Getting to Know You 4 (part 1)
Getting to Know You
Chapter Four
Series: Transformers (2007 movie)
Rating/Warnings: T/PG-13, to be on the safe side. Really, the worst there is is mild swearing.
Characters/Pairings: Bec (OC) and Sunstreaker are probably the main characters.
Beyond that, this story features Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Ratchet, Ironhide, Jazz, Sideswipe, Sam, Mikaela, Judy, Ron, Capt. Lennox and the rest of his team, Trent, Miles, Maggie, Glen, Defense Secretary Keller and probably others.
Non-pairing (gen) except for canon mentions of Sam/Mikaela.
Summary: Sideswipe and Sunstreaker have arrived on earth. That means that all they need to do is track down Optimus Prime, get rid of the pack of Decepticons after them and not scare the local wildlife. That should be easy, right?
Thank you very much to my beta, mmouse15!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
And at FFnet
oOoOoOo
Bec screamed and fell backwards as the car she was standing besides transformed. She had a sudden impression of roaring heat and noise-an explosion. She might have screamed again.
That yellow streak running past her-over her-must be Sunstreaker. The ground shook with the footsteps of the footsteps of the giants surrounding her, and then the more with another explosion, and another. There were a handful of metallic scrapes, squeals and crashes, and then a scream, awful and metallic, that made the hair at the nape of Bec’s neck stand up with an instinctual fear.
“Sunstreaker got him,” said Sideswipe casually. Bec could hardly hear it over the ringing in her ears.
“Are you alright?” a voice asked, behind her. It was hard to tell-she couldn’t hear well, and it was hard to think through the new wave of adrenalin-but she thought that it sounded concerned.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically.
“You’re in shock, you’re bleeding and you may have sustained a concussion,” the voice corrected.
“So, was asking me how I was just some sort of twisted formality?” said Bec, exhaustion and new fear overcoming her, turning into irrational, uncharacteristic irritation. She’d probably regret it inside an hour, but right now she couldn’t resist the urge to be childish and petty. Damn, that cut on her leg was worse than she’d thought it had been.
“Yes,” said the voice as Bec turned around. She nearly fell over again as she tried to lurch back-her head was swimming-because the ‘voice’-it belonged to one of the robots, who was eyeing her inscrutably.
She’d been back-talking one of them. Irrationally, it reminded her of grade school, when she and a friend had been caught making fun of the scariest teacher in the school by the woman herself.
“Here,” he said, handing her an unmarked bottle. “It’s an antiseptic.” He handed her bandages as well. “Can you take care of the cut yourself?”
Bec stared dumbly for a long second before her mind caught up and she nodded, swiftly.
“So, are you just saying that because you don’t want to disagree, or because you actually do know how?”
Bec thought she was going to cry. “First aid training,” she finally managed. Which was true, although it had been years and years ago that she’d taken the course. She’d probably be able to manage bandaging the simple cut on her thigh, though. She was just starting to notice the pain in any big way; it couldn’t be that bad.
“Good,” said the robot-Autobot-and he did sound relieved. How odd. He stood, towering above her even more than he had been, then turned to walk in the direction Sunstreaker had gone. “I’m going to kill that fragger,” he muttered to himself. The yellow twin had not made a good impression.
Bec picked her way over the rough ground limping slightly and hardly able to see anything-let alone the ground-through the thick dusk. Reaching a small stand of trees, all the cover she was going to get, Bec slipped out of her jeans quickly and as stealthily as she could, wincing as it pulled at her now-throbbing cut. Damping down a piece of bandaging with the liquid, she dabbed gingerly at the sticky blood surrounding the mouth of the wound. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as she expected it to. In fact, as she even-more-carefully worked bits of gravel and dirt out of the cut itself, it seemed to go blissfully numb. A little bit more than just an antibiotic, then.
Working quickly, aware of the people still milling around-not to mention the robots-and the growing chill, Bec bandaged the cut and pulled her pants back on. Tentatively, she walked over to rejoin the main group.
“Oh, good, there you are,” said Judy, sounding only slightly distracted. “Would you mind helping Bobby and Glen pack up the picnic things? I wouldn’t ask, normally, but I think it’s time to go and I can’t do it myself immediately. Optimus?”
“-Yes, Mrs. Witwicky?”
“Judy. Although ‘Mrs. Witwicky’ is better than my full name… Anyway. I was going to see about assigning Bec to Jazz, or Jazz to Bec, however you want to think about it, but it seems he’s already slipped Ratchet’s lead and left with the Secretary of Defense. I can probably put her up at my house for a while, but my couch will get old quickly, and I think she might want a little privacy at this point. Am I right, Bec?” The girl nodded agreement, looking even more dazed than she had been earlier. “Alright. Just keep the matter in mind, please-although I suppose Lord knows you’ve got enough to think about already.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” came Sideswipe’s voice from a little ways away. He didn’t sound particularly sorry. “But there’s been a bit of an accident.” In fact, he sounded slightly gleeful.
“…What sort of accident?” asked Optimus, sounding as if he had a guess as to what sort of problem it was, and that he was hoping that he was wrong.
“Ironhide got one of the human vehicles with his cannon. Kind of took out another one with it. And Sunny stepped on another one.”
“Honey?” called Ron, his voice penetrating the surrounding darkness.
“Yes, dear?”
“The Honda’s a total loss.”
Judy looked back up at Optimus. “And I-we-will also need someone to get us all home in the first place. Six of us aren’t going to fit into Ron’s Truck and Bumblebee.”
oOo
Bec felt tired beyond exhaustion. She’d found a rock to sit on for a few minutes, and it was cold, hard and unpleasantly irregular, and she still kept on snapping out of a momentary dazes she couldn’t remember falling into in the first place.
Judy’s voice clearly snapping out an “Oh, damn,” jolted her out of it momentarily.
“What?” Miles said in response, surprised and a little frightened by Judy’s lapse. It took a hell of a lot to faze that woman, he knew.
“Ron and Trent left in Ron’s truck-which wouldn’t be a big problem, but I wanted to give Bec the chance to go home in a car that wasn’t an Autobot. She’ll have to go with Bee, instead.”
“I know I’m ready to head back,” said Miles, sounding exhausted.
“Alright, then,” said Judy decisively. “We’ll just have to make do with what we have. Bec, you can head home with Bumblebee and Miles, and Sam and I can go with… Sideswipe.” Who was the only mech left except for Optimus Prime, who just wasn’t subtle enough to ferry around humans to residential areas.
Bec nodded, not happy to be getting back into one of the Autobots, but not wanting to argue and needing, desperately, time to think and someplace to sleep. Blearily, she stuck the last of the picnic into the final bag and carried over to the waiting, apparently innocuous, car. The trunk popped open for her as she approached, making the woman jump.
Hesitantly, she shuffled the bag into place, shifting around all the other things filling the small space to make it fit, and then went around to the front, hesitating, not sure what to say or do. A teenage boy-Miles, she thought-was already waiting in the front seat; as she slowed, not sure what she should be doing, the driver’s door opened. Hesitantly, Bec slid inside and fastened her seat belt.
Just like with Sunstreaker, the car started on its own and did the driving for her. Except for the crunch of tires over gravel, it was unnervingly quiet. That wasn’t helping Bec’s nerves, and she tried to calm herself down, slow her racing pulse a little.
Miles looked like he was more than half asleep: slowly, his head drooped lower and lower until Bumblebee hit a pot hole and he collided painfully with the window.
