was his second-in-command. If their last one-on-one encounter was anything to go by, Starscream was not going to play nice. Wheeljack had been hoping he would never see the seeker again, least of all on an organic planet full of such easy, fragile targets. Depending on how tight of a leash Megatron still had him on, Starscream was going to come at them hard. And fast. And most likely covered in human blood.
The tension in Wheeljack's chest tightened even more. "We should tell Prime about this." His voice snarled more than what was probably appropriate for their prior conversation, but Bumblebee was ignorant to his internalized ramblings.
"Are they even back yet?"
"I don't know." Wheeljack shrugged, unfortunately remembering that Optimus Prime was not finished speaking with him about his misadventures. "Lemme check if he's in range yet." Wheeljack looked up at the sky as he waited for his internal comms to patch into Optimus Prime's personal signal. Before he left, Prime deactivated all communication to avoid any risk of detection, either of his whereabouts, or what he and Prowl were up to. So far from the shelter of the Ark, there was no telling what unknown hazards were out there so direct communication was out of the question. If they were back within range of Teletraan-1, this no longer mattered. Their only avenue of reaching their comrades had been through an external relay point Wheeljack had modified to be transported via Prime's alt mode. Even though he knew this, Wheeljack was still startled when he felt the confirmation of receipt on the other end.
"Wheeljack."
"Hey, Optimus." Brief and to the point. Wheeljack could not tell if the Autobot leader was still a little irritated at him for… well, a number of reasons. "So uh, we might have another problem."
There was silence over the comm for a moment where one might imagine a frustrated venting of air. Wheeljack winced, getting the message clearly that Prime was already scraping the bottom of his seemingly limitless well of patience.
"Perhaps it is best we speak on this in person. Among other things." Oh yeah, Wheeljack was going to get an audio full. "Prowl and I have returned, and we have much to discuss."
/