Fic: Alienated, Chapter 9b
Once again, we'll do this one two parts.
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“Tell me why exactly you’re here again, Ratchet? To piss me off?” Gibbs asked, clearly annoyed by the medic’s presence. Stepping out of Optimus’ alt mode and dressed in desert BDUs, Gibbs fixed the Autobot CMO with a glare normally reserved for only DiNozzo or Fornell.
Completely undaunted by the expression of seething hatred emanating from the Gunny, Ratchet responded just as coyly, “I’m here because I’m a glitching idiot. If I’m right and this is one of our missing enemies, even you don’t deserve the fate of death by Decepticon. If Mitchell put all that information in a journal, we must assume the Decepticons know what we do. You need to be prepared for that.”
“That’s not a reason why you’re necessary in this package.”
“Please, you two. That’s quite enough. We have very little time before this meeting is schedule to begin,” Optimus interrupted, once again playing referee between his medic and NCIS agent. “Take your positions.”
Both Ratchet and Gibbs grumbled their unhappy acquiescence and took up their assigned duties. At the final debriefing earlier that morning, it had only been Ironhide’s intimidating twin cannons that had successfully negotiated the temporary cease-fire between NCIS agent and Autobot medic. Optimus was thankful his newest headaches had managed to see sense, even if he still felt guilty over allowing Ironhide to threaten the two to achieve it. Willing his processor to not allow him to dwell on the multitude of personality conflicts his base housed, Prime drove in tandem with Ratchet and Ironhide to the valley east of Nesbitt Lake.
“Okay. Comm check, everyone. I need to hear you.” Lennox’s crisp voice came through the ear wigs and comm systems of each individual. “McGee, you on and in position?”
Tim, dressed in matching desert BDUs answered Lennoix. “Yeah, I’m here. No sign of anyone yet.”
“Fine. Let’s hear the rest of you.” Lennox said.
“Gibbs checking in,” the Gunny affirmed, laying in prone position with his simply unorthodox sniper rifle at the ready. Epps had handed him the modified firearm from the NEST armory before the group departed, and Gibbs had accepted the strange looking gun with a raised eyebrow and nod. A scoped .308 with a built in sabot round launcher. Gibbs didn’t even want to know.
“Epps here.”
“Optimus ready and in position.”
“Ironhide here,” came the gruff reply.
“Ratchet ready.” The cranky medic added one more thing while he had time. “I took the liberty of rigging up a new pulse ray last night. It should detect any type of Cybertronian signal. If this is a Decepticon, we’ll know right away.”
Gibbs lifted his eyebrows. Even though the Autobot medic was a monumental pain in the ass, the Gunny had to admit he was very prepared.
“All right. Let’s get to it,” Epps drawled, his love for his job evident in his voice.
Gibbs saw a reflection of light through his scope. Pressing the transmit button on his comm, he alerted the rest of the team. “We’ve got movement. North side.” Though he was there to provide immediate cover for McGee, the scope allowed Gibbs to clearly see the events of the meeting. Because of that fact, it was decided that Gibbs would call it out. “One car approaching. Black 2007 Dodge Charger, no markings or visible license plate.”
McGee took a deep breath and tried to channel his inner Mitchell. ‘Be DiNozzo. Be DiNozzo. Cool. Calm. I got this.’ Striding up to the car, Tim waited for the driver to cut the engine before approaching. “Didn’t think you’d show. I was about to leave.”
The unknown man exited his vehicle. McGee barely concealed his surprise at the man’s choice of clothing. It looked like the guy was trying to imitate Johnny Cash, dressed in black from head to toe. The second thing McGee realized was that, whoever this guy was, he was obviously not from the desert. Black jeans, cowboy boots, turtleneck and sport coat would not have been the most comfortable thing to wear in 110 degree heat. Curious indeed.
“I’m glad you didn’t leave. I would have been upset. You got what I want?”
“Depends.” McGee raised an eyebrow, trying to appear nonchalant. “Be nice if I got a name first.”
“Names are extraneous. I want the shard.” The reply was devoid of any emotion whatsoever.
Tim shook his head to the negative, feeling more confident with each passing minute. “I don’t think so. No name, no shard.”