“Nnngh,” he said, rubbing at the bump, voice a little hoarse with sleep. “Where are we?”
“Half an hour,” said Bumblebee, voice sounding tight, strained and staticky. Bec jumped a little. She half-wanted to ask a question-what was wrong with his voice? Sunstreaker had sounded metallic, but…
She didn’t say anything, though.
But Miles did. “Sam told me he-Bumblebee-got injured in a battle a while ago and his voice-not-box because he’s not human, duh, Miles, think, for god’s sake, but his voice got damaged or something, and for a long time he couldn’t speak at all and even now it can give him trouble.”
“Oh.” Idly, Bec rubbed at a spot on her neck-it was sore, too many days in a car, a Transformer, with a seatbelt edge that dug into her neck-and then fiddled briefly with a strand of hair.
There was a brief stutter of static, and the sound system turned on, LED display bright in the darkness, with no streetlights on the deserted road they were on, or even other headlights. “Relax, take it easy-” crooned the singer.
“Mika?” muttered Miles, sounding vaguely unnerved. Then, louder, “Well, that would explain why the radio was always acting up back when I thought you were just a car… And why Sam would always try to kick surreptitiously at… you, I guess, whenever it happened.”
There was a vaguely affirmative beep. Despite herself, Bec relaxed a little. This Autobot just wasn’t as… Threatening.
And she was so tired…
oOo
“So,” said Judy firmly, lips thinned and face set. “You’re Sideswipe.”
“Yeah,” came the reply. Sideswipe’s tone was light, unconcerned, and straddling the fine line between informal and disrespectful.
“Sunstreaker’s… ‘Twin.’”
“You humans don’t really have a word for it. It’s like being… Connected. We’re partially the same person.”
“I see.” She probably didn’t, actually, not completely, Judy knew, but she could puzzle out the finer details of the matter later. “Does this mean you’re likely to scare the spit out of some poor innocent as well?”
There wasn’t any answer. Sam was almost sympathetic-his mother had raised him, after all-but not quite.
“We’re not identical,” said Sideswipe carefully. “I’m my own person.”
“Good to hear.” Wow-his mom really wasn’t giving an inch. Sam was impressed, quite frankly.
“…And Sunstreaker’s kind of an asshole.”
Judy snapped. “That’s one way to put it! The girl-young woman-was literally sick with fear! She couldn’t eat! And that’s nothing compared to the asthma attacks, which your brother-” her tone was scathing “-did nothing to discourage! From the sounds of things, he actively encouraged it! That’s not asshole behavior, it’s sociopathy!” She paused to draw in a breath of air, as if to start speaking again, but sighed instead. Sideswipe started to speak, but Judy overrode him.
“You think I haven’t heard from my own son how he met the Autobots? He was cornered by a homicidal Decepticon in the first few days, and Bumblebee still managed to be more comforting than your brother all on his own-and Bumblebee couldn’t speak!”
“I’m right here, Mom,” Sam said, sounding almost amused. Judy ignored him.
“I was introduced to the Autobots, and it was marginally horrifying, but they all did their best to make me as comfortable as possible, considering the circumstances! Miles and even Trent have adapted better than Bec has, and their first inkling of the existence of you Transformers at all was being attacked by a rogue police car! Even Ironhide did a better job introducing himself to Sarah Lennox!”
“Look, lady, it’s not my fault. I’m not Sunstreaker, I’m not responsible for his behavior and, Pit, even I think he was out of line-and not because he was breaking regulations, that’s just the extra bit of stupid on top of the whole thing. He has a lot to answer for…”
To start with, Sideswipe had recorded this whole conversation to play back for his dear brother when they had time.
Judy subsided for the time being, although she still looked distinctly disapproving.
oOo
Sunstreaker was unhappy. The Autobot behind him-Ironhide-was tailgating. The Autobot in front of him, Ratchet, was refusing to speed up and, after the first time he’d tried it, had informed him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not going to be allowed to pass. The order had been backed up by Optimus Prime, who had helpfully reminded him that he was on probation. And then his brother had commed him to swear him out. And then Bumblebee, the little spy, had informed him that if he even thought of treating the two organics who were his charges, or any of the other humans connected to the Autobots, the way he had treated Bec, they wouldn’t find enough recognizable parts for Ratchet to be able to put him back together. Ratchet had piped up to say that there was no guarantee he’d want to try at all.
Finally, Optimus Prime had issued a few warnings and the others had backed off a little, and Sunstreaker had been left alone to bask in a little peace and quiet.
Unfortunately, all he seemed capable of doing was brooding.
Alright, he’d been pretty slagging nasty to the organic, even if she had been unpleasantly crazy and then annoyingly prone to panicking. And just…
So she wasn’t that bad. She’d never used him for reproductive behavior or eaten in him, just dragged around uprooted bits of damp vegetation. And she hadn’t washed him even when he was filthy, and she had insulted his color on several occasions, and…
But she hadn’t… She had…
Autobots didn’t breathe. They had no equivalent, far as Sunstreaker knew. There were ventilation systems, yeah, to help with overheating, but they weren’t particularly necessary, let alone regularly used. They didn’t eat, not the way humans did, either. They had no equivalent for vomiting-a reflex that, originally, got rid of potentially toxic substances that had been ingested, although apparently some humans didn’t seem to realize that. Nerves-the useless organic didn’t even have properly functional systems.
Although the malfunctions had been his fault.
Or-no, it was just as much her organic progenitor, who had ‘given’ him to her. And the Decepticons for forcing him to reveal his presence instead of just disappearing some night, after he’d heard from Sideswipe. And Sideswipe himself, for not finding Optimus Prime and the other Autobots fast enough, making him need to collect a driver and go in search of him.
No, that was stupid. It really was just him-and the organic-who were responsible. Even Sideswipe thought so, and Sunstreaker knew him-and had, when they had been close enough to ‑-each other, back at the lookout, felt a certain amount of anger and disgust radiating from him. Directed at Sunstreaker.
Slag.
He needed to fight something. …And if Ironhide tried tailgating again, it was going to be him.
oOo
Bec was in bed at eleven and slept until noon the next day, before she managed to drag herself awake, mostly because the sun was getting in her eyes-the Witwicky living room couch wasn’t all that comfortable, either, although it was better than a car seat, and anything-or nothing-was better than Sunstreaker.
The yellow Autobot from the night before, the striped one-Bumblebee; the name was bizarrely, inappropriately apt-was sitting in the driveway, but other than that, the house seemed to be deserted. Judy had left a note on the table: Bec, I’m out with the boys-help yourself to anything you want to eat, and if you want to go anywhere, ask Bumblebee. Do whatever you feel like doing. -Judy
She found herself some toast-she’d never really liked cereal-and an apple, suddenly hungry again, and then wandered out into the garden. Green growing things always relaxed her…
At first, she just wandered around, looking at the beds and inspecting few plants-Judy had founds some truly spectacular rose varieties, even if they weren’t their best in this climate-but it was hard to not want to get her fingers in the dirt.
…And no sane gardener would turn down free weeding, right? So it was fine if she did some. She could just avoid all the marginal weeds. She had California poppies in her own gardens, after all, and Bec knew that most people didn’t weed out daisies with the single-minded hatred that she did.
oOo
When Judy pulled into her driveway, Jazz behind her, she hadn’t expected to find one of her house guests waist-deep in dirt and weeds-her shirt, which had been a nice shade of light blue, was beyond recovery, absolutely covered in grass stains, mud and one patch that looked suspiciously like dead aphids, and what she could see of the jeans were worse-but actually smiling. A really happy smile, something she hadn’t seen from her, yet.
