FIC: Transformers / Top Gear: GT Part I
For all the work I've put into this, it feels kind of weird to not be posting it anywhere. I don't know where else I could put it, though. That said, I don't care if anyone reading this wants to link it anywhere, either because they like it or because they want to poke fun at it.
* This has since been linked to at topgearslash and, if Aniko is to be believed (and I've no reason to doubt her) at The Padded Cell.
It doesn't fit in one post, so I've linked each entry to the other half of the story.
...I want to say several things about this, including how much I dislike it right now, but I'm not going to! I realize my opinion is tainted quite a lot by the fact that I've been working on this for months. So, without further discussion, here it (finally) is, in all its ridiculous glory.
Title: GT
Author: Jecca Meitahn / twilit_wanderer
Fandom: Transformers/Top Gear crossover
Rating: T
Characters: Mirage and Jeremy Clarkson, with appearances by Decepticons Rumble, Ravage, and Battle Ravage (unnamed), Autobots Jazz and Hound, and humans Richard Hammond and James May. Others referenced.
Pairing: nothing intended, but take it as you will. I don't care.
Wordcount: 13,300
Warnings: this is insane?
Summary: Mirage's deployment goes awry. Jeremy Clarkson's Ford GT arrives. There are no such things as coincidences.
Disclaimer: I'm fairly certain this didn't happen. I do not own Transformers or anything (or anyone) related to Top Gear. I do, however, own an Alternators Mirage, who looks startlingly like Jeremy Clarkson's GT and is the entire cause of this deranged thing.
Notes: The Transformers characters in here all have Alternators forms. The Alternators line has no canon, so I'm kind of making my own up as I go along, but there are a lot of very strong influences from various branches of Transformers continuity. This is completely irrelevant to anyone not familiar with Transformers.
There may be a few problems. I'm not British, so I'm not sure if all of the dialogue is right for Clarkson and the others. I'm not sure my chronology is entirely correct, either, so, if something's glaringly wrong, please tell me so I can try to fix it. I'd love to hear what people think of this in general, as well, even if it is nothing but hatred.
*
Something had gone wrong.
He wasn't sure how. It shouldn't have.
The whole thing - the whole ridiculous thing - had started like any other. Undercover mission. Hardly abnormal. Find the Decepticon and stop him. Still nothing strange there. Ravage had apparently hopped the ocean, and Mirage had to track him down. The only thing that might be problematic was that the Decepticons appeared to have raised an interference field and communications would be impossible. Nothing overly complicated, and it was a good excuse to test his new vehicle mode, recently reformatted into a Ford GT which was, while not necessarily inconspicuous, at least modern by Earth's standards.
It might be interesting, if not necessarily fun, he remembered thinking.
But something had gone wrong.
He hadn't been too worried when he'd been taken to a man who looked nothing like what he'd been told to expect. It wasn't entirely uncommon for a third party to step in. He'd thought it a little odd when the unknown had treated him as any other normal - albeit expensive - car, but it could still be shrugged off. Perhaps his identity had been kept secret as an extra security measure.
But then the man had taken him to a location he most definitely did not recognize and put him on display.
He'd been in the area for several hours, with no radio or visual confirmation of his human contact, and he'd run out of excuses for the delay. Yes, Mirage sadly concluded as he sunk down on his wheels in a sulk, something had gone wrong.
He resisted the urge to shift uneasily. What he really wanted to do was transform and find a way to contact the other Autobots, but he imagined that wouldn't go over too well with the crowd around him. He was still undercover, he reminded himself, and maintaining the pretense of being a normal car was more important than ever now that he appeared to have been sold to someone. No problem, though. He was a spy, after all, and silence was part of his job description, even when things went awry. He watched and waited.
It wasn't completely in vain. He learned a few things by listening to the human - who considered Mirage to be his car, which made sense enough but was still rather annoying. The man's named appeared to be Jeremy Clarkson and he had opinions on everything, all of which he tended to voice quite loudly. He talked about cars with two other male humans. He -
Mirage's observations of his surroundings cut themselves short when his sensors registered something damp against him. He focused in on it, puzzled.
'Oh,' he thought weakly as his search concluded, leaving him with the disturbing information that the man was licking him. '... So this is what it feels like to have your logic center crash.'
The afternoon passed in a blur after that.
Finally, when Jeremy Clarkson was about to leave, Mirage shook himself out of his daze enough to decide he hated the man and couldn't take any more if any of it. He shut down his own engine, overrode all attempts made to force him to start up again, and refused to move. Bad enough to be thought of as property, but to have been put on display, and in such a fashion? Never even mind the - No, he didn't want to think about it. All Mirage knew was that he wasn't going to take any more. He allowed the crew of humans to push him out of sight once they decided they couldn't fix him.
He was a bit surprised to find himself immediately sent to Ford, and was forced to scramble his own systems a bit to give the appearance that there had actually been a problem. He took the time to check the area for any signs of his contact, hoping that his disappearance had been noticed already and that he was being looked for.
Much to his dismay, however, two days later Mirage found himself back where he started. He sat in the dark, seething, until an idea occurred to him. He had, after all, had several unnecessary systems installed, all of which he could tap into, and which he now knew he could trick the humans into thinking were broken. Maybe, he figured, if he was annoying enough, Jeremy Clarkson would want to get rid of him, and then he'd be free to go about his business.
He set to work. Soon after, Mirage managed to awaken everyone in the immediate area before allowing the alarm to be turned off.
He waited a short time and then turned it back on again.
When Jeremy Clarkson couldn't deal with the alarm any longer and tried to bring him back to Ford again to find the problem, Mirage found a new game and convinced the tracking device installed that he'd been stolen.
Ford only investigated the alarms system, so Mirage was free to report himself stolen as often as he pleased once he again found himself under ownership of the ridiculous man. The distress he was obviously causing the human bothered him a bit, but he told himself that it wasn't exactly as though he'd been lying. He had been stolen, in a way.
Mirage was sent to Ford for repairs again, and privately declared war.
*
Nearly a month later, Mirage finally gave up hope of anyone realizing the problem and immediately coming for him. He sulked in the parking lot, blaring his displeasure for everyone in the vicinity to hear, but even watching Clarkson rage about had lost its appeal.
He was a bit surprised, though, when he was taken out later in the afternoon. Clarkson was talking to himself again. Mirage wasn't sure the man was ever really quiet and kept only a minimal focus on his voice, noting absently that he seemed a bit more upset about the recent alarm than usual. Whining and pleading for him to work, no doubt. Primus, what wouldn't he give to just be back at base with some energon -
His daydreaming was interrupted as a pair of cars pulled close behind him and stuck there. Clarkson noticed them as well and, accepting their proximity as a challenge, drove faster. He didn't shut up, Mirage noted regretfully. The two stayed on him, though, and after it became apparent they weren't going to go away, Mirage turned his sensors back towards them curiously. A black Corvette and a red Honda. Was this one of those odd games humans played? The three of them were the only vehicles he could detect, and Clarkson didn't seem particularly worried about any of it, did he?
" - back to Ford," he was saying as Mirage checked to see if he really wasn't concerned. Obviously nothing too bizarre, then. "I can't believe I'm about to do this, but you're-"
Oh, not Ford again. Mirage was saved trying to hold back his exasperation, however, when one of the two cars suddenly pulled up alongside him and matched his pace.
"What does that idiot think he's doing?" Clarkson wondered aloud. Mirage silently echoed the question just before his scanners beeped a warning at him: Decepticons in close proximity.
With sudden dread, Mirage realized the information they'd received hadn't been fully correct. Yes, Ravage, the black Corvette, had crossed the ocean, but he'd brought a friend, who was hiding as a Honda Civic, from the look of it. It had to be Rumble. Now he'd found both of them, but with a human passenger he could only hope he could get away from them with minimal confrontation.
The pair pulled closer still, and it occurred to Mirage that maybe they weren't looking to hassle him: they were out for a little fun at the expense of his passenger. Too bad the Decepticon idea of fun involving humans often involved death for the victim. Clarkson, Mirage knew, had two options. He either pulled over, in which case they'd be able to get hold of him easily, or he kept trying to race them the way he currently was, in which case they'd run him off the road.
Hopefully his reformatting was enough to fool them so that they wouldn't be expecting his presence anymore than Clarkson was.
To a startled, "What the hell?" from Clarkson, Mirage took control and accelerated, and found, miraculously, that it had worked, if only briefly.
The pair of Decepticons slowed for a moment, clearly surprised by the actions and speed of what they'd believed to be nothing but a human out for a drive. Taking every second he could, Mirage sped up, putting as much distance between them as possible.
Rumble started after him, but Ravage hung back. Mirage hoped for a moment that perhaps the Decepticon wasn't capable of higher speeds, but the idea died quickly as a pair of missile launchers unfolded from the Corvette's back end.
