Fic: A Universal Concept - Chapter 12
Title: A Universal Concept - Chapter 12
Verse: Post 2007 Movie, AU
Rating: Mature for later chapters
Pairings: Jazz/Maggie Madsen, Ironhide/Sarah Lennox/Will Lennox, Prime/Ratchet, Bumblebee/Sam, Barricade/Mikaela
Summary: What is love? Is it an instinct? An emotion? Or an ability that can transcend species? After eons of conflict, the war-weary Autobots have a new home, a new life, and a chance for something more. And for a single Decepticon, a chance for salvation.
Warnings: Mech/human sexual situations and mech slash in later chapters.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Hasbro has it all.
( Prologue )( Chapter One )( Chapter Two )( Chapter Three )( Chapter Four )( Chapter Five )( Chapter Six )( Chapter Seven )( Chapter Eight )( Chapter Nine )( Chapter Ten )( Chapter Eleven )
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Notes:
* ~*~*~*~*~ denotes break within a scene.
*:: denotes comms.
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~ Chapter 12 ~
He should have ventured out sooner, it was too long since his last refueling. He waited, a black shape against deeper darkness, clamping down on the panic beginning to thread through circuits as his systems ticked down to critical fuel levels. Just as he was beginning to think his hunt was in vain, there came the sound of footsteps and movement at the edge of his sensors. The Saleen carefully drew itself up in readiness. The footsteps came closer, the car eased forward, and then the loud creak of stressed metal halted the creature in its tracks. Barricade nearly groaned aloud. If he missed this one, he wouldn’t get another chance.
Too starved and desperate to wait any longer, the black car jerked forward, startling his prey with the roar of the gunning engine. A cable snapped out to coil tightly around the small frame, another covered its nose and mouth, cutting off a scream.
Success.
There was an aborted attempt at escape before it was drawn struggling into the confines of the vehicle. More cables uncoiled, looping around until his prey was completely immobilized.
Processors buzzed with static. He was drawing too heavily on reserves, his control was beginning to slip. He needed to do something now, but what? So hard to think, to scan. Scan. Why did he need to scan? ... eyes dulled, no longer wide with panic.... face, what little could be seen, mottled.... discolored....
A harsh jumble of electronic noise crackled out into the quiet of the car.
The cable covering the human's face was removed, the coils around its body loosened and released. It collapsed across the seat, coughing, gasping, a small trickle of blood at the corner of its mouth.
He watched it, distaste at its presence within him warring with relief that he had not managed to kill this one, too. He scanned the creature, noting in passing that this one was female. He detected no significant injuries and shut them down, regretting having to use them at all when his fuel levels flashed from marginal to critical. Warnings pinged urgently, and Barricade cursed again. He had no time left.
Cables moved again, rolling the female roughly onto her back and pinning her to the seat. Another cable hovered over her. Large blades sprang out fanwise with the sharp hissing slither of drawn metal, flashing and sharp-edged. The female’s eyes widened, following the deadly blades as they moved to position just over her waist.
"W-wait, wait-"
A menacing growl cut her off. "You have exactly two choices. Cooperate or I cut you to shreds."
Barricade waited for the usual reaction and was not disappointed. Just as the human opened her mouth he clamped a cable across it, gagging her once more.
Terrified eyes followed one razor edged blade as it descended. The female’s screams were muffled by the cable, her body strained against the bonds holding her fast. One razor edge drew a delicate stroke over quivering flesh, tiny beads of blood welling from the thin red line before the entire assembly came to rest.
She whimpered at the press of cold metal against her belly, while Barricade was hard put not to moan at the luxuriant feel of heat, even from a fleshling.
“I will allow you to speak now, human, and you will give me your answer.”
The cable slid slowly away from her gaping mouth. She coughed once, twice, and on the third try managed a hoarse whisper.
".... p- please - I'll d-do whatever- Jus'- don' kill me."
The voice that answered her was a grating sneer. "I have a use for you, fleshling. That is the only reason you still live."
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Maggie stared intently at the display, hands pressed to the headphones covering her ears. Yes... Maybe... No. Not the signal she thought it was. It started out strong, then disintegrated into random noise as soon as the detector got a lock on it.
She twitched with a sudden chill. Maggie took off the headphones and sighed, rolling her head and shoulders and ending with a stretch of arms above her head. It was probably time for a break, but she didn't want to let this go. Three times in the last hour, and the pattern was peculiar. She leaned forward and recalibrated the detector, hoping to catch it again. She was convinced it was a signal, she just didn't have enough information to convince anyone else.
Her shoulders twitched again, another chill tickled its way down her spine. Maggie pushed a stray lock behind an ear and reached for her headphones. The little tickle crept over her shoulders.
Maggie went very, very still, her hand closing around an empty can. She tilted her head in a listening pose, reaching for the headphones again, and caught a flash of metal out of the corner of her eye.
She smiled to herself and whipped around, nailing the large silver Autobot neatly.
"Hey!" Jazz protested, spreading his hands. "Wasn't me." Then his mouthplates stretched in a broad grin.
Maggie laughed. "Right, and that grin of yours just completely ruined your aura of innocence."
His visor flickered in a wink. He bent down to pick up the can and tossed it back to her.
"I think your aim is gettin' better, babe."
She caught it and smirked up at him. "I think you're slowing down, Jazz."
He moved from the door with one of those lighting fast moves that left her mind in a whirl and wondering if she was seeing things, and was kneeling next to her chair in an instant. One large silver arm curled around her gently.
"Never," he declared. This time the tingle down her spine was stronger and Jazz's visor was shaded with the soft glowing blues of a very good mood.
"Is that - Am I feeling your field?" Maggie asked.
"I'd say so." Jazz hummed, a fingerpad flipping a bright lock of hair.
She reached a hand out to trace the sigil on his chestplates. "So we're ready?"
"Ready when you are, babe. Come ta my berth tonight, and we'll begin."
The tingle became a slow, deliberate stroke.
Maggie shivered.
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Fire, Sam decided, was his friend. Fire was good, fire was warm. He poked at a few glowing embers at the edge of the campfire with his stick, watching them spark and tiny flames begin licking up around them. A chill ran down his back, leaving goose pimpled skin behind. He shuddered and drew in closer.
"...You know I'm still not speaking to you, right? After ditching me and making me walk 5 miles back home. How's Mikaela? You both finished up with the home school thing yet? Man, that sucks you can't be in school. How about the Senior party, you coming to that? You have to make that, bro, it'll be epic. Dude, enough with the fire, put a hot dog on that stick, will you? You haven't eaten anything all day. How about we try fishing tomorrow? I brought some line..."
Sam stared into the fire, letting the steady stream of chatter flow over him. That was the thing about Miles, he could go on and on and never really expect an answer, just a nod now and then.
Sam nodded. Miles moved on. A hot dog had magically appeared on the end of Sam's stick. He held it over the fire, watching red and yellow flames eat at it. "...Where'd the marshmallows go? I know I packed like, 5 bags of them..." He was so happy to see Sam after months of nothing. Sam felt guilty, immensely relieved that he still had a friend, and completely tongue-tied because what he really wanted to tell Miles was everything that was now top secret and classified, how screwed up everything was, how much he wanted the world to stop spinning insanely around him, and how he wanted the voice in his head to go away and leave him the fuck alone.
Mostly, he wanted to tell Miles about Bumblebee, about the amazing car that transformed into an even more amazing giant robot, and keeping a secret like that from his best friend was about to kill Sam.