The man in black scowled, clearly not thrilled with McGee. “Fine. Clayton Davis.”
Tim smiled, mentally shaking any negative feelings he had about his mission. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Nice to meet you, Clayton. Petty Officer Jonathan Mitchell, USN.” McGee extended his hand for a handshake.
Eyeing the NCIS agent’s hand warily, Davis said, “I don’t shake hands.”
McGee pulled his hand back and raised both in a placating gesture. “Fine. If that’s how you want it, let’s get down to business.”
“Yes. Let’s.”
Just south of McGee’s position, Ratchet was busy running his scan. Sending the pulse, the information pinged back to him. The medic worked feverishly to decoding what information the scan brought. Reading the data, Ratchet froze. He resent the signal and reread the data. Suddenly glad he’d come on this particular mission to do more than piss off Gibbs, the medic opened his channel to the group.
“Prime, we got a big problem.”
“Go ahead, Ratchet,” Optimus responded, well aware that every member of the team could hear him.
“Whatever name that guy gave McGee is a load of slag.”
“And why’s that, Hatchet?” Ironhide’s unmistakable voice cut into the conversation.
“Because that’s Barricade. I’ve confirmed it twice.”
Lennox nearly yelled, then remembered to keep his voice down to maintain the secrecy of his presence. “What? That fucking police car that tried to kill Sam?”
“That’s the one,” Ratchet answered. “It appears he’s changed his alt mode to a Charger from the Mustang. Must have been too recognizable.”
Though he heard the entire conversation in his ear, there was nothing McGee could say. Trying not to outwardly show his dread was a tall order for an agent such as McGee. He wasn’t like DiNozzo, the natural undercover agent who could keep his cool through virtually any situation. Tim felt the panic start to rise in his chest. Desperately wanting answers to the thousands of questions sprinting through his head and nearly breaking cover to do it, Ratchet mercifully beat him to the punch.
“Special Agent McGee, I need you to listen carefully. The man you’re talking to is not a man at all. It is a Decepticon, designation Barricade, and what you’re talking to is a very realistic hologram. Like us, his real form is in his car. He is a scout and infiltrator, similar to Bumblebee. But unlike ‘Bee, he is ruthless, so please tread carefully.”
Optimus broke his radio silence. “Autobots, creep as far forward to McGee’s position as you can without being seen. Continue to mask signals.”
Lifting his head up and forcing himself to be calm, McGee looked Davis in the eye. “You bring the money?”
“Depends,” Davis replied, mimicking McGee’s earlier answer. “You bring the shard?”
Tim patted his shirt pocket and gave a cocky little grin. “Right here.” Pulling out a key instead of the expected shard, Davis was incensed.
“What is this? You were supposed to bring the shard, not some random key! How am I supposed to know what’s for?”
“The shard’s in a locker, Davis. You’ll just have to trust my word on this one. When I get my money, you get your shard.” When Davis went to reach for the key, McGee slapped his hand away. “Ah! Money first. Let’s see it.”
Davis’ lip curled upwards in a sneer momentarily before he spun on his heel. Walking back to his “car”, he popped the trunk and pulled out a silver briefcase. Setting it on the hood, Davis flipped the latches and opened the case. “There. Satisfied. Five hundred thousand dollars, non-sequential unmarked bills. Hand it over.”
Tim inspected the case, looking for any indication of tampering on the Decepticon’s part. “Looks kosher enough.”
“Do we have a deal?” Davis asked, checking his outlandishly expenseive watch and looking bored.
“I think we can make this work.” McGee handed the key Davis and took the case of money, still desperately trying to stem the myriad of emotions swimming through him. Smiling, he said, “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Bar-- I mean Davis.”
Davis’ eyes went wide and then narrowed suspiciously. “What did you just say?”
“Fuck! McGee’s been made! Move in! Move in!” Gibbs screamed over the comm, hefting his gun and starting to run toward Tim’s position.
Barricade’s Johnny Cash holoform zapped out of existence, and his Dodge Charger form began to spin and whir as the Decepticon’s transformation sequence completed. McGee dropped the briefcase of money in abject terror as two piercing crimson colored optics bore into him. Finding himself subject to the same interrogation Sam endured six months previous, McGee prayed to every god he could think of the Autobots and Lennox were rolling in. “Fleshling, how did you know me? How did you know my designation?!”