He cursed silently. Clarkson, who'd been pulling at the wheel and pressing the brake in vain, caught sight of the launchers as well, but didn't seem to realize what he was staring at. Mirage had no doubt that would change soon.
Rumble, still a ways behind, pulled off to the side and Ravage fired both missiles. Clarkson shouted and doubled his efforts to regain control. Mirage ignored him and swerved to his left. A second later, the pair of missiles exploded to his right, barely missing him.
Swearing, Clarkson twisted awkwardly and threw his arms in front of his face, and Mirage, distracted by the man's flailing, slowed reflexively. He realized his mistake instantly as Rumble tried to pull up alongside him again.
'They're trying to box me in for an easy kill,' Mirage realized. Ravage fired again, and this time Mirage was forced to accelerate to avoid being hit. He had to get away from them soon: he couldn't dodge forever, and he couldn't safely maintain his current speed much longer.
Up ahead, he knew, the road curved several times, and an idea came to him. It was risky, but it was all he had. Mirage pushed himself even faster, barely aware of Clarkson's grunt as he was knocked back against the seat.
Mirage slid across to and nearly off the opposite side of the road as he rounded the first bend. He wouldn't be able to make the second, but he didn't plan on trying. As soon as they disappeared from immediate view, Mirage activated his cloaking field, and began to brake as fast as he dared.
As he approached the second curve, he allowed himself to cross back across the lanes, this time sailing off the side of the road. Clarkson, who's been thrown forward by the rapid deceleration, slammed back into the seat again as Mirage finally came to a stop. Seconds later, the two Decepticons rocketed past.
The sounds of their engines faded for a moment, then grew louder again as the pair realized they'd lost their target. Only Ravage came back into view, though. He was moving much slower this time, creeping along as he searched the area. Mirage fervently hoped that the Decepticon hadn't had his scanners upgraded enough that he could somehow penetrate the cloak.
It appeared not, as Ravage drifted past once and then one final time after he'd turned around to rejoin his companion.
For a long moment, both Mirage and his passenger sat in silence, both barely daring to move. Finally, Mirage deactivated his field and, as the energy dispersed, it seemed to take a good deal of the oppressive tension with it.
"What the hell was that?" Clarkson sputtered.
Mirage suppressed a resigned sigh. He quickly scanned the area again and, satisfied that, at least for now, the road and sky were both clear of Decepticons, turned his attention inward to focus on his passenger. Clarkson was sitting rigidly, holding his hands out as if to grab the steering wheel before him, and staring alternately at it and the road, eyes wide.
Mirage had figured he would have to out himself eventually, but in his mind the situation had been a little different. "Sorry. Are you all right?"
The man twitched, finally grabbing the wheel, and turned towards the empty passenger seat. "Who said that?"
"Er, I did, but-"
"Well, obviously it was you," Clarkson interrupted. He peered closely at the dashboard then started examining the door.
"What are you doing?" Mirage asked him, as he gave up on the door and leaned over to check the other side.
"Video, too?" he muttered before slouching back in his seat and glaring at the window, ignoring the question. Mirage wished, not for the first time, that someone else had been sent on this mission.
He waited for a while, but when it became obvious his passenger wasn't going to say or do anything, he decided to try again. "Are you all right?"
To his credit, Clarkson didn't bother looking around to find where the voice was coming from this time. "I will be, once I get my hands on whoever put you up to this. Which one of them was it?"
"Which one of who?" Mirage managed after a long pause. The man made no sense!
"Don't give me that. It had to have been Hammond or May. Or both." His voice dropped and Mirage wasn't entirely sure he liked the expression on the man's face when he said, "It's both, isn't it."
Mirage had no idea what he was talking about. "You think this is a joke?" he finally guessed, when he remembered that Hammond and May were those two humans who were often around.
"Oh, come on. No one's going to be enough of an idiot to think his car's started talking to him." Clarkson crossed his arms in annoyance. "So you may as well tell me which one of them it was. Maybe I'll even ignore your part in this whole thing if you do."
"No one put me up to this!" It wasn't entirely true, but Mirage couldn't imagine he would care about those little details. He hurried to finish when he noticed Clarkson about to speak. "I'm the car; I'm just not a ... normal car."
"And here I was thinking all vehicles had delusions of - You are not!" Clarkson sat upright and grabbed the steering wheel again as he interrupted himself.
"I can prove it to you!" Mirage offered. He turned his attention back out and scanned the area. There still weren't any signs of approaching traffic, human or Decepticon, so it would probably be safe.
"This ought to be good," Clarkson muttered and again slouched back in the seat.
"You'll have to get out," Mirage said as he eased the driver's side door open.
Clarkson stared at it for a moment. "You can control my car and you expect me to just get out? What, so you can drive it off?"
"No! If I wanted to drive off, I'd simply do so." It wasn't exactly reassuring, no, but it was certainly true.
"Ah, but with me in the car, I'll know where you take it!" He pointed, not at anything in particular. Maybe whoever he thought he was talking to. Mirage decided not to worry about it any longer.
"I promise I'm not going to drive myself off and get lost." Any more than I already am, he added silently.
"Don't say that." The man sounded disgusted.
"Don't say what?"
"Don't refer to my car like it's you."
"But I am the car," Mirage said again. He had the sinking feeling that they'd be repeating this conversation well into the night.
"Stop saying that! You are not my car!" he shouted.
"I am the car!" Mirage snapped back, perhaps a bit too loudly, and angrily flicked his wipers.
"Rubbish," Clarkson informed him.
"Get out and I'll show you," Mirage tried again, though he knew it was a wasted effort.
"No!"
"Please don't make me eject you."
"I'd like to see you try," Clarkson said, completely unconcerned and making every possible effort to ensure his presumed audience knew it.
Completely frustrated though he was, Mirage knew a challenge when he heard one. Without hesitation, he flung the door open, released the seat belt, and shifted just so.
Before he'd had time to register what was happening, Jeremy Clarkson found himself sprawled rather gracelessly on his side on the ground. Mirage - for the first time in entirely too long - transformed, stood up, and waited for another sarcastic comment. When none came, he glanced down, only to find the man gaping up and silent. Well, Mirage thought, faintly smug, that's probably a first.
The moment passed quickly. The man shouted something that, if Mirage remembered correctly, most humans would have considered quite offensive and scrambled to his feet, hurriedly backing away as he did so.
They stared at each other a moment, Clarkson squinting up and occasionally working his mouth as if searching for something to say, Mirage just looking a bit annoyed.
"As entertaining as watching you gape is," Mirage finally said, "I really can't stand around like this for long. I'm sure even you can understand that it would be bad if someone saw me."
"I've seen you," Clarkson pointed out, evidently finding his voice again.
"That wasn't really avoidable," Mirage told him. "Stay back there." Without giving the man time to move towards him, Mirage folded back into vehicular form.
"That really is amazing. How are you doing it?" Clarkson asked, cautiously stepping closer.
"That is a long and complicated story, and would probably be better answered by a medic."
"You don't know," he deduced, sounding amused.
"Do you know how you walk or breathe?" Mirage returned, a bit embarrassed by the man's largely accurate assessment. He opened his door. "I know the basics, but I don't feel like talking about it right now. Get in. I want to get out of here before those two get it into their processors to double back again."
Clarkson walked over, but hesitated just before he sat down.
"If I were going to kill you, I'd have done so by now," Mirage snapped. "They will kill you if they find us here. Get in."
"I want to know what's going on," Clarkson said, but took up position behind the wheel again, anyway. He spat out a startled protest as the seatbelt suddenly fastened itself.
Mirage ignored his complaints and, activating his fields again as a precaution, drove off.
*
The caution appeared to be unwarranted and, after he felt they were far enough away from the area of the encounter, Mirage brought his fields back down. "I suppose I do owe you an explanation, don't I?"
"That's not all you owe me," Clarkson muttered. "How are you even talking? You've got no mouth."
Mirage sighed. "I don't need one. I have a vocalizer that works perfectly well."
Clarkson shot a glance at the rearview mirror, then frowned at it. "Well?"
"What?"
"You were going to explain this."
"I'm not sure I can tell you everything," Mirage told him. "But I can at least explain how it involves you, and hopefully that will be enough"
"Just start talking," Clarkson commanded.
"Fine." Trying not to reveal too much, Mirage simply told him that, after a strange interference field had gone up over the area, he'd been sent to find the Corvette that had just been chasing them because it was a menace to society, and admitted he hadn't known that the other would be present.
"So they're evil cars?"
"They're not cars."
"Says the car that claims to not be a car," Clarkson said, again appearing to address the rearview mirror.
"That's right. I'd be the authority on cars that are or are not cars, then, wouldn't I?"
"Hm." The man sat silent for a moment. "So you came here. How do you like it?"
"Well, it's no Cybertron," Mirage started, surprised by the sudden change of subject and not really sure what else to say. It wasn't as though he'd been able to move about on his own to develop much of an opinion, after all.