He could feel the weight of Bumblebee's attention on him, even in alt-mode. Sam twitched and shivered, wishing he could go crawl inside and nestle into the memory foam comfort of 'Bee's back seat and really warm up. He watched the hot dog dip low with the movement, the skin starting to crisp and blacken from the flames.
"...waffles. I'm making waffles for breakfast, those giant Belgium things with whipped cream and strawberries? Except we don’t have strawberries. Or whipped cream. Bummer. Man, check this out. The manual says we can eat the grubs I found under that rotten log. Those survivor guys and the military dudes, like, you know, Rangers and shit? They eat them all the time. Think I'll stick with waffles. I brought a waffle maker. We can plug it into your car. It's got enough juice to run the thing, right?"
Wait, what?
Sam lifted his head. "You brought a waffle maker on a camping trip, and you're going to make waffles inside my car?" The bright yellow Camaro made a weird electronic noise. Sam decided that was a big hell, no.
Miles was glancing between him and Bumblebee, with a look that was even stranger than the waffle idea. Sam felt his stomach start to drop. That look was telling him Miles knew something was up, he just wasn't sure exactly what, but he was the type to hang on and worry at a mystery until he solved it.
Miles grinned. "Dude, who does that? You bring apples and cheese and Slim Jims and instant oatmeal, shit like that for breakfast." He reached for Sam's stick, unskewered the blackened hotdog and popped a marshmallow on it instead. Sam's gorge rose. It looked like a fat white grub dangling on the end of the stick.
"I was just checking something," Miles was saying, still watching the Camaro. "Maybe next time, we can bring my dog."
There was another little oh hell, no noise from the car. Sam stared blankly, or tried to. Firelight glanced off of Bumblebee as he shifted. Shitshitshit, stop moving 'Bee.
Miles' grin faded completely. He nodded to himself. "Uh huh. So, bro, when were you going to tell me your car is alive?"
Sam froze like a deer in Bumblebee's headlights.
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Refueled and out of danger of stasis lock for the moment, Barricade pushed the female roughly out of his cab and delivered the hard electrical shock that would take her short-term memories. He left the human trembling on the ground, not without a hint of regret. A slave would be useful here, and these fleshlings had spirit.
Barricade growled to himself, remembering the heat of her small frame pressed to his seat, the feel of sharp teeth against his cable. Let him get back to fully functional, and he might consider acquiring one permanently.
Air huffed from the Saleen, along with a groaning metallic creak as the vehicle moved out onto the road. Damaged internals and inefficient fuel barely kept him alive, let alone functional. He was running on reserves, every movement he made carefully calculated to spend as little of those reserves as possible. Unless he somehow gained access to real fuel, this would be his existence for the foreseeable future.
It wasn’t in him to simply lie down and offline, but Barricade had to question what he was surviving for, pushed as he was to the edge of starvation, desperate and utterly reliant on these small scurrying creatures.
The Saleen's engine grumbled as he retreated back to his hole to lie up and wait until he needed to refuel again. The human’s fuel moved sluggishly through his systems, and Barricade shuddered. He was so slagging cold all the time.
He should have kept the fleshling; her struggles had warmed up his cab nicely.
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Will Lennox stood outside in the pre-dawn darkness, barracks some distance behind him, nothing but sand ahead of him, and well away from prying eyes and listeners who might be concerned that an elite corps Army Ranger, and an officer, was starting to talk to himself. Or become suspicious for other reasons. Lennox was too aware that a few of his superiors knew of a certain black Topkick truck that had taken up residence at his home, and some of them were perfectly willing to bring pressure to bear if they thought there was any advantage in it. So much for secrecy.
His thoughts wandered away from Guardian and mission and on to Sarah. Or rather, back to Sarah; she was never far from his thoughts these days. He'd been here a month, and it felt more like six. He had no idea how he was going to last two years.
Will had been in love several times before, or at least heavily in lust, but it had only taken one look at Sarah to fall so hard and fast he thought he'd been sucker punched. The first time he laid eyes on her was at a party, with the sharks already circling and the beautiful blond facing down a 6-foot hulking Army grunt who was crowding her and refusing to take hell no for an answer. Will grinned at her thinly veiled snarl that still managed to be polite, and moved forward to school the thick-headed idiot on how to treat a lady.
He knew he was very firmly caught, hook, line and sinker, when instead of wilting like some rescued damsel in distress, Sarah had turned a death glare on him, clearly ready to take on the even larger Ranger. Will had paused to take it all in, 5 feet 6 inches of blue-eyed blond, every one of those inches looking like a lady, and with a backbone and nerves made of pure steel. Those gorgeous blue eyes were still glaring death at him, and Will almost took the hint and left her alone, but underneath Sarah's prickly threat was cautious admiration and a hint of interest at the way Lennox had warned off the idiot and four other guys just as big and made them back down. That was enough of a green light for Will to turn on the charm and work at setting her at ease, and by the end of the evening he had Sarah's phone number.
He left the party walking on air.
Will Lennox had always been lucky, and never counted himself more so than when Sarah had agreed to become his wife. Every day since then had been perfect. Sarah, his lady, had been perfect, their marriage, their life, everything. Until now.
Will shook his head, that familiar tangle of love mixed up with anger and guilt and fear threatening his hard-won control. He had the pictures of Annabelle that Sarah had sent along, but of Sarah herself - His mouth tightened. The one picture he had, and no idea who had taken it, but she was thinner, and pale. Even with her face half-hidden against their baby girl, she looked worn down and closed in and so unhappy he almost didn't recognize her. Will had run fingers gently over the photo, feeling like a complete and utter bastard.
Lennox raked a hand through his hair, wishing the tech guys would fix whatever was causing the interference and get the damn video links to finally work right. He needed to see Sarah's face, hear her voice. The updates from Ironhide helped, but he needed to see for himself what was going on with her.
The Ranger huffed and rolled his shoulders to ease the tension from neck and back, his focus returning to the mission at hand. He shook another few bits of snack from the Cracker Jack box into his mouth, relishing the satisfying crunch, the sweet-salt tang on his tongue. The small 'prize' from the box lay in his palm, silver metal catching the lights from the base as he examined it.
"Neat trick, 'Hide. So this will help you track me, if anything goes wrong?"
"The tracking part is only as good as your satellite system. But you can get a signal directly to me, if there's trouble."
Ironhide's distinctive rumbling voice came through so clearly, Will almost swore his Guardian was right beside him. His lips quirked, listening to the explanation. Giant black metal alien who turned into a truck, with enough fire power to handily take out their new Base and look around for bigger targets, Ironhide was a walking, talking arsenal. With a British accent. That was enough to mess with his head if he thought about it too hard. Right now it made him grin, and that deep accented voice was reassuring. Someone had his back, and his men's, if things went south; someone in a position to do something about it.
"Nice." Will fingered the device, the tiny silver cylinder reminding him of an emergency whistle. "I just need a safe place to stow it."
"No need. Hold it against your identification tags, it will transcan and merge with the metal."
"Hmm, really." Will pulled out his dog tags, metal clinking quietly as he loosened the tape holding them together, and raised the cylinder to touch it to the tags.
Ironhide's voice was calm. "Whatever your protocols, Will, if anything happens to you, someone must take your tags with them. Tell someone you trust, make sure they do it. Their lives may depend on it."
Lennox paused, a chill chasing down his spine. Someone just walked over my grave. He exhaled a long breath, eyes narrowing on the cylinder. "Tell me exactly what this thing does, Ironhide."