That faded, though, as Judy walked over to look at what she’d done, to be replaced with something that clearly had a lot of embarrassment to it, but was something else as well. Judy guessed that it was Bec’s interpretation of the emotion that accompanies a reality check. The girl-young woman-couldn’t ignore what had happened forever.
“Sorry,” Bec said, cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I didn’t…” She scrambled to stand up, hands wringing nervously.
“No, no, I should be thanking you!” Judy said immediately, because it was true. “I’ve been so busy lately I’ve been neglecting things horribly-I’m sure you can tell!”
Bec protested, of course-manners were important-and, gradually, the two women made their way inside.
An hour later, Bec was back outside, to pick up the now-wilted weeks (she’d forgotten them) and do some watering. It was a hot day, and the newly-turned-over soil would pick it up nicely, and after having their roots disturbed, the other plants could use it. She wondered if Judy kept any mulch on hand…
This time, Beck couldn’t have-and didn’t try to-keep her thoughts at bay. She needed to face things, after all…. And last night, hadn’t her only wish (after sleep) been to have the time to think?
And now she actually had it.
…So. Aliens were real, after all. At least, in the form of giant alien robots, they were. That was… It would have been interesting and slightly unnerving, but it was just kind of horrifying. Because of Sunstreaker. And because she was involved. She’d never asked for this. She’d never asked for much of anything, other than having a… Normal life. More normal, at least. She’d liked being almost entirely alone, which was a little weird, and she wanted the chance to garden, which was strange for someone in their early twenties, especially, but less weird. Other than that, though…
Once she graduated, she could work as a garden designer and she’d work instead of living off of her parents’ money, and she’d never be rich but she’d be happy, and nobody would ever notice her passing them in the street, because she wouldn’t be in magazines as part of the upper-class party circuit, or wearing custom-made ultrafashionable designer clothing, or driving a, a startlingly bright yellow Lamborghini.
It had been years since she’d really wanted to change the world. Once hopeless idealism wore out and reality-and realism-set in, Bec had accepted that very few people were going to be earth-shakers, and most people were just going to be background, within the range of ‘normal,’ and she was one of them.
Simply… Average.
People would probably tell her that that was a defeatist’s view. Maybe it was.
She’d graduate and design pretty gardens and retire and die, and nobody would remember her except for maybe a few other gardeners. She’d be happy with that. When she inherited after her father’s death, she’d probably donate most of the money, anonymously, to some charity or another. The business would go to her sister-certainly not to her, and her brother had no head for business.
But…
…but now she was around heroes. People-and not-people-who had made a difference, even though a lot of them were ordinary, except for that they’d found the strength to save the world. Sam; Mikaela; William Lennox, the captain, and his other team members; Maggie and Glen-although they hadn’t really been average to start with.
The Autobots.
Not… Not Sunstreaker, or his ‘brother,’ but the others. They had all risked their lives to save the world. Which mean saving her, and her mother, her father, her brother and sister. They’d risked their lives to save every person she knew, and every other person there was, sight unseen. They weren’t even the same species. They weren’t even both carbon-based. Biologically, she had more in common with phytoplankton than she did with any of them.
All she’d ever wanted was normalcy. Maybe to fight for that, once she’d been thrust out of it… Maybe, that was selfish.
She wasn’t a soldier. She wasn’t a hacker. The only ‘gifts’ she had were a good head for Latin, provided she studied, and a knack for leaf-shape recognition. And a fear of the Autobots that surpassed anyone else’s.
…She’d go home, once this was all over. Before it was. She wasn’t a hero.
And she couldn’t fail her classes, after all, and she hadn’t brought the work with her. She didn’t want the last of her spring lettuce to bolt before she could eat it.
oOo
Mikaela wasn’t shocked to find the kitchen empty when she walked in, first thing in the morning, but was kind of surprised that it looked like everybody else had already eaten. She was an early riser-her grandmother always called her a morning lark-so it was still a little bit before eight, and they’d gotten back pretty late the night before.
Mikaela shrugged mentally-oh, well-and found herself a bowl of cereal.
Mikaela decided to straighten up the kitchen a little-after all, Mrs. Roring (not Whitman, she needed to remember that; Judy had told her that she was Glen’s maternal grandmother, after all) was putting up with a number of ‘houseguests,’ including Ratchet, who was hardly inconspicuous in a civilian driveway… And that was after she’d been forced to follow her grandson across the country when the government had asked him to move closer to the Autobot project-she was too old to live alone. The least Mikaela could do is try to make things a little easier for her.
So she was up to her elbows in soapy water when Maggie and Glen walked in, looking like they’d just finished working out, or something like that, sweaty and exhausted.
“Ratchet made us go running,” Maggie explained, collapsing into a chair. “Glen-okay, fine, obesity is a serious health problem-”
“Hey!”
“-but why me?”
“It’s probably good for you,” Mikaela pointed out.
“I’m a computers specialist! A good one! Last I checked, that didn’t involve needing to meet any physical standards. -And why didn’t he make you go with us?”
“I go to the gym almost every day,” Mikaela said. “So does Sam. We both figured it was a good idea, after Mission City. Anyways, I’m going to start studying Autobot medicine with Ratchet, and most parts are pretty big, compared to me-they’re not going to be easy to lift.”
Maggie muttered something that sounded uncomplimentary, although it was hard to tell, with her face buried in her arms.
“Six-thirty AM is a godless hour,” Glen announced, sitting down across from her with a bowl of yogurt. “Which is perfect-Ratchet is clearly some satanic minion.”
Mikaela choked on her laughter. “He’s not that bad,” she protested, biting her lip.
“Yes, he is,” Maggie said firmly, Glen nodding his agreement. “Just you wait.”
“Fine,” Mikaela said. She was fighting a losing battle. “Ratchet might or might not be of satanic origin. So, what do we do today?”
“I’ve got a new firewall that needs testing!” Glen said enthusiastically. Maggie’s expression brightened considerably.
Mikaela groaned. Maybe Bumblebee would be able to pick her up-then she could spend the day with him and Sam, and probably Miles, Trent (which was a pity, but couldn’t be avoided…) and possibly Jazz. At least none of them would be talking about complex computer-things she couldn’t hope to understand.
oOo
Bec’s cell phone was currently in Oregon, three states away.
She’d left it on purpose, not wanting to have the temptation of being able to call someone. She hadn’t wanted to give Sunstreaker a reason to do-
Regardless, now she didn’t have it. She wanted to call her Dada, just to talk to him. She wanted to call her mom, to listen to her pointless gossip and to ask her to call the gardener her Dada had hired, and make sure nothing too horrible happened to her garden while she was gone.
As things were, she couldn’t. She didn’t want to ask Judy if she could use her phone-she was imposing enough as things were.
Maybe she could find a phone card in town. Yes, that was a good idea.
“Judy?” she said quietly, walking into the kitchen, where the woman was busy with something complicated-looking-she kept on cross-referencing through the stacks of papers spread out around her, and then scribbling notes.
“Yes, dear?” she replied, looking up and smiling in her direction.
“I’m going to go for a walk. Can I pick up anything for you while I’m out?”