Clarkson either didn't realize he'd intended to continue or simply didn't care. "It's not what?"
"Cybertron. My home planet," Mirage explained.
There was a silence, and then Clarkson responded, incredulous. "You just made that up."
"What? Made what up?"
"That. That 'home planet' thing. You don't have a special 'home planet'!"
"Yes, I do! And it was much nicer than this one!" Mirage huffed before he could stop himself.
"You're a car!"
"I am not just a car! I can't believe we're having this conversation again."
"Well, we are, because you are just a car, and what's more you're my car. I bought you; you're mine. So listen, Car -"
"My name is Mirage. You may not recognize me for what I am, but you could at least get my name right."
"Oh, whatever. Listen, I don't care what you are, or what you think you are, or if this is some stupid joke-"
"If there's a joke here, it is undoubtedly on me for ending up under your care!"
"The point is!" Clarkson slapped his palm against the wheel. Mirage sighed to himself, but decided he may as well let the man finish his piece. "The point is..."
"What is the point?" Mirage prodded, when the silence had dragged on a bit too long.
Maybe the absurdity of the situation had finally caught up with him.
"Ford doesn't know about this, do they?" he finally asked, appearing subdued for the moment.
"Not to my knowledge." They probably would've said something if they thought there was something strange about their own vehicle.
"They're not going to be very happy when they show up to take you away and you start shouting at them."
What?
"What?" Mirage asked, completely lost.
"You've been paying attention, or at least you think you have. What car did you think I was referring to?"
"Today? I wasn't listening much," Mirage admitted.
"You're useless," Clarkson informed him. "I'm selling you back because you won't work."
"Now? Ravage and Rumble both saw you. They'll be able to find you, and they'll probably think you're working with me. You're a target, like it or not." Mirage said. "If you still insist on trying, though, I'll just leave on my own."
"I paid for you! You can't just drive off; that'd be like stealing!"
"I'll get you a refund," Mirage promised. "But you can't try to sell me to Ford now. I need to find those two Decepticons that attacked us before they cause any more trouble."
"I already said I was going to! I can't change my mind now!"
"Why not? There's nothing wrong with reevaluating a decision."
"I'm not going to," Clarkson insisted. "You're going. End of discussion."
"Fine, look. Have you already talked to Ford about this?" Reasoning with him wasn't easy, but Mirage refused to give up.
"Well, no," he conceded. "I was going to do that after I got back home."
"Then pretend you got rid of me and I'll leave tonight. I'll contact my allies and get you back whatever you paid for me, and hopefully we'll never have to deal with each other ever again."
"Because no one is going to notice my car driving itself away."
"No one is going to see me."
"Right," Clarkson snorted.
"You don't honestly think Ravage just didn't see me when he went past a little while ago, do you?" Mirage asked.
"How should I know? And cars don't have eyes, so they can't see." Clarkson pointed at Mirage. "That includes you."
"If it really makes you feel better about things, you're right. I don't have sight as you know it in this form." Mirage tried to ignore how Clarkson smirked triumphantly at that. "I can still see things, though. Ravage shouldn't have missed me."
"All right. Fine. Surprise me. Why won't anyone notice my car driving itself away?"
He'd never believe the explanation. Mirage coasted to a stop. "You're going to have to get out again, I'm afraid," he said, opening the door.
Surprisingly, Clarkson scrambled out without arguing. Perhaps, Mirage mused, he didn't want to be thrown again.
"Don't worry," Mirage said, hoping to fend off any sort of extreme reaction. "I'm not going to go anywhere."
The retort he saw forming on the man's lips was cut off as Mirage activated his field and vanished from sight.
The man blinked but, instead of shouting or otherwise making a scene, as Mirage had imagined he might, he stepped back over and reached out. He groped awkwardly at the air for a moment, but then landed his hand firmly on the roof. "Huh."
"I can generate a field that allows me to pass undetected," Mirage explained. "It blocks my heat signature, as well."
"That's..." Clarkson stared a moment longer, apparently at a loss for words. When he spoke again, it was with a question. "Are you invisible on the inside, too? If you were to, say, open a door or something, would I be able to see the seat, or would that be invisible, too?"
"The field only runs along my exterior," Mirage answered. "So you wouldn't be able to see the door, but, yes, you'd be able to my interior."
"And when I'm... inside, I'm invisible, too, sort of."
"Yes."
The man grinned hugely and Mirage wondered if revealing that had been a huge mistake. He didn't ask anything else, though, just tapped his knuckles against the roof and told Mirage to let him back in.
*
"So, you'll just drive off and do whatever, and I'll pretend to have sold you?"
"Yes," Mirage confirmed. "And when I get back, I talk to my superiors, and we'll see about getting you a refund."
"And you don't think Ford will notice that I haven't actually contacted them?" Clarkson asked skeptically.
Mirage hesitated before answering. "I can't contact my allies because of the signal interference, but I can still work with most everything else. I can, uh, hack their files and rework them to say that you did."
Clarkson stared at the rearview mirror, and Mirage almost asked why he kept doing that. "Yes, I do know that's completely illegal, before you ask," he said instead.
"And that'll be it, then," Clarkson said, nodding slowly. "I'll be rid of you, and you'll be rid of me, and the evil cars will go away without murdering anyone."
"If I can find them," Mirage reminded him. "But either way, they won't come after you."
Clarkson nodded again, still watching the mirror.
"You know, if they come up on me again, I'll be able to detect them long before they show up in the reflection. You don't need to watch for them," Mirage said.
The man glanced around, as if the mention of the pair of Decepticons would make them appear, then, laughing humorlessly, turned his gaze out the front. "That wasn't what I was doing, actually."
"Why do you keep looking towards the mirror, then?" Mirage asked.
"Habit," he answered simply. The rest of the journey was remarkably quiet.
When he came to a final stop and popped the door, Mirage broke the silence to restate, "I won't be here in the morning."
Clarkson nodded again but didn't move to immediately get out. Mirage scanned him, wondering if there was a problem. Nothing appeared to be wrong, so he asked.
"No, no," Clarkson dismissed, and opened the door fully. He hesitated again, though, and finally, after running a hand along the steering wheel, added, "Did you know, I always wanted to own a Ford GT."
Mirage waited, not sure if that was everything he was going to say. After a minute, unsure of how to reply to that, he shifted awkwardly and said, sincerely, "Sorry."
Clarkson made a strange sound and got out. He walked off without looking back.
*
Mirage idled, unsure of what to do. Despite having encountered both Ravage and Rumble multiple times, it had always been in the vicinity of humans. The Decepticons were as unwilling to reveal themselves as he was, thankfully, but he'd been unable to track either of them. It was frustrating.
Equally frustrating, communications were still blocked, so he couldn't call to report his findings or to ask to be brought back. The only good thing was that he was certain that by now the Decepticons would be convinced that he was working on his own.
He sighed and sank on his wheels. He had to go somewhere to wait until he could reach the other Autobots, but his form, unfamiliarity with the area, and the lurking Decepticons limited his choices.
He sat for another moment, considering, until, having made a decision, he accelerated and drove off.
*
Despite having heard what could only have been some sort of vehicle moving around outside in the night and feeling as though something was watching him all morning, Jeremy Clarkson wasn't really expecting anything strange to happen that day, so it took him rather by surprise when he stumbled into nothing, fell over, and found himself halfway sprawled over the top of that same nothing shortly after leaving the house.
The nothing rumbled a bit as he pushed off it to stand back up.
"This really had better not mean what I think it does," he threatened, staring at the seemingly empty space before him.
"Hello again," Mirage replied quietly.
"God," Clarkson groaned. "I'd managed to convince myself that was a dream. Don't tell me you've been chased here by those con-things."
"Nothing like that. They don't seem interested in me," Mirage assured him. "It's more that I can't leave and I didn't know where else to go."
"Well, you can't be here. I got rid of you, what, months ago?" Clarkson made a little waving motion that Mirage thought was probably supposed to indicate his leaving.
"Yes, I remember," Mirage said.
Clarkson stared at his approximate location for a long minute.
"Look, I can stay out of the way," Mirage said. "I'll keep myself invisible and just hide until the field goes down. The others will surely have figured out by now that something's gone wrong. You'll probably even be able to forget that I'm here!"
Clarkson was still staring and frowning thoughtfully. "You know," he finally said. "A lot of people have been telling me I should buy my car back."
Mirage shifted, not certain he was following the man's thoughts.
"Tell you what," he continued. "You promise to behave, at least when no one is looking, and I'll let you stay here and be my car."
"What an honor," Mirage intoned sarcastically before he could stop himself. "What, do you want me to not function properly when others are around?"
"No one's going to expect you to," Clarkson informed him. "You made sure of that."
Mirage sunk in embarrassment as he remembered his initial behavior. "I suppose I did."