"Once transcanned, it will link to your biosignature. If you die, it will automatically begin signaling. I will be able to find any survivors who carry that with them."
His hand clenched around the cylinder. It turns on when I turn off.
"I know you would want your men rescued, even if you don't make it. Failsafe, Will."
Will took a deep, steadying breath. "Got it."
He held the cylinder to his tags and watched silver metal light up and come alive, shifting and reforming and finally sinking into the thin slips of metal. The tags rested against his chest, warm, almost hot to the touch. There was a peculiar pulsing sensation that lasted for several seconds before fading away, the heat subsided, and nothing but plain metal could be detected.
He touched the tags. Failsafe. It was the smart thing to do, and he was glad to have it for his men's sake, but -
Will growled to himself and that stubborn part of him that refused to roll over and quit, even with death staring him in the face, reared up inside and growled right along with him. His hand clenched around the tags, metal edges digging hard into the palm of his hand.
He'd be damned if he was going to give this thing the opportunity to go off.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ironhide closed the comm link after Lennox sent his usual affections to his mate and offspring by way of his Guardian, and Ironhide bade the Ranger a good night and luck with his mission in the morning. It was all he could do, and it still felt far too little to ensure Will's safety. Without a treaty in place, Prime had flatly refused Ironhide's request to join the soldiers in their hunt for Skorponok, but had also turned a blind optic to Ironhide smuggling a piece of their own tech into Will's hands for the Guardian to keep track of his charge.
The black mech looked down at the two femmes with him. The tiny one nestled in the palm of his hand sound asleep, the other sat several feet away, dozing fitfully. He hadn't lied or tried to gloss anything when Lennox asked how his mate and child were doing, even when the answers ranged invariably from 'not good' to 'worse.' This time however, he was able to give a very cautious 'better' in response to Will's inquiry.
She missed her mate terribly, but Ironhide did think Sarah was better, all things considered. Sleep was sporadic, but she was eating; she even sat with him and talked, hesitantly but she talked. Ironhide responded, nearly as hesitant as his charge as they cautiously groped their way across the vast gulf of human-alien unknown lying between them. Jazz would be better at this, Ironhide could admit, but he wasn’t Guardian, Ironhide was, and finally in a position to persevere. The last of his Guardian protocols was now fully engaged. Programming continued towards completion, spreading its own priorities throughout his systems.
In his hand, Annabelle stirred and sat up. “Mama!”
Ironhide hushed her with a soft buzz and a low rumble, curling one digit towards her. “I’m here. Let your mother sleep, young one.”
She turned her eyes up to her gigantic Guardian and gurgled happily, one tiny hand reaching out to clutch the tip of the large finger.
“’Ide?”
The query made the Guardian chuckle. “Your father calls me that.” He hum-clicked approval to the tiny femme and Annabelle listened, wide-eyed and with far more comprehension of his language than her mother showed.
“’Ide,” Annabelle affirmed, patting his finger. She reached for the tiny object dangling by a ribbon from her shirt and popped it in her mouth. Ironhide watched it work up and down as she sucked, looking up at him contentedly.
Beside him, Sarah shivered, and ancient blue optics turned down to his newest charge. Ironhide eased his hand closer until she was comfortably supported and heated the plating, surrounding her with warmth. Sarah sighed in her sleep and tucked close, the small tremors easing out of her frame. The murmur of Will’s name was the last thing Ironhide heard before she relaxed into a deeper sleep. He let his field fold around her, resonating comfort and reassurance, flickers of blue energy delving into the soft white of her biofield.
Nothing in this universe will take me from you, femme.
Sarah was hurting, but she was his now, and he would remain her Guardian until one or both of them offlined.
Ironhide watched over her as she slept, nearly as content as her offspring.
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Miles didn't buy the remote control story. Or the onboard super advanced computer story. Or the concept car of the future with the optional secret military spygear package story. By the time Sam gave up and told him about the alien race of giant sentient metal beings that transformed at will between car and robot form, Miles was snorting in disbelief.
"Fine. You don't want to trust me, that's okay, just stop treating me like I'm an idiot. I see things, Sam. I fucking know there's something not normal about your car." He stalked off to the tent, still muttering.
Sam walked over to his Camaro and slapped a hand on the hood.
"You couldn't help me out and say something at least? Not make a liar out of me? Thanks, 'Bee, thanks a lot."
The Camaro whined, backing slowly to the edge of the clearing and on into the cover of woods. Sam followed, his hand still plastered to warm metal. He kept it there, feeling the metal flex and shift and come alive under his hand as Bumblebee began the rise up out of his altmode, electronic hums and whirrs and clicks marking each stage of transformation. His hand slipped off the plating and on to other places as the Autobot rose higher, Bumblebee moving slowly enough not to catch it in gears and plating.
It wasn't fondling, absolutely not, Sam told himself firmly as his fingers drifted over moving parts, along the folds of strong chest armor coming together, the ridges of plates that looked like muscles forming the abdomen, some of it silky smooth, other parts rougher, like calluses from hard use, and all of it moving with a leashed power beneath his hand. Bumblebee continued rising. Sam traced over the license plate, palmed shamelessly over the large rounded bulge of crotch shielding and the long metal panels that formed Bumblebee's thighs, and finally he was left touching a large armored plate on the Autobot's lower leg.
He looked up at his Autobot towering over him. Bumblebee looked down, blue optics glowing softly. Sam licked his lips and swallowed, letting his hand fall away as the last piece of metal shifted and locked into place.
Deciding 'Bee transforming was the hottest thing he'd ever seen, or felt, completely topped all the other weirdness of the night. He groaned silently when his cock twitched agreement.
Bumblebee moved to crouch in front of him, powerful, graceful. "Are you still angry with me, Sam?"
No, no he wasn't. "Yes, I am. What was that back there? You left me hanging, 'Bee." Sam felt his skin tingle pleasantly.
Bumblebee's helm tilted. "Your pheromones disagree."
His cock hardened. Sam flushed. "Yeah, well... shut up."
The Autobot hummed, optic guards crinkling in amusement. "Would it help if I told you I felt the same?"
About the 'shut up' part or the part where you have a dick that's getting painfully hard, too?
Sam blinked up into warm blue optics, his stomach somewhere down around his feet, and finally managed a shaky laugh. "I have no idea what to do with that, 'Bee." His fingers did, though. They wanted to continue right where they left off.
Bumblebee echoed that thought, one large hand moving next to Sam. "Continue as you started? That was promising."
Promising and exciting and Sam was starting to breathe harder, staring at that hand. He wanted to press himself into it, feel those large fingers moving over his skin, pull his cock out and grind it up against the warm metal of Bumblebee's palm. He groaned. Where the hell was all this coming from?
Bumblebee crooned encouragement. "It's alright, Sam. I would have asked you sooner, but I wanted to make sure you were interested, that you wanted me, too."
Optics pinned on him, their blue shifting to a deeper hue that somehow glowed even brighter, the entire optic area lit up. Sam was caught and held by that gaze, his body giving an all over shudder, a jag of lust hitting hard, waiting for that hand to close around him, for those fingers to touch him.
His ears started to ring. The shout in his head made him stagger. Nonononono! Something large moved against him, a powerful jolt ripped through his body. He couldn't even scream, only gasp through the agony, muscles juddering and twitching with the lighting shock pouring through him. Tears streamed down his face, he shoved weakly at the metal fingers surrounding him and collapsed when they let him go. He didn't remember hitting the ground.