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you, to think of me! No, I think I’m fine, but thanks for asking. Oh, wait, could you pick up a loaf of bread? If it’s not too much trouble. Just a second, I’ll give you some money-oh, and before I forget-I meant to ask you already, but I forgot-do you have a cell?”
“Yes,” said Bec. “But it’s in Oregon. I didn’t… Want to…”
Judy tried to hide her frown. “Hmm,” she said, as non-judgmentally as she could manage. Bec seemed to be the sort of person who hated conflict, even when none of it involved her. She really did need to have a chat with Sunstreaker, though-it probably wouldn’t be too hard to convince Jazz to let her use his radio. Even Bumblebee probably would, at this point-he took his role as a guardian seriously. “Well, that’s too bad-I think it’s a good idea for you to have some way of getting in touch with people, when you’re on your own, what with the Decepticons targeting people connected to the Autobots-which you really are now. I’m sorry…”
“Maybe it’ll turn out for the best,” said Bec, looking up suddenly to meet Judy’s eye, smiling a little-but it was only a smile because it wasn’t anything else, Judy thought. It was an odd expression, accepting and scared and maybe hopeful but just as much-or maybe more-despairing and probably confused (who wouldn’t be?) and definitely tired.
Poor girl. At least she seemed to have stopped rejecting everything connected to the Autobots-especially her role in the proceedings-automatically.
“Anyway,” Judy said, suddenly aware that she’d let the silence drag on too long. “Here, take my cell-and if there’s anyone you want to call, use the house phone, okay? If there’s an emergency, just press and hold number two-that’ll call the Autobots, they’ll show up even if you aren’t able to say anything. Oh, and here’s some money for the bread.”
“Thank you,” said Bec, looking down again. She hesitated, as if she was going to say something else-Judy thought about pressing her, then decided that it might end up discouraging instead of encouraging her. Finally, looking hesitant, the girl-young woman-spoke up. “Do… Could I call my d-my father? I can pay for the cost, because it’s long-distance-”
oOo
Bec wished the phone wasn’t cordless, so she’d have something to fiddle with while she was waiting for someone-probably her Dada’s secretary-to pick up on the other end.
She really was glad that she’d asked to call. She probably should have waited for a phone card, but the little corner store that served the suburb the Witwicky’s lived in didn’t look like it carried much-it would be kind of a long shot. And she really hadn’t wanted to wait any longer, even though there wasn’t any reason for her not to. And Judy had offered.
But she felt bad that she’d also insisted that Bec not pay her anything for the call. She was already another body in the already overfull house-the Witwickys were feeding and housing three extra people now, two of them teenage boys, and that didn’t include the Autobot in their driveway-did they need gas to run? Or something like that? They probably needed some sort of fuel… Unless they’d somehow managed to solve the energy crisis. Which was also breaking some sort of scientific law, Bec thought, based on her vague memories of freshman year high school chemistry.
“Hello, you’ve reached the office of-”
“I’m his daughter, Bec,” she said, interrupting him, then feeling bad about it-it was rude. She shouldn’t have. She did her best to think about things like that.
“I’ll put you through, ma’am.”
This time she watched her manners. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
There were a few moments of silence-her father would never tolerate background music for a phone on hold-and then she heard his voice.
“Hello?”
“Dada!” she said.
“Bec!” he said, clearly thrilled to hear from her. “My little girl! How are you doing? Did you hear? Your sister said she hadn’t gotten in touch with you when we talked this morning-”
“Hear what?”
“Don’t worry, nothing too bad-but the garage was broken into. Well, actually, it was almost half-destroyed, like someone tore the top off of it-and there are the damndest marks in the lawn--from whatever sort of machine they used to do it with, almost like giant footprints. I’m telling you, Bec, we’ll have conspiracy theorists and UFO-hunters showing up any day now. It’s the damndest thing, I’m telling you-”
Bec leaned back against her chair, feeling weak. Giant footprints?
How could you tell your father ‘I know what caused it-robotic alien life forms. One of their counterparts just kidnapped me…’?
They’d gone after her father. At least he was still alive.
He’d been so close to dying, and she hadn’t known it. She’d almost died too, the night before, but that was… Different.
She’d thought her Dada was indestructible, when she’d been younger. She still thought that, in a way. She couldn’t imagine him just laying down and dying.
She’d been so close to needing to bury him.
…But she couldn’t think about it now. Finish the conversation, she told herself. Think about this later. When you have the time. When it’ll be okay if you start crying.
oOo
Bec was trembling a little as she came into the kitchen, blank faced, and put the phone down on the bale with too-careful movements, as if she was needing to think, hard, about each physical action.
Her body was buzzing with tension again. She felt very tired, but only faintly-she felt as if her consciousness had been removed from her body, and the two parts were communicating from opposite ends of a very long, empty hallway.
“What’s wrong?” Judy asked, looking up with sudden concern spreading quickly across her face. “Bec-has something happened?”
Bec sat down and then swallowed hard, twice, trying to find her voice. “I think my father was attacked by Decepticons,” she said, voice raw.
“Oh my God-Is… Is everyone okay?”
“Yes,” Bec said, looking over, trying to remind herself that nothing had happened, that her father was fine. “It-He said someone broke into the garage, forced the roof open and left-left what looked like giant footprints in the yard.”
Judy clucked to herself, letting the other woman bury her face in her shoulder and cry while she hugged her closely.
“How did you get him?” Judy asked. “Sunstreaker, I mean.” She needed to get all the information she could, then get in touch with the Autobots.
“My-he was a gift from my father,” Bec said, surprised enough by the apparent incongruity of the question to answer unthinkingly, unflinchingly.
“I should have realized,” Judy said immediately, suspicions answered. “I should have-your father bought the car, and I bet there’s something somewhere on some computer with Internet access, some piece of information, that ties it to him-”
“The paint was custom,” Bec interjected, eyes downcast. “You can’t-not that exact color.”
“I bet the Decepticons were looking for Sunstreaker. That means they know his alt. form at the very least-maybe license plates, too, if we’re unlucky. It’s not exactly an every-day car, is it?”
“Oh God,” Bec said. “He was… My father-”
“I know,” Judy said soothingly. “but at least they know he’s not there. They won’t go looking again. And your father’s still alive…”
oOo
“Here,” Judy said, handing the phone to Bec. “Captain Lennox wants to ask you a few more questions.”
“Alright,” said Bec meekly. Then, to Will, “Yes? May I help you?”
“Well, yes-first off, I’d like to apologize. This never should have happened.”
“I understand-It’s okay,” Bec said softly.
“-Great,” said Will. “But would you mind speaking a little louder? I’m having a hard time hearing you. It’s a madhouse over here-you’ve probably heard, I’ve got my whole unit over here, and we’re just starting lunch-we got a little held up in meetings this morning.”
“Okay,” Bec said. She made an effort to speak up. “Is… Is there anything else?”
“An address and phone number for your father, and-let’s see-his full name,” Will continued.
“Alright-Thirty-four-”
“Hand on a second, I need a pad of paper-There! Okay, would you mind repeating that?”
Bec rattled off the information, then tried to answer a few more questions-she didn’t have the answers to any of them; her father hadn’t told her much in terms of specifics. She figured the whole matter was in the government’s hands, now.
“Do you have any questions?” Captain Lennox said at last. “Anything I can answer for you, or ask someone else to answer? Anything I can do?”
“I-” Bec bit hard on her lip. She didn’t…
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
So maybe she was useless. It was her fight now anyways. And it never hurt to try.