"Just... stay disappeared for a bit longer. I'll make some statements, get laughed at." He grimaced. "You'd better appreciate this."
"I do," Mirage said earnestly.
Clarkson pointed towards him, still frowning, though Mirage was fairly certain the man was fighting not to smile. "And if you cause me too much trouble, you're gone. For ever."
"Understood."
"Good!" He exclaimed, and then he did grin. "Now, if you would move yourself out of the way? I have to leave, and I'd rather not damage any of my less troublesome cars running you over."
*
Whatever gratitude he'd felt at being allowed to stay was gone almost as soon as he was visible again.
"I can't believe I forgot how annoying you are," Mirage complained.
"Shut up, car," Clarkson commanded as they sped around a corner.
"No, I don't think I will. Just because I've agreed to carry you around, you think that gives you the right to say completely false things about me -"
"They are not!" The man protested. "You've done almost everything I've said."
Mirage huffed angrily. "You're just making things up! I can't believe this. It's not true and you know it!"
"But they don't," the man replied gleefully.
"You're evil," Mirage vented. "You're evil and I hate you."
"It's for your own good."
"How is your defaming me possibly to my benefit?"
"No one's going to think you're an auto-whatsit if you're breaking down all the time, are they?"
"No one suspects I'm an Autobot, anyway. Almost no one knows we exist!"
"Think of it as extra protection, then. You're lucky I'm not charging you for it."
"No," Mirage grumbled. "I hate you. You exaggerate, and it's offensive."
"If it bothers you that much, you could always leave," Clarkson suggested. "Oh, wait, no, that's right. You can't."
Mirage huffed again, unable to refute that.
"And if it's any consolation, I don't like you, either," the impossible man continued. "I wanted a car that wasn't going to destroy itself, or run away, or start complaining endlessly the moment we were away from everyone."
Mirage didn't answer, having decided to pretend the conversation had never started, and they continued down the road in silence, neither happy with the situation. Shortly before they arrived, however, Clarkson suddenly blurted a question. "How fast can you go?"
"What?" Mirage shook himself out of his thoughts and tried to figure out what had prompted the man to ask.
"I know how fast your model can go, but you're not, as you are so fond of reminding me, just a car. You're a robot. From space, apparently. You don't really expect me to believe you only go as fast as Ford says you can."
Mirage wasn't sure he should have been surprised by the question. "No," he admitted. "I can go much faster than that. I could paste you to my interior if I really wanted to."
Clarkson turned to the rearview mirror, and Mirage didn't like the gleam in his eye. "How fast are you willing to let me drive you?"
"No faster than any normal car would be able to go," Mirage told him. "What if someone noticed?"
"You are the most boring sentient car I have ever met!" Clarkson snapped. Mirage had reason to doubt the man had ever met another sentient car. "Honestly! What if someone notices? What if someone noticed? Can't you think of a better excuse, at least?"
"Fine. I don't want to plaster you to my interior. You'd make a mess, and I've no reliable way of getting you out."
"We wouldn't have to go that fast," Clarkson said dismissively. "How about just 300? You could do that."
Mirage sighed in aggravation. "I'm not going to."
Clarkson frowned and slouched down in the seat. "I should ask James if he wants to buy you."
Mirage knew he'd been insulted, but he couldn't quite figure out how.
*
Clarkson had spent the day working with his two companions and Mirage had spent the time parked and bored. Business as usual, but Mirage didn't have to like it. But it ended eventually and, with the man behind the wheel, they finally set off.
"You were watching me," Clarkson said, a bit smug, as soon as they were away from the others.
Mirage hitched a bit. "I'm surprised you could tell. Most don't notice."
"There's a car staring at me. How does anyone miss that?"
"Most don't expect a car to be watching them. Your two friends don't seem to."
"Well, you're not watching them, are you?"
"Not as often," Mirage conceded. "The Decepticons probably aren't looking for them, so I don't see the need to keep such a close watch on them."
Clarkson smirked. "Well, if that's how you want to justify it to yourself...."
"How do you mean that?"
"Didn't you say you didn't think they were going to show up?" he asked, clearly amused about something.
"I didn't say I wasn't going to be prepared for them to. If they were that predictable, they would have lost the war millennia ago."
"Or maybe your side is incompetent," Clarkson teased. "How do you feel about France?"
Mirage hitched again. "What does France have to do with anything?"
"Well, since we were talking about losers -"
"Hey," Mirage started, malice creeping into his tone.
"We're going to France," Clarkson said, apparently taking the hint and dropping the continued insults he had no doubt been building.
"Whatever for?"
"They've built a bridge," came the answer. "We're going to drive over it."
"For your show?" Mirage guessed.
"No, because I really like France and I really like bridges," Clarkson replied, then slapped the wheel. "Yes, you idiot."
"You do know I'm going to have to run like a normal GT would. I can't convert your petrol to energon for better mileage. The others would probably notice."
"I'd guessed," he replied, though there was a trace of disappointment in his voice.
*
After they'd stopped to refuel for what felt like the millionth time, Mirage wondered if they really would notice if he stretched the miles a little, because he was feeling as annoyed with it as Clarkson seemed to be. He said as much.
The man jerked and then, glaring, nodded towards the set up next to him. "That's a camera, you do realize, and it is recording."
"I know," Mirage told him. "I've scanned it enough times by now. I've patched into it, so it's not actually working properly at the moment."
"Whatever," Clarkson said, but Mirage noticed he glanced over again, as if looking for any indication of Mirage's interference. "And you're not allowed to complain. It was your insistence we do this like a proper car would, and you're not paying for it."
"I can complain all I want," Mirage protested. "I have to listen to you go on and on like a self-important, dim-witted lunatic. Never mind that you actually are one."
"You're a car with delusions and you accuse me of acting self-important." Clarkson hit the edge of the steering wheel. "Shut up and turn the camera back on. Wouldn't want someone noticing, after all."
*
Mirage still tried to reach the Autobot base back in North America on occasion, though he knew the field was still up. He hadn't seen Ravage and Rumble for months, but he was certain they were still in the area. The interference was their doing, and as long as it remained, they remained, as well.
He was a bit surprised with himself, though, when he realized that not only was he not making nearly as many attempts as he had in the beginning, he was also not as anxious to get back. Mirage decided that was because here he could snap at his supposed superior as much as he wanted and never worry about getting into any sort of trouble for it.
He cast his scanners out into the building again, making sure nothing unexpected had come up, and was pleased to see that things were proceeding as normally as they ever could when the three men were around each other.
*
It was a warm day. Nothing interesting was happening, and the sun felt nice on his exterior. Sure that the group would manage fine without him checking in on them periodically, Mirage decided to drop offline for a while.
Voices brought him back online a few hours later. Clarkson's two co-presenters were standing nearby, whispering conspiratorially. Every few seconds, one or both of them would glance over at him. Curious, he turned his sensors over towards them to listen to their conversation.
"Your friends think you spend too much time obsessing over me. They're planning to steal me," Mirage offered in greeting when Clarkson finally returned.
The man chuckled a bit. "I'd like to see them try."
"Actually," Mirage said, "I was thinking of letting them."
Clarkson stared incredulously at the rearview mirror for a moment. "And why would you allow that?" he finally asked.
"It might be fun," Mirage replied.
"How," Clarkson wondered aloud, "could being stolen, and by those two, possibly be fun?"
"They can't be worse than you," Mirage told him, and refused to say any more on the matter.
*
Mirage was idly scanning the local radio waves when a report caught his attention. He revved his engine, startling Clarkson, who had been walking away.
"Hey-!" he shouted as he spun around, but Mirage was already racing away.
*
"What are you doing?" Clarkson exploded at him when he finally dragged himself back. "You cannot just drive off like that and assume no one's going to notice, and you can't -"
"Yes, I'm very sorry about that," Mirage interrupted, not wanting to listen. "Next time I'll just let the Decepticons blow this miserable place off the map."
"Someone is bound to notice that my car keeps borrowing itself, you realize."
"It was only luck that kept them from killing anyone," Mirage continued. "Which is good, of course. I'm not sure how that one would have been explained, otherwise."
"Are you smoking? Why are you smoking?"
"That tends to happen when you get hit with missiles," Mirage sighed, sinking on his wheels. "Shut up and let me rest."
"I hope you hit them back, then!"
"What part of shut - Of course I did. How else do you think I got them to leave? Maybe I asked nicely?"
"Never can tell with idiots."
Mirage ignored the insult, too tired and sore to care.
Clarkson was silent for several minutes. Mirage was just beginning to think he'd slipped away when the man unexpectedly leaned over and rested one forearm on Mirage's roof. "You're not... hurt or whatever, are you?"
Mirage shifted. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Nothing too major, at least, as I was able to revert to vehicle form and return here. I should be able to take care of everything, but it may take a few days."