Tim closed his eyes. This was it. This was how he was going to die. McGee distractedly wondered how NCIS would cover up the truth behind his death. ‘Killed by Decepticon’ was not something that could be printed in the NCIS newsletter. “I, uh, um.”
McGee was saved from having to answer by the sound of squealing tires, Ironhide’s Topkick form rounding the bend near the mouth of the valley at breakneck speed. Kicking up dirt in every direction, the hulking weapons specialist transformed on the move. Ironhide hollered through the comm, “McGee, get your aft down!”
It was all the warning Tim had before two missiles came screaming from each of Ironhide’s arm cannons, their smoke trail visible in their wake. Both went whizzing past McGee’s head and hit solidly into the chest of the startled Decepticon. Tim ducked, covered and scrambled backwards toward a solid outcropping of rock. A hand came down and grabbed him on the shoulder, pulling him backwards. McGee fought and struggled until he saw the clear blue eyes of Gibbs staring back at him. Standing up and running, both he and Gibbs dove over an embankment to the relative safety behind.
“McGee! You hit?”
Tim checked himself over as Gibbs looked for himself. “No, Boss. I’m good.”
Optimus and Ratchet came in hot, flying past Gibbs and McGee’s position in an impressive feat of speed and agility for two vehicles the size of the Autobot leader and his medic. Lennox and Epps were both hanging off each side of the flamed Peterbilt, eyes focused on their mission. The two human soldiers rolled off Prime before he stopped as they approached Ironhide’s position.
Finding their feet, both NEST operatives trained their weapons on the Dodge Charger. Once Epps and Lennox were clear, Optimus and Ratchet initiated their own transformation sequences, Ratchet engaging his buzz saws and Optimus sliding his favorite energon blade out of his left wrist. Barricade was still struggling to regain his footing after two direct hits from Barrett and Stinger. Ironhide sauntered up, his babies still trained on the downed enemy.
“Punk ass Decepticon.”
“Pathetic Autobot,” Barricade spat back, contempt clear in his optics. “I should have known this was going to be a trap.”
Ironhide scoffed. “Don’t blame us. We didn’t know you were coming. This is just good luck.”
“Good luck? I would never believe a word from you. Why don’t you just shoot me now and get it over with. You’ve been wanting to do it for so long, Ironhide,” Barricade taunted, finally finding his equilibrium.
Ironhide powered his cannons again, their whine matching his purr of satisfaction. Retracting his blade, Optimus stepped forward and put one hand across his longtime friend’s thick arms. In a calm but firm voice, Optimus spoke three words. “Ironhide, stand down.”
“What? Prime?” Ironhide said incredulously, his eyes never leaving his target.
“You heard me. Stand down. That’s an order. Barricade has done nothing to us or to our human friends. We have no right to engage him.” Though it pained Optimus to say it, it was the truth. The Decepticon hadn’t fired a shot, though Ironhide hadn’t given him the chance. The Autobots had no justifiable reason to do any more damage to Barricade what was already done.
Ironhide reluctantly agreed and the humans let out a breath none of them realized they were holding. Gibbs and McGee squinted up toward the sky as the sound of a jet engine nibbled at their ears.
“Wow. They’re really off course today. Guess that’s the Zoomies for you,” Gibbs observed, the jet on the horizon still just as spec to the humans’ vision. Epps cocked his head to the side in silent challenge. “What do you want me to say, Epps? The Tonapah Test Range is miles from here.”
“And I thought we weren’t supposed to expect air support. Isn’t that what the Air Force said?” McGee said, looking up to see a lone F-22 Raptor soar overhead. “Though I guess late is better than never.”
Lennox craned his neck upward toward the departing jet, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun. “Oh, shit. That’s not the Air Force.”
“Then what the hell is it?”
Ironhide yelled, “It’s Starscream!”
Grabbing his weapon, Lennox made a mad dash to the relative safety of the dunes near the lake. “Everybody get your asses down! We’ve got incoming!”
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Next Up: NCIS locates the other shard owner, and Optimus and Ratchet have a come to Primus moment. Gibbs does what he does best: interferes.
