Fic: All Expenses Paid, Chapter 4
Author’s Note: Yes, I’m totally hiding in shame. My ADD-ish muse has taken over my brain, and instead of plotbunnies, I am now being attacked by rabid plottribbles. I’ve discovered the Star Trek reboot fandom, so I do apologize for the lack of attention this story has received of late. See my author page for the litany of reasons why it looks like I gave up on this story (even though I didn’t!). Story overload, lol. I have reworked this story (again) and will be focusing almost exclusively on it until I finish it. This part is very short, but it’s supposed to serve as a bit of teaser for those of you that have been hanging in there, waiting for an update. Thanks guys! The fact that you’re waiting around for me to get off my ass and work on this yarn means a lot.
I took some artistic license with Galloway’s first name because of one reference I was dying to let Lennox make with him that will come up later in the story. I know it’s really Theodore, but I liked Norman better anyway.
Disclaimer: Standard ‘not mine’ applies to both Transformers and NCIS.
Chapter 4
Arlington, Virginia, Residence of Norman Galloway
Norman Galloway bit his lip. The meeting with Prime and the other Autobots had not quite gone as he’d planned. Optimus was once again his frustrating, stoic, diplomatic self. Galloway truly believed that hell would freeze over before the Autobot leader divulged any of their army’s weapons secrets. But, it wasn’t for a lack of trying on the politician’s part, however. And Lennox…if he ever saw the man in a dark alley, the litany of things he’d love to do to the major were almost too risky to put on paper. The hatred in that relationship was surely mutual.
Sighing, he climbed from his car and grabbed his briefcase from the back seat. It was nearly midnight, and the plane ride back from Diego Garcia had been long, hot, and boring. To be perfectly honest, Norman was simply glad to be back stateside to civilization. Keying in the code to the garage, he trudged wearily into his house and began dropping various items along the way to his bedroom. Scoffing, Galloway mused that part of the beauty of being single was that there was no one home to care if his tie sat in the fruit bowl for two weeks before his long-suffering housekeeper finally yelled at him to pick it up.
In his bedroom, Galloway unbuttoned his dress shirt, threw the dirty garment in the laundry basket and exited his closet. He dropped his wallet and keys on the dresser as he passed by, not bothering turn flick the lights on as he made his way toward the bathroom. He plucked a t-shirt and clean pair of underwear from the drawer for after his shower. When he turned around, Norman nearly screamed. Directly in front of him, a strange man was perched on the politician’s bed, the random person absently picking his fingernails.
The man looked up, his expression calm but unnervingly intense. Jerking his head up and then down in a sort of casual greeting, he said simply, “Yo.”
Just where had this guy come from? Norman blinked hard, the only movement he could force his stunned body to make. He knew for sure that the house was completely empty when he’d gotten home, the alarm still set, the door still locked. It was almost as if this new visitor had simply materialized out of thin air. His heart hammering away in his ears, Galloway slowed his breathing with a couple of deep breaths before he asked, “Just who the hell are you?” Norman mentally cursed himself as he heard his own voice shake.
The arbitrary stranger tilted his head to the side, his brown eyes glowing almost red in the faint light. “The question isn’t who I am, it’s what I know you want,” he said cryptically. Had he been in a rational frame of mind, Galloway might have recognized the slight tint of a Slavic accent coloring the man’s rough, scratchy voice.
Galloway narrowed his eyes. Logically, he should be afraid. Some rather shady person had managed to circumvent all his security and plop himself down on the bed without so much as a sound. For all Norman knew, the guy was an axe murderer, on the run from the law, the needle, or any number of raging relatives. But as logical as that notion should have been, what made sense weren’t principles on which he’d ever had a solid grasp. After the whole fiasco in Egypt, Galloway had been forced to confront all his shortcomings, his predilection for flying off the handle and blaming others when it was really his damn fault at the top of the list.
It was to say of course, that Norman acknowledged the problem’s existence. It didn’t mean that Egypt had taught him how to be logical.
The man hopped off the bed with the ease of a long time athlete. Galloway had a couple of seconds to formulate an opinion on his intruder, the only one coming to mind was how one person’s face was able to accommodate double the piecing of the amount of fingers and toes humans had and still possess the ability to talk. But, before Norman could contemplate further, the man walked up and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m here because I think I can offer you a fair trade. See, my boss knows things that you know, things that no one else should,” he started. “But we also know things you don’t and vice versa.”
Reverting back to his training borne of a lifetime as a Washington politician, Galloway replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hellraiser’s heavy metal rocker spawn raised one eyebrow, an amused expression pulling at his face. “Oh, I know you know what I’m talking about. That little fiasco in Egypt last year--”
“--was nothing but a few overzealous engineers testing a new targeting system with some AI drones,” Norman interrupted.
A pause. Then, “Bullshit.”
“Pardon me?” Galloway asked, incredulous.
A hard scoff escaped from the intruder. “You heard me. Bullshit. I know you know about the Autobots, Optimus Prime, The Fallen, Megatron and that goddamned rail gun.”
Norman’s jaw hit the floor. Composing himself again, he cleared his throat nervously. “How have you come across this information?”