"Good!" Clarkson said loudly before slapping Mirage's roof once and walking off. Mirage tried to puzzle over the man's actions for a moment, but quickly gave up in favor of resting.
*
Continued...
* This has since been linked to at topgearslash and, if Aniko is to be believed (and I've no reason to doubt her) at The Padded Cell.
It doesn't fit in one post, so I've linked each entry to the other half of the story.
...I want to say several things about this, including how much I dislike it right now, but I'm not going to! I realize my opinion is tainted quite a lot by the fact that I've been working on this for months. So, without further discussion, here it (finally) is, in all its ridiculous glory.
Title: GT
Author: Jecca Meitahn / twilit_wanderer
Fandom: Transformers/Top Gear crossover
Rating: T
Characters: Mirage and Jeremy Clarkson, with appearances by Decepticons Rumble, Ravage, and Battle Ravage (unnamed), Autobots Jazz and Hound, and humans Richard Hammond and James May. Others referenced.
Pairing: nothing intended, but take it as you will. I don't care.
Wordcount: 13,300
Warnings: this is insane?
Summary: Mirage's deployment goes awry. Jeremy Clarkson's Ford GT arrives. There are no such things as coincidences.
Disclaimer: I'm fairly certain this didn't happen. I do not own Transformers or anything (or anyone) related to Top Gear. I do, however, own an Alternators Mirage, who looks startlingly like Jeremy Clarkson's GT and is the entire cause of this deranged thing.
Notes: The Transformers characters in here all have Alternators forms. The Alternators line has no canon, so I'm kind of making my own up as I go along, but there are a lot of very strong influences from various branches of Transformers continuity. This is completely irrelevant to anyone not familiar with Transformers.
There may be a few problems. I'm not British, so I'm not sure if all of the dialogue is right for Clarkson and the others. I'm not sure my chronology is entirely correct, either, so, if something's glaringly wrong, please tell me so I can try to fix it. I'd love to hear what people think of this in general, as well, even if it is nothing but hatred.
*
Something had gone wrong.
He wasn't sure how. It shouldn't have.
The whole thing - the whole ridiculous thing - had started like any other. Undercover mission. Hardly abnormal. Find the Decepticon and stop him. Still nothing strange there. Ravage had apparently hopped the ocean, and Mirage had to track him down. The only thing that might be problematic was that the Decepticons appeared to have raised an interference field and communications would be impossible. Nothing overly complicated, and it was a good excuse to test his new vehicle mode, recently reformatted into a Ford GT which was, while not necessarily inconspicuous, at least modern by Earth's standards.
It might be interesting, if not necessarily fun, he remembered thinking.
But something had gone wrong.
He hadn't been too worried when he'd been taken to a man who looked nothing like what he'd been told to expect. It wasn't entirely uncommon for a third party to step in. He'd thought it a little odd when the unknown had treated him as any other normal - albeit expensive - car, but it could still be shrugged off. Perhaps his identity had been kept secret as an extra security measure.
But then the man had taken him to a location he most definitely did not recognize and put him on display.
He'd been in the area for several hours, with no radio or visual confirmation of his human contact, and he'd run out of excuses for the delay. Yes, Mirage sadly concluded as he sunk down on his wheels in a sulk, something had gone wrong.
He resisted the urge to shift uneasily. What he really wanted to do was transform and find a way to contact the other Autobots, but he imagined that wouldn't go over too well with the crowd around him. He was still undercover, he reminded himself, and maintaining the pretense of being a normal car was more important than ever now that he appeared to have been sold to someone. No problem, though. He was a spy, after all, and silence was part of his job description, even when things went awry. He watched and waited.
It wasn't completely in vain. He learned a few things by listening to the human - who considered Mirage to be his car, which made sense enough but was still rather annoying. The man's named appeared to be Jeremy Clarkson and he had opinions on everything, all of which he tended to voice quite loudly. He talked about cars with two other male humans. He -
Mirage's observations of his surroundings cut themselves short when his sensors registered something damp against him. He focused in on it, puzzled.
'Oh,' he thought weakly as his search concluded, leaving him with the disturbing information that the man was licking him. '... So this is what it feels like to have your logic center crash.'
The afternoon passed in a blur after that.
Finally, when Jeremy Clarkson was about to leave, Mirage shook himself out of his daze enough to decide he hated the man and couldn't take any more if any of it. He shut down his own engine, overrode all attempts made to force him to start up again, and refused to move. Bad enough to be thought of as property, but to have been put on display, and in such a fashion? Never even mind the - No, he didn't want to think about it. All Mirage knew was that he wasn't going to take any more. He allowed the crew of humans to push him out of sight once they decided they couldn't fix him.
He was a bit surprised to find himself immediately sent to Ford, and was forced to scramble his own systems a bit to give the appearance that there had actually been a problem. He took the time to check the area for any signs of his contact, hoping that his disappearance had been noticed already and that he was being looked for.
Much to his dismay, however, two days later Mirage found himself back where he started. He sat in the dark, seething, until an idea occurred to him. He had, after all, had several unnecessary systems installed, all of which he could tap into, and which he now knew he could trick the humans into thinking were broken. Maybe, he figured, if he was annoying enough, Jeremy Clarkson would want to get rid of him, and then he'd be free to go about his business.
He set to work. Soon after, Mirage managed to awaken everyone in the immediate area before allowing the alarm to be turned off.
He waited a short time and then turned it back on again.
When Jeremy Clarkson couldn't deal with the alarm any longer and tried to bring him back to Ford again to find the problem, Mirage found a new game and convinced the tracking device installed that he'd been stolen.
Ford only investigated the alarms system, so Mirage was free to report himself stolen as often as he pleased once he again found himself under ownership of the ridiculous man. The distress he was obviously causing the human bothered him a bit, but he told himself that it wasn't exactly as though he'd been lying. He had been stolen, in a way.
Mirage was sent to Ford for repairs again, and privately declared war.
*
Nearly a month later, Mirage finally gave up hope of anyone realizing the problem and immediately coming for him. He sulked in the parking lot, blaring his displeasure for everyone in the vicinity to hear, but even watching Clarkson rage about had lost its appeal.
He was a bit surprised, though, when he was taken out later in the afternoon. Clarkson was talking to himself again. Mirage wasn't sure the man was ever really quiet and kept only a minimal focus on his voice, noting absently that he seemed a bit more upset about the recent alarm than usual. Whining and pleading for him to work, no doubt. Primus, what wouldn't he give to just be back at base with some energon -
His daydreaming was interrupted as a pair of cars pulled close behind him and stuck there. Clarkson noticed them as well and, accepting their proximity as a challenge, drove faster. He didn't shut up, Mirage noted regretfully. The two stayed on him, though, and after it became apparent they weren't going to go away, Mirage turned his sensors back towards them curiously. A black Corvette and a red Honda. Was this one of those odd games humans played? The three of them were the only vehicles he could detect, and Clarkson didn't seem particularly worried about any of it, did he?
" - back to Ford," he was saying as Mirage checked to see if he really wasn't concerned. Obviously nothing too bizarre, then. "I can't believe I'm about to do this, but you're-"
Oh, not Ford again. Mirage was saved trying to hold back his exasperation, however, when one of the two cars suddenly pulled up alongside him and matched his pace.
"What does that idiot think he's doing?" Clarkson wondered aloud. Mirage silently echoed the question just before his scanners beeped a warning at him: Decepticons in close proximity.
With sudden dread, Mirage realized the information they'd received hadn't been fully correct. Yes, Ravage, the black Corvette, had crossed the ocean, but he'd brought a friend, who was hiding as a Honda Civic, from the look of it. It had to be Rumble. Now he'd found both of them, but with a human passenger he could only hope he could get away from them with minimal confrontation.
The pair pulled closer still, and it occurred to Mirage that maybe they weren't looking to hassle him: they were out for a little fun at the expense of his passenger. Too bad the Decepticon idea of fun involving humans often involved death for the victim. Clarkson, Mirage knew, had two options. He either pulled over, in which case they'd be able to get hold of him easily, or he kept trying to race them the way he currently was, in which case they'd run him off the road.
Hopefully his reformatting was enough to fool them so that they wouldn't be expecting his presence anymore than Clarkson was.
To a startled, "What the hell?" from Clarkson, Mirage took control and accelerated, and found, miraculously, that it had worked, if only briefly.
The pair of Decepticons slowed for a moment, clearly surprised by the actions and speed of what they'd believed to be nothing but a human out for a drive. Taking every second he could, Mirage sped up, putting as much distance between them as possible.
Rumble started after him, but Ravage hung back. Mirage hoped for a moment that perhaps the Decepticon wasn't capable of higher speeds, but the idea died quickly as a pair of missile launchers unfolded from the Corvette's back end.
He cursed silently. Clarkson, who'd been pulling at the wheel and pressing the brake in vain, caught sight of the launchers as well, but didn't seem to realize what he was staring at. Mirage had no doubt that would change soon.