Right?
oOo
Go on to part 2
Chapter Four
Series: Transformers (2007 movie)
Rating/Warnings: T/PG-13, to be on the safe side. Really, the worst there is is mild swearing.
Characters/Pairings: Bec (OC) and Sunstreaker are probably the main characters.
Beyond that, this story features Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Ratchet, Ironhide, Jazz, Sideswipe, Sam, Mikaela, Judy, Ron, Capt. Lennox and the rest of his team, Trent, Miles, Maggie, Glen, Defense Secretary Keller and probably others.
Non-pairing (gen) except for canon mentions of Sam/Mikaela.
Summary: Sideswipe and Sunstreaker have arrived on earth. That means that all they need to do is track down Optimus Prime, get rid of the pack of Decepticons after them and not scare the local wildlife. That should be easy, right?
Thank you very much to my beta, mmouse15!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
And at FFnet
oOoOoOo
Bec screamed and fell backwards as the car she was standing besides transformed. She had a sudden impression of roaring heat and noise-an explosion. She might have screamed again.
That yellow streak running past her-over her-must be Sunstreaker. The ground shook with the footsteps of the footsteps of the giants surrounding her, and then the more with another explosion, and another. There were a handful of metallic scrapes, squeals and crashes, and then a scream, awful and metallic, that made the hair at the nape of Bec’s neck stand up with an instinctual fear.
“Sunstreaker got him,” said Sideswipe casually. Bec could hardly hear it over the ringing in her ears.
“Are you alright?” a voice asked, behind her. It was hard to tell-she couldn’t hear well, and it was hard to think through the new wave of adrenalin-but she thought that it sounded concerned.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically.
“You’re in shock, you’re bleeding and you may have sustained a concussion,” the voice corrected.
“So, was asking me how I was just some sort of twisted formality?” said Bec, exhaustion and new fear overcoming her, turning into irrational, uncharacteristic irritation. She’d probably regret it inside an hour, but right now she couldn’t resist the urge to be childish and petty. Damn, that cut on her leg was worse than she’d thought it had been.
“Yes,” said the voice as Bec turned around. She nearly fell over again as she tried to lurch back-her head was swimming-because the ‘voice’-it belonged to one of the robots, who was eyeing her inscrutably.
She’d been back-talking one of them. Irrationally, it reminded her of grade school, when she and a friend had been caught making fun of the scariest teacher in the school by the woman herself.
“Here,” he said, handing her an unmarked bottle. “It’s an antiseptic.” He handed her bandages as well. “Can you take care of the cut yourself?”
Bec stared dumbly for a long second before her mind caught up and she nodded, swiftly.
“So, are you just saying that because you don’t want to disagree, or because you actually do know how?”
Bec thought she was going to cry. “First aid training,” she finally managed. Which was true, although it had been years and years ago that she’d taken the course. She’d probably be able to manage bandaging the simple cut on her thigh, though. She was just starting to notice the pain in any big way; it couldn’t be that bad.
“Good,” said the robot-Autobot-and he did sound relieved. How odd. He stood, towering above her even more than he had been, then turned to walk in the direction Sunstreaker had gone. “I’m going to kill that fragger,” he muttered to himself. The yellow twin had not made a good impression.
Bec picked her way over the rough ground limping slightly and hardly able to see anything-let alone the ground-through the thick dusk. Reaching a small stand of trees, all the cover she was going to get, Bec slipped out of her jeans quickly and as stealthily as she could, wincing as it pulled at her now-throbbing cut. Damping down a piece of bandaging with the liquid, she dabbed gingerly at the sticky blood surrounding the mouth of the wound. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as she expected it to. In fact, as she even-more-carefully worked bits of gravel and dirt out of the cut itself, it seemed to go blissfully numb. A little bit more than just an antibiotic, then.
Working quickly, aware of the people still milling around-not to mention the robots-and the growing chill, Bec bandaged the cut and pulled her pants back on. Tentatively, she walked over to rejoin the main group.
“Oh, good, there you are,” said Judy, sounding only slightly distracted. “Would you mind helping Bobby and Glen pack up the picnic things? I wouldn’t ask, normally, but I think it’s time to go and I can’t do it myself immediately. Optimus?”
“-Yes, Mrs. Witwicky?”
“Judy. Although ‘Mrs. Witwicky’ is better than my full name… Anyway. I was going to see about assigning Bec to Jazz, or Jazz to Bec, however you want to think about it, but it seems he’s already slipped Ratchet’s lead and left with the Secretary of Defense. I can probably put her up at my house for a while, but my couch will get old quickly, and I think she might want a little privacy at this point. Am I right, Bec?” The girl nodded agreement, looking even more dazed than she had been earlier. “Alright. Just keep the matter in mind, please-although I suppose Lord knows you’ve got enough to think about already.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” came Sideswipe’s voice from a little ways away. He didn’t sound particularly sorry. “But there’s been a bit of an accident.” In fact, he sounded slightly gleeful.
“…What sort of accident?” asked Optimus, sounding as if he had a guess as to what sort of problem it was, and that he was hoping that he was wrong.
“Ironhide got one of the human vehicles with his cannon. Kind of took out another one with it. And Sunny stepped on another one.”
“Honey?” called Ron, his voice penetrating the surrounding darkness.
“Yes, dear?”
“The Honda’s a total loss.”
Judy looked back up at Optimus. “And I-we-will also need someone to get us all home in the first place. Six of us aren’t going to fit into Ron’s Truck and Bumblebee.”
oOo
Bec felt tired beyond exhaustion. She’d found a rock to sit on for a few minutes, and it was cold, hard and unpleasantly irregular, and she still kept on snapping out of a momentary dazes she couldn’t remember falling into in the first place.
Judy’s voice clearly snapping out an “Oh, damn,” jolted her out of it momentarily.
“What?” Miles said in response, surprised and a little frightened by Judy’s lapse. It took a hell of a lot to faze that woman, he knew.
“Ron and Trent left in Ron’s truck-which wouldn’t be a big problem, but I wanted to give Bec the chance to go home in a car that wasn’t an Autobot. She’ll have to go with Bee, instead.”
“I know I’m ready to head back,” said Miles, sounding exhausted.
“Alright, then,” said Judy decisively. “We’ll just have to make do with what we have. Bec, you can head home with Bumblebee and Miles, and Sam and I can go with… Sideswipe.” Who was the only mech left except for Optimus Prime, who just wasn’t subtle enough to ferry around humans to residential areas.
Bec nodded, not happy to be getting back into one of the Autobots, but not wanting to argue and needing, desperately, time to think and someplace to sleep. Blearily, she stuck the last of the picnic into the final bag and carried over to the waiting, apparently innocuous, car. The trunk popped open for her as she approached, making the woman jump.
Hesitantly, she shuffled the bag into place, shifting around all the other things filling the small space to make it fit, and then went around to the front, hesitating, not sure what to say or do. A teenage boy-Miles, she thought-was already waiting in the front seat; as she slowed, not sure what she should be doing, the driver’s door opened. Hesitantly, Bec slid inside and fastened her seat belt.
Just like with Sunstreaker, the car started on its own and did the driving for her. Except for the crunch of tires over gravel, it was unnervingly quiet. That wasn’t helping Bec’s nerves, and she tried to calm herself down, slow her racing pulse a little.
Miles looked like he was more than half asleep: slowly, his head drooped lower and lower until Bumblebee hit a pot hole and he collided painfully with the window.