Sam woke up with grass in his mouth. His muscles were shaking, his body ached all over, pain hammered into his skull. He rolled over and vomited blood and bile and bits of grass into the dirt. Bumblebee hovered over him, making distressed electronic noises.
In the next instant, the world tilted around him. His vision blurred, the pain vanished, and he was standing again, staring up at Bumblebee.
What. The. Fuck. "'Bee, did you see that?" What happened to me, what the hell just happened to me?
Bumblebee's helm tilted, optic ridges lifting in a puzzled expression. "See what, Sam?"
Bumblebee's hand was moving to engulf him. Sam's ears began ringing. He panicked, cringing away and stumbling back, violently shaking his head. "No, 'Bee, I can't - don't touch me!"
He fought with himself not to turn and run, watching Bumblebee's hand pull away, an eerie electronic sound rising above his head. Sam's hair rose on the back of his neck. He knew that sound from Mission City, somewhere between a pained groan and an agonized cry as Bumblebee dragged himself towards Sam, legs blown off and scattered in bits of bright yellow around him.
Sam trembled and blinked back tears, listening to that sound.
He didn't dare look up to see what might be in Bumblebee's optics.
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Bumblebee sent his message and stood outside the Base waiting, his gaze fixed on the stars above him, but his processors turned inwards.
He had stood for hours, watching the sun slide down to the horizon’s edge, painting the sky as it went with gold and pink streaks splashed across clouds, the sky deepening to the color of lust-blue optics. Beautiful planet, and no encroaching enemy for months now. Bumblebee should have been at peace. He didn’t know why he still felt locked in combat mode. His joints ached and quivered with strain, shielding armor drawn in tightly until all but the largest seams were invisible.
::’Bee, yer hurtin’ right now, it’s not a good time.::
::I didn’t think it would be with her, but I’m determined, Jazz. Unless you tell me no.::
::I’m not the one ta be sayin’ ya can’t have what I’ve got, ‘Bee. But I will tell ya this is wrong. For you and for her.::
::Jazz, if you order me to withdraw, I will, but my decision was made the moment Sam refused last night.::
His sensors registered the approach of the small femme. He reached a hand down to her and lifted her to his shoulder.
Mikaela leaned against his helm.
“So what’s up, ‘Bee?”
“You know what Jazz and Maggie are attempting?”
The femme nodded her head. Bumblebee’s receptors tingled with the fall of long soft hair brushing his helm.
“Jazz gave me the information for interfacing also, Mikaela.”
“Oh?”
Bumblebee waited.
“OH.”
The surge of adrenaline spiked high on his scanners. He lifted his hand to steady the startled girl. He most definitely had her interest.
::’Bee, don’t do it, mech. Not like this.::
::Jazz, let me have this. Please.::
Mikaela chuckled and patted his hand, a nervous little movement. “This was the last thing I expected coming out here. I thought maybe you needed a wire tightened or a leaking cable duct taped.”
One large blue optic swiveled in the girl’s direction.
“You’re my friend, Mikaela. Why wouldn’t I ask you?”
Mikaela hesitated, giving him a long searching look, and Bumblebee could have kicked himself for the question. He may as well have dropped a bomb in the middle of a crowded battlefield.
He was still Sam’s Guardian. If she agreed, if he started this, Sam would know. He couldn’t lie to him, or ignore him. He fancied Sam was standing before him, a ghostly image that wavered and shifted like an incomplete holoform, only it was a Sam grown as large as the scout, facing him with a look of such utter misery Bumblebee felt his vents close up.
“Can I think about it, ‘Bee? It’s a big step.”
“Of course. As long as you need.” He trailed one fingerpad over the small frame. “I’ll even let you work on my engine while you consider.”
Mikaela laughed and stretched under his finger, helping him find all the right spots. “You know the way to a girl’s heart, ‘Bee. I’ll give you my answer in a week, I promise.”
::This is a mistake, ‘Bee,:: Jazz warned.
::It may well be,:: Bumblebee admitted, ::but it’s mine to make.::
::Don’t hurt her. And that is an order, mech.::
::Never,:: the scout swore.
In front of him, the image of Sam bowed his head, tears shimmering on his face before vanishing into the deepening night.
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"Maggie, can I hold ya?" A soft sigh breathed out against his plates.
"Please." Maggie lifted arms up to him. "Do that thing, with your field, again?"
Large metalloid arms gathered her up, Jazz's movements so careful and gentle, Maggie felt like the most precious thing in the world. A warm tingling sensation moved over her. She shivered and pressed closer against rounded chest plating, her fingers wandering along a seam, her breath fogging his plating.
Jazz stroked his field over her. Processors analyzed, scans and sensors locked, picking up each small sigh, every shiver of her frame; scanners detected the hint of pheromones dispersing into the air. His AI observed closely, pinging him results and an inquiry. Compatibility confirmed as long as present parameters are maintained. Further goals of experiment?
Large fingers moved delicately over the femme, exploring soft hair and softer flesh, receptors registering the flutter of her pulse, the warmth of her body, the rush of blood through veins that sent a flush up under her skin.
This was heat, this was life, in his berth and in his arms, something to fill up the cold and empty space inside of him.
Further goals of experiment as follows: Expand parameters and continue testing, maintaining safety protocols for the organic with... let’s say not more than 3 percent probability of damage. Give me an estimate of that kind of damage.
At 3 percent probability, the following types of damage may occur to the organic:
Abrasions and mild bruising: 90 percent
Fractures of arms or legs: 10 percent.
Of that 10 percent: 80 percent would be compound fractures of same, resulting in additional risk factors;
15 percent would be fractures of the vertebral column; resultant spinal cord injury may cause partial to complete paralysis;
5 percent would be fractures of the cranium, resulting in additional risk factors.
In addition, probability of death is statistically significant should spinal cord or cranium fracture prove irreparable.
Holy slag. Jazz winced, and Maggie snatched her hand away from where she had been exploring sensor nodes under a plate, with very pleasant results.
“Did that hurt? I did it wrong, didn’t I?”
She petted over the gleaming silver plate and risked a glance up at him, guilty and curious and disappointed, a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar. Or a hacker caught just before breaking the mother of all encrypted codes. Jazz glanced down, visor flashing a brilliant blue.
“Maggs, you’re perfect. That was me, needin’ ta rethink the game plan here.”
Soft, too soft. No armor, no protection. He would have to give her that. Alright. What’s it gonna take ta get that probability down ta 0 percent?
“Game plan?” Maggie frowned.
“Mmm.”
Recommendation: Additional testing of stress tolerances and implementation of autonomic programming to safeguard subject.
A delay then, and no getting around it, especially not with Ratchet’s latest bellow still fresh in his audials, “Smell that? It means you’re hurting her!” followed by a chemosensory file nearly flung over the comm at him. “You get one whiff of damaged cells and I want you to back off and bring her to me immediately for scanning!”
Jazz didn’t want to scare her, they had barely begun, but better now than later. “I have ta add in some programmin’ I wasn’t expectin’. I’ll need ta run some tests, take some measurements. I’m hopin’ it won’t slow things down too much.”
Begin implementation of new parameters. Increase scanner range to include chemosensory files for breaks in cell membranes of organic. I want 0 percent damage, repeat 0 percent, with no margin of error whatsoever. Clear?
“Tests.” Maggie poked at one of his headlights then swirled one finger around the glass. “For what?”
Don’t say ‘squish factor’, don’t say ‘squish factor’. Jazz’s vents drew in deeply. “Just some extras I know Ratch will be demandin’, and keepin’ you safe is the priority here, Maggs.”