“So you don’t deny it?”
Galloway could have slapped himself. Some politician he was if he couldn’t’ bluff what was likely some desperate hacker, sniffing around to post the latest and greatest alien news on some random blog, out of the truth of Egypt. “I never confirmed or denied. I just want to know where you got your sources.”
Rocker Boy produced a small recording device from the back pocket of his jeans and tossed it on the bed, hitting the play button before he let it fall from his hand. As the small device landed on the bed with a light ‘thump,’ Galloway’s own voice pervaded the silence of his bedroom. His own words echoed loudly in his ears. ‘Excuse me! …Why hasn’t the enemy left the planet? …The President is hard-pressed to say the job is getting done. …You agreed to share your intel with us, but not your advancements in weaponry. …Open invitation to Earth.’ The transmission from which the clip was recorded could only have come from one satellite, one highly encrypted satellite, and Norman was at a loss to figure out how this guy managed to get his hands on it.
But, he really, really wanted to find out.
Blowing out a breath hard, Galloway planted his hands on his hips. “All right. Let’s say for one minute I don’t think you’re a psychotic whack-job who invaded my house for no particular reason - which I do, by the way. Ignoring that fact, what is it you propose?”
A feral smile was the man’s only answer as he stood up and headed for the door.
“Hello? Start talking, idiot!” Confused, Norman stared at the stranger’s retreating back. Scowling, the politician grabbed a pair of gym shorts and threw them on. Shoving his feet in a pair of running shoes and snagging his keys as he passed the dresser, he chased after his uninvited guest down the stairs and through the living room. “Hey! Where the hell are you going? I want answers, dammit!”
Reaching the back door of the house, the man walked briskly to a car hidden in the shadows of the alley. He opened the driver’s door and prepared to step in right as Galloway sauntered up. Norman stopped and raised one surprised eyebrow, a chuckle of pity making its way from his throat. “A Yugo? Are you kidding me?”
“It’s a Lada, actually. Vintage Russian 1973 Lada 1300. It’s served me well,” the man said, one foot on the floorboard of the car and one still on the pavement as he patted the roof of the car reverently.
“There is no way I’m getting in that thing. Besides the fact that I have no idea who you are, that thing looks like a death trap thinly disguised as a car.” Motioning toward the interior, he added, “And didn’t I hear that those shift levers were set in concrete?” Galloway asked, skeptical. The rational part of his brain was finally catching up to the reeling politician, and his danger meter was on full alert.
The man’s accent thickened a bit, indignation coloring the tone of his words. “There is nothing wrong with this car, only your narrow-minded, western views. Now, my name is Clarkson, and if you want to know everything about Cybertronian weapons technology to bring to your President, get in.”
That was all the encouragement Galloway needed.
========
Next Up: Galloway discoverers just who his mystery guest is.
Chapter 5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 1
PLEASE DO NOT repost any of this (or any story written on this blog) or your comments to this entry on Facebook or Twitter. Thanks in advance!
I took some artistic license with Galloway’s first name because of one reference I was dying to let Lennox make with him that will come up later in the story. I know it’s really Theodore, but I liked Norman better anyway.
Disclaimer: Standard ‘not mine’ applies to both Transformers and NCIS.
Chapter 4
Arlington, Virginia, Residence of Norman Galloway
Norman Galloway bit his lip. The meeting with Prime and the other Autobots had not quite gone as he’d planned. Optimus was once again his frustrating, stoic, diplomatic self. Galloway truly believed that hell would freeze over before the Autobot leader divulged any of their army’s weapons secrets. But, it wasn’t for a lack of trying on the politician’s part, however. And Lennox…if he ever saw the man in a dark alley, the litany of things he’d love to do to the major were almost too risky to put on paper. The hatred in that relationship was surely mutual.
Sighing, he climbed from his car and grabbed his briefcase from the back seat. It was nearly midnight, and the plane ride back from Diego Garcia had been long, hot, and boring. To be perfectly honest, Norman was simply glad to be back stateside to civilization. Keying in the code to the garage, he trudged wearily into his house and began dropping various items along the way to his bedroom. Scoffing, Galloway mused that part of the beauty of being single was that there was no one home to care if his tie sat in the fruit bowl for two weeks before his long-suffering housekeeper finally yelled at him to pick it up.
In his bedroom, Galloway unbuttoned his dress shirt, threw the dirty garment in the laundry basket and exited his closet. He dropped his wallet and keys on the dresser as he passed by, not bothering turn flick the lights on as he made his way toward the bathroom. He plucked a t-shirt and clean pair of underwear from the drawer for after his shower. When he turned around, Norman nearly screamed. Directly in front of him, a strange man was perched on the politician’s bed, the random person absently picking his fingernails.
The man looked up, his expression calm but unnervingly intense. Jerking his head up and then down in a sort of casual greeting, he said simply, “Yo.”
Just where had this guy come from? Norman blinked hard, the only movement he could force his stunned body to make. He knew for sure that the house was completely empty when he’d gotten home, the alarm still set, the door still locked. It was almost as if this new visitor had simply materialized out of thin air. His heart hammering away in his ears, Galloway slowed his breathing with a couple of deep breaths before he asked, “Just who the hell are you?” Norman mentally cursed himself as he heard his own voice shake.