Rumble, still a ways behind, pulled off to the side and Ravage fired both missiles. Clarkson shouted and doubled his efforts to regain control. Mirage ignored him and swerved to his left. A second later, the pair of missiles exploded to his right, barely missing him.
Swearing, Clarkson twisted awkwardly and threw his arms in front of his face, and Mirage, distracted by the man's flailing, slowed reflexively. He realized his mistake instantly as Rumble tried to pull up alongside him again.
'They're trying to box me in for an easy kill,' Mirage realized. Ravage fired again, and this time Mirage was forced to accelerate to avoid being hit. He had to get away from them soon: he couldn't dodge forever, and he couldn't safely maintain his current speed much longer.
Up ahead, he knew, the road curved several times, and an idea came to him. It was risky, but it was all he had. Mirage pushed himself even faster, barely aware of Clarkson's grunt as he was knocked back against the seat.
Mirage slid across to and nearly off the opposite side of the road as he rounded the first bend. He wouldn't be able to make the second, but he didn't plan on trying. As soon as they disappeared from immediate view, Mirage activated his cloaking field, and began to brake as fast as he dared.
As he approached the second curve, he allowed himself to cross back across the lanes, this time sailing off the side of the road. Clarkson, who's been thrown forward by the rapid deceleration, slammed back into the seat again as Mirage finally came to a stop. Seconds later, the two Decepticons rocketed past.
The sounds of their engines faded for a moment, then grew louder again as the pair realized they'd lost their target. Only Ravage came back into view, though. He was moving much slower this time, creeping along as he searched the area. Mirage fervently hoped that the Decepticon hadn't had his scanners upgraded enough that he could somehow penetrate the cloak.
It appeared not, as Ravage drifted past once and then one final time after he'd turned around to rejoin his companion.
For a long moment, both Mirage and his passenger sat in silence, both barely daring to move. Finally, Mirage deactivated his field and, as the energy dispersed, it seemed to take a good deal of the oppressive tension with it.
"What the hell was that?" Clarkson sputtered.
Mirage suppressed a resigned sigh. He quickly scanned the area again and, satisfied that, at least for now, the road and sky were both clear of Decepticons, turned his attention inward to focus on his passenger. Clarkson was sitting rigidly, holding his hands out as if to grab the steering wheel before him, and staring alternately at it and the road, eyes wide.
Mirage had figured he would have to out himself eventually, but in his mind the situation had been a little different. "Sorry. Are you all right?"
The man twitched, finally grabbing the wheel, and turned towards the empty passenger seat. "Who said that?"
"Er, I did, but-"
"Well, obviously it was you," Clarkson interrupted. He peered closely at the dashboard then started examining the door.
"What are you doing?" Mirage asked him, as he gave up on the door and leaned over to check the other side.
"Video, too?" he muttered before slouching back in his seat and glaring at the window, ignoring the question. Mirage wished, not for the first time, that someone else had been sent on this mission.
He waited for a while, but when it became obvious his passenger wasn't going to say or do anything, he decided to try again. "Are you all right?"
To his credit, Clarkson didn't bother looking around to find where the voice was coming from this time. "I will be, once I get my hands on whoever put you up to this. Which one of them was it?"
"Which one of who?" Mirage managed after a long pause. The man made no sense!
"Don't give me that. It had to have been Hammond or May. Or both." His voice dropped and Mirage wasn't entirely sure he liked the expression on the man's face when he said, "It's both, isn't it."
Mirage had no idea what he was talking about. "You think this is a joke?" he finally guessed, when he remembered that Hammond and May were those two humans who were often around.
"Oh, come on. No one's going to be enough of an idiot to think his car's started talking to him." Clarkson crossed his arms in annoyance. "So you may as well tell me which one of them it was. Maybe I'll even ignore your part in this whole thing if you do."
"No one put me up to this!" It wasn't entirely true, but Mirage couldn't imagine he would care about those little details. He hurried to finish when he noticed Clarkson about to speak. "I'm the car; I'm just not a ... normal car."
"And here I was thinking all vehicles had delusions of - You are not!" Clarkson sat upright and grabbed the steering wheel again as he interrupted himself.
"I can prove it to you!" Mirage offered. He turned his attention back out and scanned the area. There still weren't any signs of approaching traffic, human or Decepticon, so it would probably be safe.
"This ought to be good," Clarkson muttered and again slouched back in the seat.
"You'll have to get out," Mirage said as he eased the driver's side door open.
Clarkson stared at it for a moment. "You can control my car and you expect me to just get out? What, so you can drive it off?"
"No! If I wanted to drive off, I'd simply do so." It wasn't exactly reassuring, no, but it was certainly true.
"Ah, but with me in the car, I'll know where you take it!" He pointed, not at anything in particular. Maybe whoever he thought he was talking to. Mirage decided not to worry about it any longer.
"I promise I'm not going to drive myself off and get lost." Any more than I already am, he added silently.
"Don't say that." The man sounded disgusted.
"Don't say what?"
"Don't refer to my car like it's you."
"But I am the car," Mirage said again. He had the sinking feeling that they'd be repeating this conversation well into the night.
"Stop saying that! You are not my car!" he shouted.
"I am the car!" Mirage snapped back, perhaps a bit too loudly, and angrily flicked his wipers.
"Rubbish," Clarkson informed him.
"Get out and I'll show you," Mirage tried again, though he knew it was a wasted effort.
"No!"
"Please don't make me eject you."
"I'd like to see you try," Clarkson said, completely unconcerned and making every possible effort to ensure his presumed audience knew it.
Completely frustrated though he was, Mirage knew a challenge when he heard one. Without hesitation, he flung the door open, released the seat belt, and shifted just so.
Before he'd had time to register what was happening, Jeremy Clarkson found himself sprawled rather gracelessly on his side on the ground. Mirage - for the first time in entirely too long - transformed, stood up, and waited for another sarcastic comment. When none came, he glanced down, only to find the man gaping up and silent. Well, Mirage thought, faintly smug, that's probably a first.
The moment passed quickly. The man shouted something that, if Mirage remembered correctly, most humans would have considered quite offensive and scrambled to his feet, hurriedly backing away as he did so.
They stared at each other a moment, Clarkson squinting up and occasionally working his mouth as if searching for something to say, Mirage just looking a bit annoyed.
"As entertaining as watching you gape is," Mirage finally said, "I really can't stand around like this for long. I'm sure even you can understand that it would be bad if someone saw me."
"I've seen you," Clarkson pointed out, evidently finding his voice again.
"That wasn't really avoidable," Mirage told him. "Stay back there." Without giving the man time to move towards him, Mirage folded back into vehicular form.
"That really is amazing. How are you doing it?" Clarkson asked, cautiously stepping closer.
"That is a long and complicated story, and would probably be better answered by a medic."
"You don't know," he deduced, sounding amused.
"Do you know how you walk or breathe?" Mirage returned, a bit embarrassed by the man's largely accurate assessment. He opened his door. "I know the basics, but I don't feel like talking about it right now. Get in. I want to get out of here before those two get it into their processors to double back again."
Clarkson walked over, but hesitated just before he sat down.
"If I were going to kill you, I'd have done so by now," Mirage snapped. "They will kill you if they find us here. Get in."
"I want to know what's going on," Clarkson said, but took up position behind the wheel again, anyway. He spat out a startled protest as the seatbelt suddenly fastened itself.
Mirage ignored his complaints and, activating his fields again as a precaution, drove off.
*
The caution appeared to be unwarranted and, after he felt they were far enough away from the area of the encounter, Mirage brought his fields back down. "I suppose I do owe you an explanation, don't I?"
"That's not all you owe me," Clarkson muttered. "How are you even talking? You've got no mouth."
Mirage sighed. "I don't need one. I have a vocalizer that works perfectly well."
Clarkson shot a glance at the rearview mirror, then frowned at it. "Well?"
"What?"
"You were going to explain this."
"I'm not sure I can tell you everything," Mirage told him. "But I can at least explain how it involves you, and hopefully that will be enough"
"Just start talking," Clarkson commanded.
"Fine." Trying not to reveal too much, Mirage simply told him that, after a strange interference field had gone up over the area, he'd been sent to find the Corvette that had just been chasing them because it was a menace to society, and admitted he hadn't known that the other would be present.
"So they're evil cars?"
"They're not cars."
"Says the car that claims to not be a car," Clarkson said, again appearing to address the rearview mirror.
"That's right. I'd be the authority on cars that are or are not cars, then, wouldn't I?"
"Hm." The man sat silent for a moment. "So you came here. How do you like it?"
"Well, it's no Cybertron," Mirage started, surprised by the sudden change of subject and not really sure what else to say. It wasn't as though he'd been able to move about on his own to develop much of an opinion, after all.
Clarkson either didn't realize he'd intended to continue or simply didn't care. "It's not what?"