“Nnngh,” he said, rubbing at the bump, voice a little hoarse with sleep. “Where are we?”
“Half an hour,” said Bumblebee, voice sounding tight, strained and staticky. Bec jumped a little. She half-wanted to ask a question-what was wrong with his voice? Sunstreaker had sounded metallic, but…
She didn’t say anything, though.
But Miles did. “Sam told me he-Bumblebee-got injured in a battle a while ago and his voice-not-box because he’s not human, duh, Miles, think, for god’s sake, but his voice got damaged or something, and for a long time he couldn’t speak at all and even now it can give him trouble.”
“Oh.” Idly, Bec rubbed at a spot on her neck-it was sore, too many days in a car, a Transformer, with a seatbelt edge that dug into her neck-and then fiddled briefly with a strand of hair.
There was a brief stutter of static, and the sound system turned on, LED display bright in the darkness, with no streetlights on the deserted road they were on, or even other headlights. “Relax, take it easy-” crooned the singer.
“Mika?” muttered Miles, sounding vaguely unnerved. Then, louder, “Well, that would explain why the radio was always acting up back when I thought you were just a car… And why Sam would always try to kick surreptitiously at… you, I guess, whenever it happened.”
There was a vaguely affirmative beep. Despite herself, Bec relaxed a little. This Autobot just wasn’t as… Threatening.
And she was so tired…
oOo
“So,” said Judy firmly, lips thinned and face set. “You’re Sideswipe.”
“Yeah,” came the reply. Sideswipe’s tone was light, unconcerned, and straddling the fine line between informal and disrespectful.
“Sunstreaker’s… ‘Twin.’”
“You humans don’t really have a word for it. It’s like being… Connected. We’re partially the same person.”
“I see.” She probably didn’t, actually, not completely, Judy knew, but she could puzzle out the finer details of the matter later. “Does this mean you’re likely to scare the spit out of some poor innocent as well?”
There wasn’t any answer. Sam was almost sympathetic-his mother had raised him, after all-but not quite.
“We’re not identical,” said Sideswipe carefully. “I’m my own person.”
“Good to hear.” Wow-his mom really wasn’t giving an inch. Sam was impressed, quite frankly.
“…And Sunstreaker’s kind of an asshole.”
Judy snapped. “That’s one way to put it! The girl-young woman-was literally sick with fear! She couldn’t eat! And that’s nothing compared to the asthma attacks, which your brother-” her tone was scathing “-did nothing to discourage! From the sounds of things, he actively encouraged it! That’s not asshole behavior, it’s sociopathy!” She paused to draw in a breath of air, as if to start speaking again, but sighed instead. Sideswipe started to speak, but Judy overrode him.
“You think I haven’t heard from my own son how he met the Autobots? He was cornered by a homicidal Decepticon in the first few days, and Bumblebee still managed to be more comforting than your brother all on his own-and Bumblebee couldn’t speak!”
“I’m right here, Mom,” Sam said, sounding almost amused. Judy ignored him.
“I was introduced to the Autobots, and it was marginally horrifying, but they all did their best to make me as comfortable as possible, considering the circumstances! Miles and even Trent have adapted better than Bec has, and their first inkling of the existence of you Transformers at all was being attacked by a rogue police car! Even Ironhide did a better job introducing himself to Sarah Lennox!”
“Look, lady, it’s not my fault. I’m not Sunstreaker, I’m not responsible for his behavior and, Pit, even I think he was out of line-and not because he was breaking regulations, that’s just the extra bit of stupid on top of the whole thing. He has a lot to answer for…”
To start with, Sideswipe had recorded this whole conversation to play back for his dear brother when they had time.
Judy subsided for the time being, although she still looked distinctly disapproving.
oOo
Sunstreaker was unhappy. The Autobot behind him-Ironhide-was tailgating. The Autobot in front of him, Ratchet, was refusing to speed up and, after the first time he’d tried it, had informed him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not going to be allowed to pass. The order had been backed up by Optimus Prime, who had helpfully reminded him that he was on probation. And then his brother had commed him to swear him out. And then Bumblebee, the little spy, had informed him that if he even thought of treating the two organics who were his charges, or any of the other humans connected to the Autobots, the way he had treated Bec, they wouldn’t find enough recognizable parts for Ratchet to be able to put him back together. Ratchet had piped up to say that there was no guarantee he’d want to try at all.
Finally, Optimus Prime had issued a few warnings and the others had backed off a little, and Sunstreaker had been left alone to bask in a little peace and quiet.
Unfortunately, all he seemed capable of doing was brooding.
Alright, he’d been pretty slagging nasty to the organic, even if she had been unpleasantly crazy and then annoyingly prone to panicking. And just…
So she wasn’t that bad. She’d never used him for reproductive behavior or eaten in him, just dragged around uprooted bits of damp vegetation. And she hadn’t washed him even when he was filthy, and she had insulted his color on several occasions, and…
But she hadn’t… She had…
Autobots didn’t breathe. They had no equivalent, far as Sunstreaker knew. There were ventilation systems, yeah, to help with overheating, but they weren’t particularly necessary, let alone regularly used. They didn’t eat, not the way humans did, either. They had no equivalent for vomiting-a reflex that, originally, got rid of potentially toxic substances that had been ingested, although apparently some humans didn’t seem to realize that. Nerves-the useless organic didn’t even have properly functional systems.
Although the malfunctions had been his fault.
Or-no, it was just as much her organic progenitor, who had ‘given’ him to her. And the Decepticons for forcing him to reveal his presence instead of just disappearing some night, after he’d heard from Sideswipe. And Sideswipe himself, for not finding Optimus Prime and the other Autobots fast enough, making him need to collect a driver and go in search of him.
No, that was stupid. It really was just him-and the organic-who were responsible. Even Sideswipe thought so, and Sunstreaker knew him-and had, when they had been close enough to ‑-each other, back at the lookout, felt a certain amount of anger and disgust radiating from him. Directed at Sunstreaker.
Slag.
He needed to fight something. …And if Ironhide tried tailgating again, it was going to be him.
oOo
Bec was in bed at eleven and slept until noon the next day, before she managed to drag herself awake, mostly because the sun was getting in her eyes-the Witwicky living room couch wasn’t all that comfortable, either, although it was better than a car seat, and anything-or nothing-was better than Sunstreaker.
The yellow Autobot from the night before, the striped one-Bumblebee; the name was bizarrely, inappropriately apt-was sitting in the driveway, but other than that, the house seemed to be deserted. Judy had left a note on the table: Bec, I’m out with the boys-help yourself to anything you want to eat, and if you want to go anywhere, ask Bumblebee. Do whatever you feel like doing. -Judy
She found herself some toast-she’d never really liked cereal-and an apple, suddenly hungry again, and then wandered out into the garden. Green growing things always relaxed her…
At first, she just wandered around, looking at the beds and inspecting few plants-Judy had founds some truly spectacular rose varieties, even if they weren’t their best in this climate-but it was hard to not want to get her fingers in the dirt.
…And no sane gardener would turn down free weeding, right? So it was fine if she did some. She could just avoid all the marginal weeds. She had California poppies in her own gardens, after all, and Bec knew that most people didn’t weed out daisies with the single-minded hatred that she did.
oOo
When Judy pulled into her driveway, Jazz behind her, she hadn’t expected to find one of her house guests waist-deep in dirt and weeds-her shirt, which had been a nice shade of light blue, was beyond recovery, absolutely covered in grass stains, mud and one patch that looked suspiciously like dead aphids, and what she could see of the jeans were worse-but actually smiling. A really happy smile, something she hadn’t seen from her, yet.