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“Tell me why exactly you’re here again, Ratchet? To piss me off?” Gibbs asked, clearly annoyed by the medic’s presence. Stepping out of Optimus’ alt mode and dressed in desert BDUs, Gibbs fixed the Autobot CMO with a glare normally reserved for only DiNozzo or Fornell.
Completely undaunted by the expression of seething hatred emanating from the Gunny, Ratchet responded just as coyly, “I’m here because I’m a glitching idiot. If I’m right and this is one of our missing enemies, even you don’t deserve the fate of death by Decepticon. If Mitchell put all that information in a journal, we must assume the Decepticons know what we do. You need to be prepared for that.”
“That’s not a reason why you’re necessary in this package.”
“Please, you two. That’s quite enough. We have very little time before this meeting is schedule to begin,” Optimus interrupted, once again playing referee between his medic and NCIS agent. “Take your positions.”
Both Ratchet and Gibbs grumbled their unhappy acquiescence and took up their assigned duties. At the final debriefing earlier that morning, it had only been Ironhide’s intimidating twin cannons that had successfully negotiated the temporary cease-fire between NCIS agent and Autobot medic. Optimus was thankful his newest headaches had managed to see sense, even if he still felt guilty over allowing Ironhide to threaten the two to achieve it. Willing his processor to not allow him to dwell on the multitude of personality conflicts his base housed, Prime drove in tandem with Ratchet and Ironhide to the valley east of Nesbitt Lake.
“Okay. Comm check, everyone. I need to hear you.” Lennox’s crisp voice came through the ear wigs and comm systems of each individual. “McGee, you on and in position?”
Tim, dressed in matching desert BDUs answered Lennoix. “Yeah, I’m here. No sign of anyone yet.”
“Fine. Let’s hear the rest of you.” Lennox said.
“Gibbs checking in,” the Gunny affirmed, laying in prone position with his simply unorthodox sniper rifle at the ready. Epps had handed him the modified firearm from the NEST armory before the group departed, and Gibbs had accepted the strange looking gun with a raised eyebrow and nod. A scoped .308 with a built in sabot round launcher. Gibbs didn’t even want to know.
“Epps here.”
“Optimus ready and in position.”
“Ironhide here,” came the gruff reply.
“Ratchet ready.” The cranky medic added one more thing while he had time. “I took the liberty of rigging up a new pulse ray last night. It should detect any type of Cybertronian signal. If this is a Decepticon, we’ll know right away.”
Gibbs lifted his eyebrows. Even though the Autobot medic was a monumental pain in the ass, the Gunny had to admit he was very prepared.
“All right. Let’s get to it,” Epps drawled, his love for his job evident in his voice.
Gibbs saw a reflection of light through his scope. Pressing the transmit button on his comm, he alerted the rest of the team. “We’ve got movement. North side.” Though he was there to provide immediate cover for McGee, the scope allowed Gibbs to clearly see the events of the meeting. Because of that fact, it was decided that Gibbs would call it out. “One car approaching. Black 2007 Dodge Charger, no markings or visible license plate.”
McGee took a deep breath and tried to channel his inner Mitchell. ‘Be DiNozzo. Be DiNozzo. Cool. Calm. I got this.’ Striding up to the car, Tim waited for the driver to cut the engine before approaching. “Didn’t think you’d show. I was about to leave.”
The unknown man exited his vehicle. McGee barely concealed his surprise at the man’s choice of clothing. It looked like the guy was trying to imitate Johnny Cash, dressed in black from head to toe. The second thing McGee realized was that, whoever this guy was, he was obviously not from the desert. Black jeans, cowboy boots, turtleneck and sport coat would not have been the most comfortable thing to wear in 110 degree heat. Curious indeed.
“I’m glad you didn’t leave. I would have been upset. You got what I want?”
“Depends.” McGee raised an eyebrow, trying to appear nonchalant. “Be nice if I got a name first.”
“Names are extraneous. I want the shard.” The reply was devoid of any emotion whatsoever.
Tim shook his head to the negative, feeling more confident with each passing minute. “I don’t think so. No name, no shard.”
The man in black scowled, clearly not thrilled with McGee. “Fine. Clayton Davis.”