The arbitrary stranger tilted his head to the side, his brown eyes glowing almost red in the faint light. “The question isn’t who I am, it’s what I know you want,” he said cryptically. Had he been in a rational frame of mind, Galloway might have recognized the slight tint of a Slavic accent coloring the man’s rough, scratchy voice.
Galloway narrowed his eyes. Logically, he should be afraid. Some rather shady person had managed to circumvent all his security and plop himself down on the bed without so much as a sound. For all Norman knew, the guy was an axe murderer, on the run from the law, the needle, or any number of raging relatives. But as logical as that notion should have been, what made sense weren’t principles on which he’d ever had a solid grasp. After the whole fiasco in Egypt, Galloway had been forced to confront all his shortcomings, his predilection for flying off the handle and blaming others when it was really his damn fault at the top of the list.
It was to say of course, that Norman acknowledged the problem’s existence. It didn’t mean that Egypt had taught him how to be logical.
The man hopped off the bed with the ease of a long time athlete. Galloway had a couple of seconds to formulate an opinion on his intruder, the only one coming to mind was how one person’s face was able to accommodate double the piecing of the amount of fingers and toes humans had and still possess the ability to talk. But, before Norman could contemplate further, the man walked up and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m here because I think I can offer you a fair trade. See, my boss knows things that you know, things that no one else should,” he started. “But we also know things you don’t and vice versa.”
Reverting back to his training borne of a lifetime as a Washington politician, Galloway replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Hellraiser’s heavy metal rocker spawn raised one eyebrow, an amused expression pulling at his face. “Oh, I know you know what I’m talking about. That little fiasco in Egypt last year--”
“--was nothing but a few overzealous engineers testing a new targeting system with some AI drones,” Norman interrupted.
A pause. Then, “Bullshit.”
“Pardon me?” Galloway asked, incredulous.
A hard scoff escaped from the intruder. “You heard me. Bullshit. I know you know about the Autobots, Optimus Prime, The Fallen, Megatron and that goddamned rail gun.”
Norman’s jaw hit the floor. Composing himself again, he cleared his throat nervously. “How have you come across this information?”
“So you don’t deny it?”
Galloway could have slapped himself. Some politician he was if he couldn’t’ bluff what was likely some desperate hacker, sniffing around to post the latest and greatest alien news on some random blog, out of the truth of Egypt. “I never confirmed or denied. I just want to know where you got your sources.”
Rocker Boy produced a small recording device from the back pocket of his jeans and tossed it on the bed, hitting the play button before he let it fall from his hand. As the small device landed on the bed with a light ‘thump,’ Galloway’s own voice pervaded the silence of his bedroom. His own words echoed loudly in his ears. ‘Excuse me! …Why hasn’t the enemy left the planet? …The President is hard-pressed to say the job is getting done. …You agreed to share your intel with us, but not your advancements in weaponry. …Open invitation to Earth.’ The transmission from which the clip was recorded could only have come from one satellite, one highly encrypted satellite, and Norman was at a loss to figure out how this guy managed to get his hands on it.
But, he really, really wanted to find out.
Blowing out a breath hard, Galloway planted his hands on his hips. “All right. Let’s say for one minute I don’t think you’re a psychotic whack-job who invaded my house for no particular reason - which I do, by the way. Ignoring that fact, what is it you propose?”
A feral smile was the man’s only answer as he stood up and headed for the door.
“Hello? Start talking, idiot!” Confused, Norman stared at the stranger’s retreating back. Scowling, the politician grabbed a pair of gym shorts and threw them on. Shoving his feet in a pair of running shoes and snagging his keys as he passed the dresser, he chased after his uninvited guest down the stairs and through the living room. “Hey! Where the hell are you going? I want answers, dammit!”
Reaching the back door of the house, the man walked briskly to a car hidden in the shadows of the alley. He opened the driver’s door and prepared to step in right as Galloway sauntered up. Norman stopped and raised one surprised eyebrow, a chuckle of pity making its way from his throat. “A Yugo? Are you kidding me?”
“It’s a Lada, actually. Vintage Russian 1973 Lada 1300. It’s served me well,” the man said, one foot on the floorboard of the car and one still on the pavement as he patted the roof of the car reverently.
“There is no way I’m getting in that thing. Besides the fact that I have no idea who you are, that thing looks like a death trap thinly disguised as a car.” Motioning toward the interior, he added, “And didn’t I hear that those shift levers were set in concrete?” Galloway asked, skeptical. The rational part of his brain was finally catching up to the reeling politician, and his danger meter was on full alert.
The man’s accent thickened a bit, indignation coloring the tone of his words. “There is nothing wrong with this car, only your narrow-minded, western views. Now, my name is Clarkson, and if you want to know everything about Cybertronian weapons technology to bring to your President, get in.”
That was all the encouragement Galloway needed.
========
Next Up: Galloway discoverers just who his mystery guest is.
Chapter 5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 1
PLEASE DO NOT repost any of this (or any story written on this blog) or your comments to this entry on Facebook or Twitter. Thanks in advance!