That faded, though, as Judy walked over to look at what she’d done, to be replaced with something that clearly had a lot of embarrassment to it, but was something else as well. Judy guessed that it was Bec’s interpretation of the emotion that accompanies a reality check. The girl-young woman-couldn’t ignore what had happened forever.
“Sorry,” Bec said, cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I didn’t…” She scrambled to stand up, hands wringing nervously.
“No, no, I should be thanking you!” Judy said immediately, because it was true. “I’ve been so busy lately I’ve been neglecting things horribly-I’m sure you can tell!”
Bec protested, of course-manners were important-and, gradually, the two women made their way inside.
An hour later, Bec was back outside, to pick up the now-wilted weeks (she’d forgotten them) and do some watering. It was a hot day, and the newly-turned-over soil would pick it up nicely, and after having their roots disturbed, the other plants could use it. She wondered if Judy kept any mulch on hand…
This time, Beck couldn’t have-and didn’t try to-keep her thoughts at bay. She needed to face things, after all…. And last night, hadn’t her only wish (after sleep) been to have the time to think?
And now she actually had it.
…So. Aliens were real, after all. At least, in the form of giant alien robots, they were. That was… It would have been interesting and slightly unnerving, but it was just kind of horrifying. Because of Sunstreaker. And because she was involved. She’d never asked for this. She’d never asked for much of anything, other than having a… Normal life. More normal, at least. She’d liked being almost entirely alone, which was a little weird, and she wanted the chance to garden, which was strange for someone in their early twenties, especially, but less weird. Other than that, though…
Once she graduated, she could work as a garden designer and she’d work instead of living off of her parents’ money, and she’d never be rich but she’d be happy, and nobody would ever notice her passing them in the street, because she wouldn’t be in magazines as part of the upper-class party circuit, or wearing custom-made ultrafashionable designer clothing, or driving a, a startlingly bright yellow Lamborghini.
It had been years since she’d really wanted to change the world. Once hopeless idealism wore out and reality-and realism-set in, Bec had accepted that very few people were going to be earth-shakers, and most people were just going to be background, within the range of ‘normal,’ and she was one of them.
Simply… Average.
People would probably tell her that that was a defeatist’s view. Maybe it was.
She’d graduate and design pretty gardens and retire and die, and nobody would remember her except for maybe a few other gardeners. She’d be happy with that. When she inherited after her father’s death, she’d probably donate most of the money, anonymously, to some charity or another. The business would go to her sister-certainly not to her, and her brother had no head for business.
But…
…but now she was around heroes. People-and not-people-who had made a difference, even though a lot of them were ordinary, except for that they’d found the strength to save the world. Sam; Mikaela; William Lennox, the captain, and his other team members; Maggie and Glen-although they hadn’t really been average to start with.
The Autobots.
Not… Not Sunstreaker, or his ‘brother,’ but the others. They had all risked their lives to save the world. Which mean saving her, and her mother, her father, her brother and sister. They’d risked their lives to save every person she knew, and every other person there was, sight unseen. They weren’t even the same species. They weren’t even both carbon-based. Biologically, she had more in common with phytoplankton than she did with any of them.
All she’d ever wanted was normalcy. Maybe to fight for that, once she’d been thrust out of it… Maybe, that was selfish.
She wasn’t a soldier. She wasn’t a hacker. The only ‘gifts’ she had were a good head for Latin, provided she studied, and a knack for leaf-shape recognition. And a fear of the Autobots that surpassed anyone else’s.
…She’d go home, once this was all over. Before it was. She wasn’t a hero.
And she couldn’t fail her classes, after all, and she hadn’t brought the work with her. She didn’t want the last of her spring lettuce to bolt before she could eat it.
oOo
Mikaela wasn’t shocked to find the kitchen empty when she walked in, first thing in the morning, but was kind of surprised that it looked like everybody else had already eaten. She was an early riser-her grandmother always called her a morning lark-so it was still a little bit before eight, and they’d gotten back pretty late the night before.
Mikaela shrugged mentally-oh, well-and found herself a bowl of cereal.
Mikaela decided to straighten up the kitchen a little-after all, Mrs. Roring (not Whitman, she needed to remember that; Judy had told her that she was Glen’s maternal grandmother, after all) was putting up with a number of ‘houseguests,’ including Ratchet, who was hardly inconspicuous in a civilian driveway… And that was after she’d been forced to follow her grandson across the country when the government had asked him to move closer to the Autobot project-she was too old to live alone. The least Mikaela could do is try to make things a little easier for her.
So she was up to her elbows in soapy water when Maggie and Glen walked in, looking like they’d just finished working out, or something like that, sweaty and exhausted.
“Ratchet made us go running,” Maggie explained, collapsing into a chair. “Glen-okay, fine, obesity is a serious health problem-”
“Hey!”
“-but why me?”
“It’s probably good for you,” Mikaela pointed out.
“I’m a computers specialist! A good one! Last I checked, that didn’t involve needing to meet any physical standards. -And why didn’t he make you go with us?”
“I go to the gym almost every day,” Mikaela said. “So does Sam. We both figured it was a good idea, after Mission City. Anyways, I’m going to start studying Autobot medicine with Ratchet, and most parts are pretty big, compared to me-they’re not going to be easy to lift.”
Maggie muttered something that sounded uncomplimentary, although it was hard to tell, with her face buried in her arms.
“Six-thirty AM is a godless hour,” Glen announced, sitting down across from her with a bowl of yogurt. “Which is perfect-Ratchet is clearly some satanic minion.”
Mikaela choked on her laughter. “He’s not that bad,” she protested, biting her lip.
“Yes, he is,” Maggie said firmly, Glen nodding his agreement. “Just you wait.”
“Fine,” Mikaela said. She was fighting a losing battle. “Ratchet might or might not be of satanic origin. So, what do we do today?”
“I’ve got a new firewall that needs testing!” Glen said enthusiastically. Maggie’s expression brightened considerably.
Mikaela groaned. Maybe Bumblebee would be able to pick her up-then she could spend the day with him and Sam, and probably Miles, Trent (which was a pity, but couldn’t be avoided…) and possibly Jazz. At least none of them would be talking about complex computer-things she couldn’t hope to understand.
oOo
Bec’s cell phone was currently in Oregon, three states away.
She’d left it on purpose, not wanting to have the temptation of being able to call someone. She hadn’t wanted to give Sunstreaker a reason to do-
Regardless, now she didn’t have it. She wanted to call her Dada, just to talk to him. She wanted to call her mom, to listen to her pointless gossip and to ask her to call the gardener her Dada had hired, and make sure nothing too horrible happened to her garden while she was gone.
As things were, she couldn’t. She didn’t want to ask Judy if she could use her phone-she was imposing enough as things were.
Maybe she could find a phone card in town. Yes, that was a good idea.
“Judy?” she said quietly, walking into the kitchen, where the woman was busy with something complicated-looking-she kept on cross-referencing through the stacks of papers spread out around her, and then scribbling notes.
“Yes, dear?” she replied, looking up and smiling in her direction.
“I’m going to go for a walk. Can I pick up anything for you while I’m out?”