Tim smiled, mentally shaking any negative feelings he had about his mission. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Nice to meet you, Clayton. Petty Officer Jonathan Mitchell, USN.” McGee extended his hand for a handshake.
Eyeing the NCIS agent’s hand warily, Davis said, “I don’t shake hands.”
McGee pulled his hand back and raised both in a placating gesture. “Fine. If that’s how you want it, let’s get down to business.”
“Yes. Let’s.”
Just south of McGee’s position, Ratchet was busy running his scan. Sending the pulse, the information pinged back to him. The medic worked feverishly to decoding what information the scan brought. Reading the data, Ratchet froze. He resent the signal and reread the data. Suddenly glad he’d come on this particular mission to do more than piss off Gibbs, the medic opened his channel to the group.
“Prime, we got a big problem.”
“Go ahead, Ratchet,” Optimus responded, well aware that every member of the team could hear him.
“Whatever name that guy gave McGee is a load of slag.”
“And why’s that, Hatchet?” Ironhide’s unmistakable voice cut into the conversation.
“Because that’s Barricade. I’ve confirmed it twice.”
Lennox nearly yelled, then remembered to keep his voice down to maintain the secrecy of his presence. “What? That fucking police car that tried to kill Sam?”
“That’s the one,” Ratchet answered. “It appears he’s changed his alt mode to a Charger from the Mustang. Must have been too recognizable.”
Though he heard the entire conversation in his ear, there was nothing McGee could say. Trying not to outwardly show his dread was a tall order for an agent such as McGee. He wasn’t like DiNozzo, the natural undercover agent who could keep his cool through virtually any situation. Tim felt the panic start to rise in his chest. Desperately wanting answers to the thousands of questions sprinting through his head and nearly breaking cover to do it, Ratchet mercifully beat him to the punch.
“Special Agent McGee, I need you to listen carefully. The man you’re talking to is not a man at all. It is a Decepticon, designation Barricade, and what you’re talking to is a very realistic hologram. Like us, his real form is in his car. He is a scout and infiltrator, similar to Bumblebee. But unlike ‘Bee, he is ruthless, so please tread carefully.”
Optimus broke his radio silence. “Autobots, creep as far forward to McGee’s position as you can without being seen. Continue to mask signals.”
Lifting his head up and forcing himself to be calm, McGee looked Davis in the eye. “You bring the money?”
“Depends,” Davis replied, mimicking McGee’s earlier answer. “You bring the shard?”
Tim patted his shirt pocket and gave a cocky little grin. “Right here.” Pulling out a key instead of the expected shard, Davis was incensed.
“What is this? You were supposed to bring the shard, not some random key! How am I supposed to know what’s for?”
“The shard’s in a locker, Davis. You’ll just have to trust my word on this one. When I get my money, you get your shard.” When Davis went to reach for the key, McGee slapped his hand away. “Ah! Money first. Let’s see it.”
Davis’ lip curled upwards in a sneer momentarily before he spun on his heel. Walking back to his “car”, he popped the trunk and pulled out a silver briefcase. Setting it on the hood, Davis flipped the latches and opened the case. “There. Satisfied. Five hundred thousand dollars, non-sequential unmarked bills. Hand it over.”
Tim inspected the case, looking for any indication of tampering on the Decepticon’s part. “Looks kosher enough.”
“Do we have a deal?” Davis asked, checking his outlandishly expenseive watch and looking bored.
“I think we can make this work.” McGee handed the key Davis and took the case of money, still desperately trying to stem the myriad of emotions swimming through him. Smiling, he said, “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Bar-- I mean Davis.”
Davis’ eyes went wide and then narrowed suspiciously. “What did you just say?”
“Fuck! McGee’s been made! Move in! Move in!” Gibbs screamed over the comm, hefting his gun and starting to run toward Tim’s position.
Barricade’s Johnny Cash holoform zapped out of existence, and his Dodge Charger form began to spin and whir as the Decepticon’s transformation sequence completed. McGee dropped the briefcase of money in abject terror as two piercing crimson colored optics bore into him. Finding himself subject to the same interrogation Sam endured six months previous, McGee prayed to every god he could think of the Autobots and Lennox were rolling in. “Fleshling, how did you know me? How did you know my designation?!”