Acknowledged. The AI responded briskly, poised to begin writing new programming and send the shifting priorities into action, and Jazz would feel them, each and every one.
Below him, Maggie was intent on tracing the sigil on his center chest plating. It was enough to make his circuits twitch and his receptors narrow their focus to those soft fingers that wandered over his plates and unknowingly teased him. Of all the many distractions this experiment was presenting, Maggie was the only one he wanted to deal with.
Jazz carefully drew her up higher, one large hand cupping her aft. Maggie blushed but continued on. “There, right there,” he murmured, his focus finally on her.
AI, additional new parameter: Subjects blind until goals reached.
There was a distinct pause, and Jazz smirked. He could feel the AI trip up over that. It wasn't often he relinquished control.
Subjects blind, his AI finally confirmed. No status reports. Results will be hidden until final goal is reached.
There. That would free him up to concentrate on more enjoyable things.
Maggie hummed under her breath and reached for a small gap in his armor. Jazz relaxed, allowing the plating to shift and widen the seams. It shouldn’t be too bad, he decided, he could put the delay to some sort of use, maybe even run some of those tests Ratchet couldn’t get Mikaela to agree to.
Small fingers stroked the seam and slid in to tug experimentally on a sensor filament. Jazz's spark gave a pleasurable pulse.
On the other hand...
One large finger delicately traced the length of Maggie’s leg until it came to rest just at her thigh.
"I think," he bent his head to murmur, mouthplates brushing against the soft hair of the delicate little femme in his arms, "we can find a way to fill up the time."
Maggie quivered under his touch, tilting her head back to see Jazz’s softly glowing visor in the dim light. Her lips curved into a delighted smile. "I can deal with that."
Her purr brought an answering grin from Jazz. "That's my girl."
---------------------
A/N: My thanks as always to my lovely betas, ladydragon76, lb82, and chai16.
A very special thank you to quidamling, my go-to person for all things Will Lennox, for kicking ideas and helping with scene development, and to spacegarden for helpful advice on food and camping out with guys. ♥♥♥
( Table of Contents )
Verse: Post 2007 Movie, AU
Rating: Mature for later chapters
Pairings: Jazz/Maggie Madsen, Ironhide/Sarah Lennox/Will Lennox, Prime/Ratchet, Bumblebee/Sam, Barricade/Mikaela
Summary: What is love? Is it an instinct? An emotion? Or an ability that can transcend species? After eons of conflict, the war-weary Autobots have a new home, a new life, and a chance for something more. And for a single Decepticon, a chance for salvation.
Warnings: Mech/human sexual situations and mech slash in later chapters.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Hasbro has it all.
( Prologue )( Chapter One )( Chapter Two )( Chapter Three )( Chapter Four )( Chapter Five )( Chapter Six )( Chapter Seven )( Chapter Eight )( Chapter Nine )( Chapter Ten )( Chapter Eleven )
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Notes:
* ~*~*~*~*~ denotes break within a scene.
*:: denotes comms.
-------------------
~ Chapter 12 ~
He should have ventured out sooner, it was too long since his last refueling. He waited, a black shape against deeper darkness, clamping down on the panic beginning to thread through circuits as his systems ticked down to critical fuel levels. Just as he was beginning to think his hunt was in vain, there came the sound of footsteps and movement at the edge of his sensors. The Saleen carefully drew itself up in readiness. The footsteps came closer, the car eased forward, and then the loud creak of stressed metal halted the creature in its tracks. Barricade nearly groaned aloud. If he missed this one, he wouldn’t get another chance.
Too starved and desperate to wait any longer, the black car jerked forward, startling his prey with the roar of the gunning engine. A cable snapped out to coil tightly around the small frame, another covered its nose and mouth, cutting off a scream.
Success.
There was an aborted attempt at escape before it was drawn struggling into the confines of the vehicle. More cables uncoiled, looping around until his prey was completely immobilized.
Processors buzzed with static. He was drawing too heavily on reserves, his control was beginning to slip. He needed to do something now, but what? So hard to think, to scan. Scan. Why did he need to scan? ... eyes dulled, no longer wide with panic.... face, what little could be seen, mottled.... discolored....
A harsh jumble of electronic noise crackled out into the quiet of the car.
The cable covering the human's face was removed, the coils around its body loosened and released. It collapsed across the seat, coughing, gasping, a small trickle of blood at the corner of its mouth.
He watched it, distaste at its presence within him warring with relief that he had not managed to kill this one, too. He scanned the creature, noting in passing that this one was female. He detected no significant injuries and shut them down, regretting having to use them at all when his fuel levels flashed from marginal to critical. Warnings pinged urgently, and Barricade cursed again. He had no time left.
Cables moved again, rolling the female roughly onto her back and pinning her to the seat. Another cable hovered over her. Large blades sprang out fanwise with the sharp hissing slither of drawn metal, flashing and sharp-edged. The female’s eyes widened, following the deadly blades as they moved to position just over her waist.
"W-wait, wait-"
A menacing growl cut her off. "You have exactly two choices. Cooperate or I cut you to shreds."
Barricade waited for the usual reaction and was not disappointed. Just as the human opened her mouth he clamped a cable across it, gagging her once more.
Terrified eyes followed one razor edged blade as it descended. The female’s screams were muffled by the cable, her body strained against the bonds holding her fast. One razor edge drew a delicate stroke over quivering flesh, tiny beads of blood welling from the thin red line before the entire assembly came to rest.
She whimpered at the press of cold metal against her belly, while Barricade was hard put not to moan at the luxuriant feel of heat, even from a fleshling.
“I will allow you to speak now, human, and you will give me your answer.”
The cable slid slowly away from her gaping mouth. She coughed once, twice, and on the third try managed a hoarse whisper.
".... p- please - I'll d-do whatever- Jus'- don' kill me."
The voice that answered her was a grating sneer. "I have a use for you, fleshling. That is the only reason you still live."
-------------------------------------------------
Maggie stared intently at the display, hands pressed to the headphones covering her ears. Yes... Maybe... No. Not the signal she thought it was. It started out strong, then disintegrated into random noise as soon as the detector got a lock on it.
She twitched with a sudden chill. Maggie took off the headphones and sighed, rolling her head and shoulders and ending with a stretch of arms above her head. It was probably time for a break, but she didn't want to let this go. Three times in the last hour, and the pattern was peculiar. She leaned forward and recalibrated the detector, hoping to catch it again. She was convinced it was a signal, she just didn't have enough information to convince anyone else.
Her shoulders twitched again, another chill tickled its way down her spine. Maggie pushed a stray lock behind an ear and reached for her headphones. The little tickle crept over her shoulders.
Maggie went very, very still, her hand closing around an empty can. She tilted her head in a listening pose, reaching for the headphones again, and caught a flash of metal out of the corner of her eye.
She smiled to herself and whipped around, nailing the large silver Autobot neatly.
"Hey!" Jazz protested, spreading his hands. "Wasn't me." Then his mouthplates stretched in a broad grin.
Maggie laughed. "Right, and that grin of yours just completely ruined your aura of innocence."
His visor flickered in a wink. He bent down to pick up the can and tossed it back to her.
"I think your aim is gettin' better, babe."
She caught it and smirked up at him. "I think you're slowing down, Jazz."
He moved from the door with one of those lighting fast moves that left her mind in a whirl and wondering if she was seeing things, and was kneeling next to her chair in an instant. One large silver arm curled around her gently.