"Cybertron. My home planet," Mirage explained.
There was a silence, and then Clarkson responded, incredulous. "You just made that up."
"What? Made what up?"
"That. That 'home planet' thing. You don't have a special 'home planet'!"
"Yes, I do! And it was much nicer than this one!" Mirage huffed before he could stop himself.
"You're a car!"
"I am not just a car! I can't believe we're having this conversation again."
"Well, we are, because you are just a car, and what's more you're my car. I bought you; you're mine. So listen, Car -"
"My name is Mirage. You may not recognize me for what I am, but you could at least get my name right."
"Oh, whatever. Listen, I don't care what you are, or what you think you are, or if this is some stupid joke-"
"If there's a joke here, it is undoubtedly on me for ending up under your care!"
"The point is!" Clarkson slapped his palm against the wheel. Mirage sighed to himself, but decided he may as well let the man finish his piece. "The point is..."
"What is the point?" Mirage prodded, when the silence had dragged on a bit too long.
Maybe the absurdity of the situation had finally caught up with him.
"Ford doesn't know about this, do they?" he finally asked, appearing subdued for the moment.
"Not to my knowledge." They probably would've said something if they thought there was something strange about their own vehicle.
"They're not going to be very happy when they show up to take you away and you start shouting at them."
What?
"What?" Mirage asked, completely lost.
"You've been paying attention, or at least you think you have. What car did you think I was referring to?"
"Today? I wasn't listening much," Mirage admitted.
"You're useless," Clarkson informed him. "I'm selling you back because you won't work."
"Now? Ravage and Rumble both saw you. They'll be able to find you, and they'll probably think you're working with me. You're a target, like it or not." Mirage said. "If you still insist on trying, though, I'll just leave on my own."
"I paid for you! You can't just drive off; that'd be like stealing!"
"I'll get you a refund," Mirage promised. "But you can't try to sell me to Ford now. I need to find those two Decepticons that attacked us before they cause any more trouble."
"I already said I was going to! I can't change my mind now!"
"Why not? There's nothing wrong with reevaluating a decision."
"I'm not going to," Clarkson insisted. "You're going. End of discussion."
"Fine, look. Have you already talked to Ford about this?" Reasoning with him wasn't easy, but Mirage refused to give up.
"Well, no," he conceded. "I was going to do that after I got back home."
"Then pretend you got rid of me and I'll leave tonight. I'll contact my allies and get you back whatever you paid for me, and hopefully we'll never have to deal with each other ever again."
"Because no one is going to notice my car driving itself away."
"No one is going to see me."
"Right," Clarkson snorted.
"You don't honestly think Ravage just didn't see me when he went past a little while ago, do you?" Mirage asked.
"How should I know? And cars don't have eyes, so they can't see." Clarkson pointed at Mirage. "That includes you."
"If it really makes you feel better about things, you're right. I don't have sight as you know it in this form." Mirage tried to ignore how Clarkson smirked triumphantly at that. "I can still see things, though. Ravage shouldn't have missed me."
"All right. Fine. Surprise me. Why won't anyone notice my car driving itself away?"
He'd never believe the explanation. Mirage coasted to a stop. "You're going to have to get out again, I'm afraid," he said, opening the door.
Surprisingly, Clarkson scrambled out without arguing. Perhaps, Mirage mused, he didn't want to be thrown again.
"Don't worry," Mirage said, hoping to fend off any sort of extreme reaction. "I'm not going to go anywhere."
The retort he saw forming on the man's lips was cut off as Mirage activated his field and vanished from sight.
The man blinked but, instead of shouting or otherwise making a scene, as Mirage had imagined he might, he stepped back over and reached out. He groped awkwardly at the air for a moment, but then landed his hand firmly on the roof. "Huh."
"I can generate a field that allows me to pass undetected," Mirage explained. "It blocks my heat signature, as well."
"That's..." Clarkson stared a moment longer, apparently at a loss for words. When he spoke again, it was with a question. "Are you invisible on the inside, too? If you were to, say, open a door or something, would I be able to see the seat, or would that be invisible, too?"
"The field only runs along my exterior," Mirage answered. "So you wouldn't be able to see the door, but, yes, you'd be able to my interior."
"And when I'm... inside, I'm invisible, too, sort of."
"Yes."
The man grinned hugely and Mirage wondered if revealing that had been a huge mistake. He didn't ask anything else, though, just tapped his knuckles against the roof and told Mirage to let him back in.
*
"So, you'll just drive off and do whatever, and I'll pretend to have sold you?"
"Yes," Mirage confirmed. "And when I get back, I talk to my superiors, and we'll see about getting you a refund."
"And you don't think Ford will notice that I haven't actually contacted them?" Clarkson asked skeptically.
Mirage hesitated before answering. "I can't contact my allies because of the signal interference, but I can still work with most everything else. I can, uh, hack their files and rework them to say that you did."
Clarkson stared at the rearview mirror, and Mirage almost asked why he kept doing that. "Yes, I do know that's completely illegal, before you ask," he said instead.
"And that'll be it, then," Clarkson said, nodding slowly. "I'll be rid of you, and you'll be rid of me, and the evil cars will go away without murdering anyone."
"If I can find them," Mirage reminded him. "But either way, they won't come after you."
Clarkson nodded again, still watching the mirror.
"You know, if they come up on me again, I'll be able to detect them long before they show up in the reflection. You don't need to watch for them," Mirage said.
The man glanced around, as if the mention of the pair of Decepticons would make them appear, then, laughing humorlessly, turned his gaze out the front. "That wasn't what I was doing, actually."
"Why do you keep looking towards the mirror, then?" Mirage asked.
"Habit," he answered simply. The rest of the journey was remarkably quiet.
When he came to a final stop and popped the door, Mirage broke the silence to restate, "I won't be here in the morning."
Clarkson nodded again but didn't move to immediately get out. Mirage scanned him, wondering if there was a problem. Nothing appeared to be wrong, so he asked.
"No, no," Clarkson dismissed, and opened the door fully. He hesitated again, though, and finally, after running a hand along the steering wheel, added, "Did you know, I always wanted to own a Ford GT."
Mirage waited, not sure if that was everything he was going to say. After a minute, unsure of how to reply to that, he shifted awkwardly and said, sincerely, "Sorry."
Clarkson made a strange sound and got out. He walked off without looking back.
*
Mirage idled, unsure of what to do. Despite having encountered both Ravage and Rumble multiple times, it had always been in the vicinity of humans. The Decepticons were as unwilling to reveal themselves as he was, thankfully, but he'd been unable to track either of them. It was frustrating.
Equally frustrating, communications were still blocked, so he couldn't call to report his findings or to ask to be brought back. The only good thing was that he was certain that by now the Decepticons would be convinced that he was working on his own.
He sighed and sank on his wheels. He had to go somewhere to wait until he could reach the other Autobots, but his form, unfamiliarity with the area, and the lurking Decepticons limited his choices.
He sat for another moment, considering, until, having made a decision, he accelerated and drove off.
*
Despite having heard what could only have been some sort of vehicle moving around outside in the night and feeling as though something was watching him all morning, Jeremy Clarkson wasn't really expecting anything strange to happen that day, so it took him rather by surprise when he stumbled into nothing, fell over, and found himself halfway sprawled over the top of that same nothing shortly after leaving the house.
The nothing rumbled a bit as he pushed off it to stand back up.
"This really had better not mean what I think it does," he threatened, staring at the seemingly empty space before him.
"Hello again," Mirage replied quietly.
"God," Clarkson groaned. "I'd managed to convince myself that was a dream. Don't tell me you've been chased here by those con-things."
"Nothing like that. They don't seem interested in me," Mirage assured him. "It's more that I can't leave and I didn't know where else to go."
"Well, you can't be here. I got rid of you, what, months ago?" Clarkson made a little waving motion that Mirage thought was probably supposed to indicate his leaving.
"Yes, I remember," Mirage said.
Clarkson stared at his approximate location for a long minute.
"Look, I can stay out of the way," Mirage said. "I'll keep myself invisible and just hide until the field goes down. The others will surely have figured out by now that something's gone wrong. You'll probably even be able to forget that I'm here!"
Clarkson was still staring and frowning thoughtfully. "You know," he finally said. "A lot of people have been telling me I should buy my car back."
Mirage shifted, not certain he was following the man's thoughts.
"Tell you what," he continued. "You promise to behave, at least when no one is looking, and I'll let you stay here and be my car."
"What an honor," Mirage intoned sarcastically before he could stop himself. "What, do you want me to not function properly when others are around?"
"No one's going to expect you to," Clarkson informed him. "You made sure of that."
Mirage sunk in embarrassment as he remembered his initial behavior. "I suppose I did."
"Just... stay disappeared for a bit longer. I'll make some statements, get laughed at." He grimaced. "You'd better appreciate this."