Tim closed his eyes. This was it. This was how he was going to die. McGee distractedly wondered how NCIS would cover up the truth behind his death. ‘Killed by Decepticon’ was not something that could be printed in the NCIS newsletter. “I, uh, um.”
McGee was saved from having to answer by the sound of squealing tires, Ironhide’s Topkick form rounding the bend near the mouth of the valley at breakneck speed. Kicking up dirt in every direction, the hulking weapons specialist transformed on the move. Ironhide hollered through the comm, “McGee, get your aft down!”
It was all the warning Tim had before two missiles came screaming from each of Ironhide’s arm cannons, their smoke trail visible in their wake. Both went whizzing past McGee’s head and hit solidly into the chest of the startled Decepticon. Tim ducked, covered and scrambled backwards toward a solid outcropping of rock. A hand came down and grabbed him on the shoulder, pulling him backwards. McGee fought and struggled until he saw the clear blue eyes of Gibbs staring back at him. Standing up and running, both he and Gibbs dove over an embankment to the relative safety behind.
“McGee! You hit?”
Tim checked himself over as Gibbs looked for himself. “No, Boss. I’m good.”
Optimus and Ratchet came in hot, flying past Gibbs and McGee’s position in an impressive feat of speed and agility for two vehicles the size of the Autobot leader and his medic. Lennox and Epps were both hanging off each side of the flamed Peterbilt, eyes focused on their mission. The two human soldiers rolled off Prime before he stopped as they approached Ironhide’s position.
Finding their feet, both NEST operatives trained their weapons on the Dodge Charger. Once Epps and Lennox were clear, Optimus and Ratchet initiated their own transformation sequences, Ratchet engaging his buzz saws and Optimus sliding his favorite energon blade out of his left wrist. Barricade was still struggling to regain his footing after two direct hits from Barrett and Stinger. Ironhide sauntered up, his babies still trained on the downed enemy.
“Punk ass Decepticon.”
“Pathetic Autobot,” Barricade spat back, contempt clear in his optics. “I should have known this was going to be a trap.”
Ironhide scoffed. “Don’t blame us. We didn’t know you were coming. This is just good luck.”
“Good luck? I would never believe a word from you. Why don’t you just shoot me now and get it over with. You’ve been wanting to do it for so long, Ironhide,” Barricade taunted, finally finding his equilibrium.
Ironhide powered his cannons again, their whine matching his purr of satisfaction. Retracting his blade, Optimus stepped forward and put one hand across his longtime friend’s thick arms. In a calm but firm voice, Optimus spoke three words. “Ironhide, stand down.”
“What? Prime?” Ironhide said incredulously, his eyes never leaving his target.
“You heard me. Stand down. That’s an order. Barricade has done nothing to us or to our human friends. We have no right to engage him.” Though it pained Optimus to say it, it was the truth. The Decepticon hadn’t fired a shot, though Ironhide hadn’t given him the chance. The Autobots had no justifiable reason to do any more damage to Barricade what was already done.
Ironhide reluctantly agreed and the humans let out a breath none of them realized they were holding. Gibbs and McGee squinted up toward the sky as the sound of a jet engine nibbled at their ears.
“Wow. They’re really off course today. Guess that’s the Zoomies for you,” Gibbs observed, the jet on the horizon still just as spec to the humans’ vision. Epps cocked his head to the side in silent challenge. “What do you want me to say, Epps? The Tonapah Test Range is miles from here.”
“And I thought we weren’t supposed to expect air support. Isn’t that what the Air Force said?” McGee said, looking up to see a lone F-22 Raptor soar overhead. “Though I guess late is better than never.”
Lennox craned his neck upward toward the departing jet, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun. “Oh, shit. That’s not the Air Force.”
“Then what the hell is it?”
Ironhide yelled, “It’s Starscream!”
Grabbing his weapon, Lennox made a mad dash to the relative safety of the dunes near the lake. “Everybody get your asses down! We’ve got incoming!”
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Next Up: NCIS locates the other shard owner, and Optimus and Ratchet have a come to Primus moment. Gibbs does what he does best: interferes.