"Never," he declared. This time the tingle down her spine was stronger and Jazz's visor was shaded with the soft glowing blues of a very good mood.
"Is that - Am I feeling your field?" Maggie asked.
"I'd say so." Jazz hummed, a fingerpad flipping a bright lock of hair.
She reached a hand out to trace the sigil on his chestplates. "So we're ready?"
"Ready when you are, babe. Come ta my berth tonight, and we'll begin."
The tingle became a slow, deliberate stroke.
Maggie shivered.
-------------------------------------------------
Fire, Sam decided, was his friend. Fire was good, fire was warm. He poked at a few glowing embers at the edge of the campfire with his stick, watching them spark and tiny flames begin licking up around them. A chill ran down his back, leaving goose pimpled skin behind. He shuddered and drew in closer.
"...You know I'm still not speaking to you, right? After ditching me and making me walk 5 miles back home. How's Mikaela? You both finished up with the home school thing yet? Man, that sucks you can't be in school. How about the Senior party, you coming to that? You have to make that, bro, it'll be epic. Dude, enough with the fire, put a hot dog on that stick, will you? You haven't eaten anything all day. How about we try fishing tomorrow? I brought some line..."
Sam stared into the fire, letting the steady stream of chatter flow over him. That was the thing about Miles, he could go on and on and never really expect an answer, just a nod now and then.
Sam nodded. Miles moved on. A hot dog had magically appeared on the end of Sam's stick. He held it over the fire, watching red and yellow flames eat at it. "...Where'd the marshmallows go? I know I packed like, 5 bags of them..." He was so happy to see Sam after months of nothing. Sam felt guilty, immensely relieved that he still had a friend, and completely tongue-tied because what he really wanted to tell Miles was everything that was now top secret and classified, how screwed up everything was, how much he wanted the world to stop spinning insanely around him, and how he wanted the voice in his head to go away and leave him the fuck alone.
Mostly, he wanted to tell Miles about Bumblebee, about the amazing car that transformed into an even more amazing giant robot, and keeping a secret like that from his best friend was about to kill Sam.
He could feel the weight of Bumblebee's attention on him, even in alt-mode. Sam twitched and shivered, wishing he could go crawl inside and nestle into the memory foam comfort of 'Bee's back seat and really warm up. He watched the hot dog dip low with the movement, the skin starting to crisp and blacken from the flames.
"...waffles. I'm making waffles for breakfast, those giant Belgium things with whipped cream and strawberries? Except we don’t have strawberries. Or whipped cream. Bummer. Man, check this out. The manual says we can eat the grubs I found under that rotten log. Those survivor guys and the military dudes, like, you know, Rangers and shit? They eat them all the time. Think I'll stick with waffles. I brought a waffle maker. We can plug it into your car. It's got enough juice to run the thing, right?"
Wait, what?
Sam lifted his head. "You brought a waffle maker on a camping trip, and you're going to make waffles inside my car?" The bright yellow Camaro made a weird electronic noise. Sam decided that was a big hell, no.
Miles was glancing between him and Bumblebee, with a look that was even stranger than the waffle idea. Sam felt his stomach start to drop. That look was telling him Miles knew something was up, he just wasn't sure exactly what, but he was the type to hang on and worry at a mystery until he solved it.
Miles grinned. "Dude, who does that? You bring apples and cheese and Slim Jims and instant oatmeal, shit like that for breakfast." He reached for Sam's stick, unskewered the blackened hotdog and popped a marshmallow on it instead. Sam's gorge rose. It looked like a fat white grub dangling on the end of the stick.
"I was just checking something," Miles was saying, still watching the Camaro. "Maybe next time, we can bring my dog."
There was another little oh hell, no noise from the car. Sam stared blankly, or tried to. Firelight glanced off of Bumblebee as he shifted. Shitshitshit, stop moving 'Bee.
Miles' grin faded completely. He nodded to himself. "Uh huh. So, bro, when were you going to tell me your car is alive?"
Sam froze like a deer in Bumblebee's headlights.
-------------------------------------------------
Refueled and out of danger of stasis lock for the moment, Barricade pushed the female roughly out of his cab and delivered the hard electrical shock that would take her short-term memories. He left the human trembling on the ground, not without a hint of regret. A slave would be useful here, and these fleshlings had spirit.
Barricade growled to himself, remembering the heat of her small frame pressed to his seat, the feel of sharp teeth against his cable. Let him get back to fully functional, and he might consider acquiring one permanently.
Air huffed from the Saleen, along with a groaning metallic creak as the vehicle moved out onto the road. Damaged internals and inefficient fuel barely kept him alive, let alone functional. He was running on reserves, every movement he made carefully calculated to spend as little of those reserves as possible. Unless he somehow gained access to real fuel, this would be his existence for the foreseeable future.
It wasn’t in him to simply lie down and offline, but Barricade had to question what he was surviving for, pushed as he was to the edge of starvation, desperate and utterly reliant on these small scurrying creatures.
The Saleen's engine grumbled as he retreated back to his hole to lie up and wait until he needed to refuel again. The human’s fuel moved sluggishly through his systems, and Barricade shuddered. He was so slagging cold all the time.
He should have kept the fleshling; her struggles had warmed up his cab nicely.
-------------------------------------------------
Will Lennox stood outside in the pre-dawn darkness, barracks some distance behind him, nothing but sand ahead of him, and well away from prying eyes and listeners who might be concerned that an elite corps Army Ranger, and an officer, was starting to talk to himself. Or become suspicious for other reasons. Lennox was too aware that a few of his superiors knew of a certain black Topkick truck that had taken up residence at his home, and some of them were perfectly willing to bring pressure to bear if they thought there was any advantage in it. So much for secrecy.
His thoughts wandered away from Guardian and mission and on to Sarah. Or rather, back to Sarah; she was never far from his thoughts these days. He'd been here a month, and it felt more like six. He had no idea how he was going to last two years.
Will had been in love several times before, or at least heavily in lust, but it had only taken one look at Sarah to fall so hard and fast he thought he'd been sucker punched. The first time he laid eyes on her was at a party, with the sharks already circling and the beautiful blond facing down a 6-foot hulking Army grunt who was crowding her and refusing to take hell no for an answer. Will grinned at her thinly veiled snarl that still managed to be polite, and moved forward to school the thick-headed idiot on how to treat a lady.
He knew he was very firmly caught, hook, line and sinker, when instead of wilting like some rescued damsel in distress, Sarah had turned a death glare on him, clearly ready to take on the even larger Ranger. Will had paused to take it all in, 5 feet 6 inches of blue-eyed blond, every one of those inches looking like a lady, and with a backbone and nerves made of pure steel. Those gorgeous blue eyes were still glaring death at him, and Will almost took the hint and left her alone, but underneath Sarah's prickly threat was cautious admiration and a hint of interest at the way Lennox had warned off the idiot and four other guys just as big and made them back down. That was enough of a green light for Will to turn on the charm and work at setting her at ease, and by the end of the evening he had Sarah's phone number.
He left the party walking on air.
Will Lennox had always been lucky, and never counted himself more so than when Sarah had agreed to become his wife. Every day since then had been perfect. Sarah, his lady, had been perfect, their marriage, their life, everything. Until now.
Will shook his head, that familiar tangle of love mixed up with anger and guilt and fear threatening his hard-won control. He had the pictures of Annabelle that Sarah had sent along, but of Sarah herself - His mouth tightened. The one picture he had, and no idea who had taken it, but she was thinner, and pale. Even with her face half-hidden against their baby girl, she looked worn down and closed in and so unhappy he almost didn't recognize her. Will had run fingers gently over the photo, feeling like a complete and utter bastard.