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you, to think of me! No, I think I’m fine, but thanks for asking. Oh, wait, could you pick up a loaf of bread? If it’s not too much trouble. Just a second, I’ll give you some money-oh, and before I forget-I meant to ask you already, but I forgot-do you have a cell?”
“Yes,” said Bec. “But it’s in Oregon. I didn’t… Want to…”
Judy tried to hide her frown. “Hmm,” she said, as non-judgmentally as she could manage. Bec seemed to be the sort of person who hated conflict, even when none of it involved her. She really did need to have a chat with Sunstreaker, though-it probably wouldn’t be too hard to convince Jazz to let her use his radio. Even Bumblebee probably would, at this point-he took his role as a guardian seriously. “Well, that’s too bad-I think it’s a good idea for you to have some way of getting in touch with people, when you’re on your own, what with the Decepticons targeting people connected to the Autobots-which you really are now. I’m sorry…”
“Maybe it’ll turn out for the best,” said Bec, looking up suddenly to meet Judy’s eye, smiling a little-but it was only a smile because it wasn’t anything else, Judy thought. It was an odd expression, accepting and scared and maybe hopeful but just as much-or maybe more-despairing and probably confused (who wouldn’t be?) and definitely tired.
Poor girl. At least she seemed to have stopped rejecting everything connected to the Autobots-especially her role in the proceedings-automatically.
“Anyway,” Judy said, suddenly aware that she’d let the silence drag on too long. “Here, take my cell-and if there’s anyone you want to call, use the house phone, okay? If there’s an emergency, just press and hold number two-that’ll call the Autobots, they’ll show up even if you aren’t able to say anything. Oh, and here’s some money for the bread.”
“Thank you,” said Bec, looking down again. She hesitated, as if she was going to say something else-Judy thought about pressing her, then decided that it might end up discouraging instead of encouraging her. Finally, looking hesitant, the girl-young woman-spoke up. “Do… Could I call my d-my father? I can pay for the cost, because it’s long-distance-”
oOo
Bec wished the phone wasn’t cordless, so she’d have something to fiddle with while she was waiting for someone-probably her Dada’s secretary-to pick up on the other end.
She really was glad that she’d asked to call. She probably should have waited for a phone card, but the little corner store that served the suburb the Witwicky’s lived in didn’t look like it carried much-it would be kind of a long shot. And she really hadn’t wanted to wait any longer, even though there wasn’t any reason for her not to. And Judy had offered.
But she felt bad that she’d also insisted that Bec not pay her anything for the call. She was already another body in the already overfull house-the Witwickys were feeding and housing three extra people now, two of them teenage boys, and that didn’t include the Autobot in their driveway-did they need gas to run? Or something like that? They probably needed some sort of fuel… Unless they’d somehow managed to solve the energy crisis. Which was also breaking some sort of scientific law, Bec thought, based on her vague memories of freshman year high school chemistry.
“Hello, you’ve reached the office of-”
“I’m his daughter, Bec,” she said, interrupting him, then feeling bad about it-it was rude. She shouldn’t have. She did her best to think about things like that.
“I’ll put you through, ma’am.”
This time she watched her manners. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
There were a few moments of silence-her father would never tolerate background music for a phone on hold-and then she heard his voice.
“Hello?”
“Dada!” she said.
“Bec!” he said, clearly thrilled to hear from her. “My little girl! How are you doing? Did you hear? Your sister said she hadn’t gotten in touch with you when we talked this morning-”
“Hear what?”
“Don’t worry, nothing too bad-but the garage was broken into. Well, actually, it was almost half-destroyed, like someone tore the top off of it-and there are the damndest marks in the lawn--from whatever sort of machine they used to do it with, almost like giant footprints. I’m telling you, Bec, we’ll have conspiracy theorists and UFO-hunters showing up any day now. It’s the damndest thing, I’m telling you-”
Bec leaned back against her chair, feeling weak. Giant footprints?
How could you tell your father ‘I know what caused it-robotic alien life forms. One of their counterparts just kidnapped me…’?
They’d gone after her father. At least he was still alive.
He’d been so close to dying, and she hadn’t known it. She’d almost died too, the night before, but that was… Different.
She’d thought her Dada was indestructible, when she’d been younger. She still thought that, in a way. She couldn’t imagine him just laying down and dying.
She’d been so close to needing to bury him.
…But she couldn’t think about it now. Finish the conversation, she told herself. Think about this later. When you have the time. When it’ll be okay if you start crying.
oOo
Bec was trembling a little as she came into the kitchen, blank faced, and put the phone down on the bale with too-careful movements, as if she was needing to think, hard, about each physical action.
Her body was buzzing with tension again. She felt very tired, but only faintly-she felt as if her consciousness had been removed from her body, and the two parts were communicating from opposite ends of a very long, empty hallway.
“What’s wrong?” Judy asked, looking up with sudden concern spreading quickly across her face. “Bec-has something happened?”
Bec sat down and then swallowed hard, twice, trying to find her voice. “I think my father was attacked by Decepticons,” she said, voice raw.
“Oh my God-Is… Is everyone okay?”
“Yes,” Bec said, looking over, trying to remind herself that nothing had happened, that her father was fine. “It-He said someone broke into the garage, forced the roof open and left-left what looked like giant footprints in the yard.”
Judy clucked to herself, letting the other woman bury her face in her shoulder and cry while she hugged her closely.
“How did you get him?” Judy asked. “Sunstreaker, I mean.” She needed to get all the information she could, then get in touch with the Autobots.
“My-he was a gift from my father,” Bec said, surprised enough by the apparent incongruity of the question to answer unthinkingly, unflinchingly.
“I should have realized,” Judy said immediately, suspicions answered. “I should have-your father bought the car, and I bet there’s something somewhere on some computer with Internet access, some piece of information, that ties it to him-”
“The paint was custom,” Bec interjected, eyes downcast. “You can’t-not that exact color.”
“I bet the Decepticons were looking for Sunstreaker. That means they know his alt. form at the very least-maybe license plates, too, if we’re unlucky. It’s not exactly an every-day car, is it?”
“Oh God,” Bec said. “He was… My father-”
“I know,” Judy said soothingly. “but at least they know he’s not there. They won’t go looking again. And your father’s still alive…”
oOo
“Here,” Judy said, handing the phone to Bec. “Captain Lennox wants to ask you a few more questions.”
“Alright,” said Bec meekly. Then, to Will, “Yes? May I help you?”
“Well, yes-first off, I’d like to apologize. This never should have happened.”
“I understand-It’s okay,” Bec said softly.
“-Great,” said Will. “But would you mind speaking a little louder? I’m having a hard time hearing you. It’s a madhouse over here-you’ve probably heard, I’ve got my whole unit over here, and we’re just starting lunch-we got a little held up in meetings this morning.”
“Okay,” Bec said. She made an effort to speak up. “Is… Is there anything else?”
“An address and phone number for your father, and-let’s see-his full name,” Will continued.
“Alright-Thirty-four-”
“Hand on a second, I need a pad of paper-There! Okay, would you mind repeating that?”
Bec rattled off the information, then tried to answer a few more questions-she didn’t have the answers to any of them; her father hadn’t told her much in terms of specifics. She figured the whole matter was in the government’s hands, now.
“Do you have any questions?” Captain Lennox said at last. “Anything I can answer for you, or ask someone else to answer? Anything I can do?”
“I-” Bec bit hard on her lip. She didn’t…
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
So maybe she was useless. It was her fight now anyways. And it never hurt to try.
Right?
oOo
Go on to part 2