"I do," Mirage said earnestly.
Clarkson pointed towards him, still frowning, though Mirage was fairly certain the man was fighting not to smile. "And if you cause me too much trouble, you're gone. For ever."
"Understood."
"Good!" He exclaimed, and then he did grin. "Now, if you would move yourself out of the way? I have to leave, and I'd rather not damage any of my less troublesome cars running you over."
*
Whatever gratitude he'd felt at being allowed to stay was gone almost as soon as he was visible again.
"I can't believe I forgot how annoying you are," Mirage complained.
"Shut up, car," Clarkson commanded as they sped around a corner.
"No, I don't think I will. Just because I've agreed to carry you around, you think that gives you the right to say completely false things about me -"
"They are not!" The man protested. "You've done almost everything I've said."
Mirage huffed angrily. "You're just making things up! I can't believe this. It's not true and you know it!"
"But they don't," the man replied gleefully.
"You're evil," Mirage vented. "You're evil and I hate you."
"It's for your own good."
"How is your defaming me possibly to my benefit?"
"No one's going to think you're an auto-whatsit if you're breaking down all the time, are they?"
"No one suspects I'm an Autobot, anyway. Almost no one knows we exist!"
"Think of it as extra protection, then. You're lucky I'm not charging you for it."
"No," Mirage grumbled. "I hate you. You exaggerate, and it's offensive."
"If it bothers you that much, you could always leave," Clarkson suggested. "Oh, wait, no, that's right. You can't."
Mirage huffed again, unable to refute that.
"And if it's any consolation, I don't like you, either," the impossible man continued. "I wanted a car that wasn't going to destroy itself, or run away, or start complaining endlessly the moment we were away from everyone."
Mirage didn't answer, having decided to pretend the conversation had never started, and they continued down the road in silence, neither happy with the situation. Shortly before they arrived, however, Clarkson suddenly blurted a question. "How fast can you go?"
"What?" Mirage shook himself out of his thoughts and tried to figure out what had prompted the man to ask.
"I know how fast your model can go, but you're not, as you are so fond of reminding me, just a car. You're a robot. From space, apparently. You don't really expect me to believe you only go as fast as Ford says you can."
Mirage wasn't sure he should have been surprised by the question. "No," he admitted. "I can go much faster than that. I could paste you to my interior if I really wanted to."
Clarkson turned to the rearview mirror, and Mirage didn't like the gleam in his eye. "How fast are you willing to let me drive you?"
"No faster than any normal car would be able to go," Mirage told him. "What if someone noticed?"
"You are the most boring sentient car I have ever met!" Clarkson snapped. Mirage had reason to doubt the man had ever met another sentient car. "Honestly! What if someone notices? What if someone noticed? Can't you think of a better excuse, at least?"
"Fine. I don't want to plaster you to my interior. You'd make a mess, and I've no reliable way of getting you out."
"We wouldn't have to go that fast," Clarkson said dismissively. "How about just 300? You could do that."
Mirage sighed in aggravation. "I'm not going to."
Clarkson frowned and slouched down in the seat. "I should ask James if he wants to buy you."
Mirage knew he'd been insulted, but he couldn't quite figure out how.
*
Clarkson had spent the day working with his two companions and Mirage had spent the time parked and bored. Business as usual, but Mirage didn't have to like it. But it ended eventually and, with the man behind the wheel, they finally set off.
"You were watching me," Clarkson said, a bit smug, as soon as they were away from the others.
Mirage hitched a bit. "I'm surprised you could tell. Most don't notice."
"There's a car staring at me. How does anyone miss that?"
"Most don't expect a car to be watching them. Your two friends don't seem to."
"Well, you're not watching them, are you?"
"Not as often," Mirage conceded. "The Decepticons probably aren't looking for them, so I don't see the need to keep such a close watch on them."
Clarkson smirked. "Well, if that's how you want to justify it to yourself...."
"How do you mean that?"
"Didn't you say you didn't think they were going to show up?" he asked, clearly amused about something.
"I didn't say I wasn't going to be prepared for them to. If they were that predictable, they would have lost the war millennia ago."
"Or maybe your side is incompetent," Clarkson teased. "How do you feel about France?"
Mirage hitched again. "What does France have to do with anything?"
"Well, since we were talking about losers -"
"Hey," Mirage started, malice creeping into his tone.
"We're going to France," Clarkson said, apparently taking the hint and dropping the continued insults he had no doubt been building.
"Whatever for?"
"They've built a bridge," came the answer. "We're going to drive over it."
"For your show?" Mirage guessed.
"No, because I really like France and I really like bridges," Clarkson replied, then slapped the wheel. "Yes, you idiot."
"You do know I'm going to have to run like a normal GT would. I can't convert your petrol to energon for better mileage. The others would probably notice."
"I'd guessed," he replied, though there was a trace of disappointment in his voice.
*
After they'd stopped to refuel for what felt like the millionth time, Mirage wondered if they really would notice if he stretched the miles a little, because he was feeling as annoyed with it as Clarkson seemed to be. He said as much.
The man jerked and then, glaring, nodded towards the set up next to him. "That's a camera, you do realize, and it is recording."
"I know," Mirage told him. "I've scanned it enough times by now. I've patched into it, so it's not actually working properly at the moment."
"Whatever," Clarkson said, but Mirage noticed he glanced over again, as if looking for any indication of Mirage's interference. "And you're not allowed to complain. It was your insistence we do this like a proper car would, and you're not paying for it."
"I can complain all I want," Mirage protested. "I have to listen to you go on and on like a self-important, dim-witted lunatic. Never mind that you actually are one."
"You're a car with delusions and you accuse me of acting self-important." Clarkson hit the edge of the steering wheel. "Shut up and turn the camera back on. Wouldn't want someone noticing, after all."
*
Mirage still tried to reach the Autobot base back in North America on occasion, though he knew the field was still up. He hadn't seen Ravage and Rumble for months, but he was certain they were still in the area. The interference was their doing, and as long as it remained, they remained, as well.
He was a bit surprised with himself, though, when he realized that not only was he not making nearly as many attempts as he had in the beginning, he was also not as anxious to get back. Mirage decided that was because here he could snap at his supposed superior as much as he wanted and never worry about getting into any sort of trouble for it.
He cast his scanners out into the building again, making sure nothing unexpected had come up, and was pleased to see that things were proceeding as normally as they ever could when the three men were around each other.
*
It was a warm day. Nothing interesting was happening, and the sun felt nice on his exterior. Sure that the group would manage fine without him checking in on them periodically, Mirage decided to drop offline for a while.
Voices brought him back online a few hours later. Clarkson's two co-presenters were standing nearby, whispering conspiratorially. Every few seconds, one or both of them would glance over at him. Curious, he turned his sensors over towards them to listen to their conversation.
"Your friends think you spend too much time obsessing over me. They're planning to steal me," Mirage offered in greeting when Clarkson finally returned.
The man chuckled a bit. "I'd like to see them try."
"Actually," Mirage said, "I was thinking of letting them."
Clarkson stared incredulously at the rearview mirror for a moment. "And why would you allow that?" he finally asked.
"It might be fun," Mirage replied.
"How," Clarkson wondered aloud, "could being stolen, and by those two, possibly be fun?"
"They can't be worse than you," Mirage told him, and refused to say any more on the matter.
*
Mirage was idly scanning the local radio waves when a report caught his attention. He revved his engine, startling Clarkson, who had been walking away.
"Hey-!" he shouted as he spun around, but Mirage was already racing away.
*
"What are you doing?" Clarkson exploded at him when he finally dragged himself back. "You cannot just drive off like that and assume no one's going to notice, and you can't -"
"Yes, I'm very sorry about that," Mirage interrupted, not wanting to listen. "Next time I'll just let the Decepticons blow this miserable place off the map."
"Someone is bound to notice that my car keeps borrowing itself, you realize."
"It was only luck that kept them from killing anyone," Mirage continued. "Which is good, of course. I'm not sure how that one would have been explained, otherwise."
"Are you smoking? Why are you smoking?"
"That tends to happen when you get hit with missiles," Mirage sighed, sinking on his wheels. "Shut up and let me rest."
"I hope you hit them back, then!"
"What part of shut - Of course I did. How else do you think I got them to leave? Maybe I asked nicely?"
"Never can tell with idiots."
Mirage ignored the insult, too tired and sore to care.
Clarkson was silent for several minutes. Mirage was just beginning to think he'd slipped away when the man unexpectedly leaned over and rested one forearm on Mirage's roof. "You're not... hurt or whatever, are you?"
Mirage shifted. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Nothing too major, at least, as I was able to revert to vehicle form and return here. I should be able to take care of everything, but it may take a few days."
"Good!" Clarkson said loudly before slapping Mirage's roof once and walking off. Mirage tried to puzzle over the man's actions for a moment, but quickly gave up in favor of resting.
*
Continued...