Lennox raked a hand through his hair, wishing the tech guys would fix whatever was causing the interference and get the damn video links to finally work right. He needed to see Sarah's face, hear her voice. The updates from Ironhide helped, but he needed to see for himself what was going on with her.
The Ranger huffed and rolled his shoulders to ease the tension from neck and back, his focus returning to the mission at hand. He shook another few bits of snack from the Cracker Jack box into his mouth, relishing the satisfying crunch, the sweet-salt tang on his tongue. The small 'prize' from the box lay in his palm, silver metal catching the lights from the base as he examined it.
"Neat trick, 'Hide. So this will help you track me, if anything goes wrong?"
"The tracking part is only as good as your satellite system. But you can get a signal directly to me, if there's trouble."
Ironhide's distinctive rumbling voice came through so clearly, Will almost swore his Guardian was right beside him. His lips quirked, listening to the explanation. Giant black metal alien who turned into a truck, with enough fire power to handily take out their new Base and look around for bigger targets, Ironhide was a walking, talking arsenal. With a British accent. That was enough to mess with his head if he thought about it too hard. Right now it made him grin, and that deep accented voice was reassuring. Someone had his back, and his men's, if things went south; someone in a position to do something about it.
"Nice." Will fingered the device, the tiny silver cylinder reminding him of an emergency whistle. "I just need a safe place to stow it."
"No need. Hold it against your identification tags, it will transcan and merge with the metal."
"Hmm, really." Will pulled out his dog tags, metal clinking quietly as he loosened the tape holding them together, and raised the cylinder to touch it to the tags.
Ironhide's voice was calm. "Whatever your protocols, Will, if anything happens to you, someone must take your tags with them. Tell someone you trust, make sure they do it. Their lives may depend on it."
Lennox paused, a chill chasing down his spine. Someone just walked over my grave. He exhaled a long breath, eyes narrowing on the cylinder. "Tell me exactly what this thing does, Ironhide."
"Once transcanned, it will link to your biosignature. If you die, it will automatically begin signaling. I will be able to find any survivors who carry that with them."
His hand clenched around the cylinder. It turns on when I turn off.
"I know you would want your men rescued, even if you don't make it. Failsafe, Will."
Will took a deep, steadying breath. "Got it."
He held the cylinder to his tags and watched silver metal light up and come alive, shifting and reforming and finally sinking into the thin slips of metal. The tags rested against his chest, warm, almost hot to the touch. There was a peculiar pulsing sensation that lasted for several seconds before fading away, the heat subsided, and nothing but plain metal could be detected.
He touched the tags. Failsafe. It was the smart thing to do, and he was glad to have it for his men's sake, but -
Will growled to himself and that stubborn part of him that refused to roll over and quit, even with death staring him in the face, reared up inside and growled right along with him. His hand clenched around the tags, metal edges digging hard into the palm of his hand.
He'd be damned if he was going to give this thing the opportunity to go off.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ironhide closed the comm link after Lennox sent his usual affections to his mate and offspring by way of his Guardian, and Ironhide bade the Ranger a good night and luck with his mission in the morning. It was all he could do, and it still felt far too little to ensure Will's safety. Without a treaty in place, Prime had flatly refused Ironhide's request to join the soldiers in their hunt for Skorponok, but had also turned a blind optic to Ironhide smuggling a piece of their own tech into Will's hands for the Guardian to keep track of his charge.
The black mech looked down at the two femmes with him. The tiny one nestled in the palm of his hand sound asleep, the other sat several feet away, dozing fitfully. He hadn't lied or tried to gloss anything when Lennox asked how his mate and child were doing, even when the answers ranged invariably from 'not good' to 'worse.' This time however, he was able to give a very cautious 'better' in response to Will's inquiry.
She missed her mate terribly, but Ironhide did think Sarah was better, all things considered. Sleep was sporadic, but she was eating; she even sat with him and talked, hesitantly but she talked. Ironhide responded, nearly as hesitant as his charge as they cautiously groped their way across the vast gulf of human-alien unknown lying between them. Jazz would be better at this, Ironhide could admit, but he wasn’t Guardian, Ironhide was, and finally in a position to persevere. The last of his Guardian protocols was now fully engaged. Programming continued towards completion, spreading its own priorities throughout his systems.
In his hand, Annabelle stirred and sat up. “Mama!”
Ironhide hushed her with a soft buzz and a low rumble, curling one digit towards her. “I’m here. Let your mother sleep, young one.”
She turned her eyes up to her gigantic Guardian and gurgled happily, one tiny hand reaching out to clutch the tip of the large finger.
“’Ide?”
The query made the Guardian chuckle. “Your father calls me that.” He hum-clicked approval to the tiny femme and Annabelle listened, wide-eyed and with far more comprehension of his language than her mother showed.
“’Ide,” Annabelle affirmed, patting his finger. She reached for the tiny object dangling by a ribbon from her shirt and popped it in her mouth. Ironhide watched it work up and down as she sucked, looking up at him contentedly.
Beside him, Sarah shivered, and ancient blue optics turned down to his newest charge. Ironhide eased his hand closer until she was comfortably supported and heated the plating, surrounding her with warmth. Sarah sighed in her sleep and tucked close, the small tremors easing out of her frame. The murmur of Will’s name was the last thing Ironhide heard before she relaxed into a deeper sleep. He let his field fold around her, resonating comfort and reassurance, flickers of blue energy delving into the soft white of her biofield.
Nothing in this universe will take me from you, femme.
Sarah was hurting, but she was his now, and he would remain her Guardian until one or both of them offlined.
Ironhide watched over her as she slept, nearly as content as her offspring.
-------------------------------------------------
Miles didn't buy the remote control story. Or the onboard super advanced computer story. Or the concept car of the future with the optional secret military spygear package story. By the time Sam gave up and told him about the alien race of giant sentient metal beings that transformed at will between car and robot form, Miles was snorting in disbelief.
"Fine. You don't want to trust me, that's okay, just stop treating me like I'm an idiot. I see things, Sam. I fucking know there's something not normal about your car." He stalked off to the tent, still muttering.
Sam walked over to his Camaro and slapped a hand on the hood.
"You couldn't help me out and say something at least? Not make a liar out of me? Thanks, 'Bee, thanks a lot."
The Camaro whined, backing slowly to the edge of the clearing and on into the cover of woods. Sam followed, his hand still plastered to warm metal. He kept it there, feeling the metal flex and shift and come alive under his hand as Bumblebee began the rise up out of his altmode, electronic hums and whirrs and clicks marking each stage of transformation. His hand slipped off the plating and on to other places as the Autobot rose higher, Bumblebee moving slowly enough not to catch it in gears and plating.
It wasn't fondling, absolutely not, Sam told himself firmly as his fingers drifted over moving parts, along the folds of strong chest armor coming together, the ridges of plates that looked like muscles forming the abdomen, some of it silky smooth, other parts rougher, like calluses from hard use, and all of it moving with a leashed power beneath his hand. Bumblebee continued rising. Sam traced over the license plate, palmed shamelessly over the large rounded bulge of crotch shielding and the long metal panels that formed Bumblebee's thighs, and finally he was left touching a large armored plate on the Autobot's lower leg.
He looked up at his Autobot towering over him. Bumblebee looked down, blue optics glowing softly. Sam licked his lips and swallowed, letting his hand fall away as the last piece of metal shifted and locked into place.
Deciding 'Bee transforming was the hottest thing he'd ever seen, or felt, completely topped all the other weirdness of the night. He groaned silently when his cock twitched agreement.
Bumblebee moved to crouch in front of him, powerful, graceful. "Are you still angry with me, Sam?"
No, no he wasn't. "Yes, I am. What was that back there? You left me hanging, 'Bee." Sam felt his skin tingle pleasantly.
Bumblebee's helm tilted. "Your pheromones disagree."
His cock hardened. Sam flushed. "Yeah, well... shut up."
The Autobot hummed, optic guards crinkling in amusement. "Would it help if I told you I felt the same?"
About the 'shut up' part or the part where you have a dick that's getting painfully hard, too?
Sam blinked up into warm blue optics, his stomach somewhere down around his feet, and finally managed a shaky laugh. "I have no idea what to do with that, 'Bee." His fingers did, though. They wanted to continue right where they left off.
Bumblebee echoed that thought, one large hand moving next to Sam. "Continue as you started? That was promising."
Promising and exciting and Sam was starting to breathe harder, staring at that hand. He wanted to press himself into it, feel those large fingers moving over his skin, pull his cock out and grind it up against the warm metal of Bumblebee's palm. He groaned. Where the hell was all this coming from?
Bumblebee crooned encouragement. "It's alright, Sam. I would have asked you sooner, but I wanted to make sure you were interested, that you wanted me, too."
Optics pinned on him, their blue shifting to a deeper hue that somehow glowed even brighter, the entire optic area lit up. Sam was caught and held by that gaze, his body giving an all over shudder, a jag of lust hitting hard, waiting for that hand to close around him, for those fingers to touch him.
His ears started to ring. The shout in his head made him stagger. Nonononono! Something large moved against him, a powerful jolt ripped through his body. He couldn't even scream, only gasp through the agony, muscles juddering and twitching with the lighting shock pouring through him. Tears streamed down his face, he shoved weakly at the metal fingers surrounding him and collapsed when they let him go. He didn't remember hitting the ground.
Sam woke up with grass in his mouth. His muscles were shaking, his body ached all over, pain hammered into his skull. He rolled over and vomited blood and bile and bits of grass into the dirt. Bumblebee hovered over him, making distressed electronic noises.
In the next instant, the world tilted around him. His vision blurred, the pain vanished, and he was standing again, staring up at Bumblebee.
What. The. Fuck. "'Bee, did you see that?" What happened to me, what the hell just happened to me?
Bumblebee's helm tilted, optic ridges lifting in a puzzled expression. "See what, Sam?"
Bumblebee's hand was moving to engulf him. Sam's ears began ringing. He panicked, cringing away and stumbling back, violently shaking his head. "No, 'Bee, I can't - don't touch me!"
He fought with himself not to turn and run, watching Bumblebee's hand pull away, an eerie electronic sound rising above his head. Sam's hair rose on the back of his neck. He knew that sound from Mission City, somewhere between a pained groan and an agonized cry as Bumblebee dragged himself towards Sam, legs blown off and scattered in bits of bright yellow around him.
Sam trembled and blinked back tears, listening to that sound.
He didn't dare look up to see what might be in Bumblebee's optics.
-------------------------------------------------
Bumblebee sent his message and stood outside the Base waiting, his gaze fixed on the stars above him, but his processors turned inwards.
He had stood for hours, watching the sun slide down to the horizon’s edge, painting the sky as it went with gold and pink streaks splashed across clouds, the sky deepening to the color of lust-blue optics. Beautiful planet, and no encroaching enemy for months now. Bumblebee should have been at peace. He didn’t know why he still felt locked in combat mode. His joints ached and quivered with strain, shielding armor drawn in tightly until all but the largest seams were invisible.
::’Bee, yer hurtin’ right now, it’s not a good time.::
::I didn’t think it would be with her, but I’m determined, Jazz. Unless you tell me no.::
::I’m not the one ta be sayin’ ya can’t have what I’ve got, ‘Bee. But I will tell ya this is wrong. For you and for her.::
::Jazz, if you order me to withdraw, I will, but my decision was made the moment Sam refused last night.::
His sensors registered the approach of the small femme. He reached a hand down to her and lifted her to his shoulder.
Mikaela leaned against his helm.
“So what’s up, ‘Bee?”
“You know what Jazz and Maggie are attempting?”
The femme nodded her head. Bumblebee’s receptors tingled with the fall of long soft hair brushing his helm.
“Jazz gave me the information for interfacing also, Mikaela.”
“Oh?”
Bumblebee waited.
“OH.”
The surge of adrenaline spiked high on his scanners. He lifted his hand to steady the startled girl. He most definitely had her interest.
::’Bee, don’t do it, mech. Not like this.::
::Jazz, let me have this. Please.::
Mikaela chuckled and patted his hand, a nervous little movement. “This was the last thing I expected coming out here. I thought maybe you needed a wire tightened or a leaking cable duct taped.”
One large blue optic swiveled in the girl’s direction.
“You’re my friend, Mikaela. Why wouldn’t I ask you?”
Mikaela hesitated, giving him a long searching look, and Bumblebee could have kicked himself for the question. He may as well have dropped a bomb in the middle of a crowded battlefield.
He was still Sam’s Guardian. If she agreed, if he started this, Sam would know. He couldn’t lie to him, or ignore him. He fancied Sam was standing before him, a ghostly image that wavered and shifted like an incomplete holoform, only it was a Sam grown as large as the scout, facing him with a look of such utter misery Bumblebee felt his vents close up.
“Can I think about it, ‘Bee? It’s a big step.”
“Of course. As long as you need.” He trailed one fingerpad over the small frame. “I’ll even let you work on my engine while you consider.”
Mikaela laughed and stretched under his finger, helping him find all the right spots. “You know the way to a girl’s heart, ‘Bee. I’ll give you my answer in a week, I promise.”
::This is a mistake, ‘Bee,:: Jazz warned.
::It may well be,:: Bumblebee admitted, ::but it’s mine to make.::
::Don’t hurt her. And that is an order, mech.::
::Never,:: the scout swore.
In front of him, the image of Sam bowed his head, tears shimmering on his face before vanishing into the deepening night.
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"Maggie, can I hold ya?" A soft sigh breathed out against his plates.
"Please." Maggie lifted arms up to him. "Do that thing, with your field, again?"
Large metalloid arms gathered her up, Jazz's movements so careful and gentle, Maggie felt like the most precious thing in the world. A warm tingling sensation moved over her. She shivered and pressed closer against rounded chest plating, her fingers wandering along a seam, her breath fogging his plating.
Jazz stroked his field over her. Processors analyzed, scans and sensors locked, picking up each small sigh, every shiver of her frame; scanners detected the hint of pheromones dispersing into the air. His AI observed closely, pinging him results and an inquiry. Compatibility confirmed as long as present parameters are maintained. Further goals of experiment?
Large fingers moved delicately over the femme, exploring soft hair and softer flesh, receptors registering the flutter of her pulse, the warmth of her body, the rush of blood through veins that sent a flush up under her skin.
This was heat, this was life, in his berth and in his arms, something to fill up the cold and empty space inside of him.
Further goals of experiment as follows: Expand parameters and continue testing, maintaining safety protocols for the organic with... let’s say not more than 3 percent probability of damage. Give me an estimate of that kind of damage.
At 3 percent probability, the following types of damage may occur to the organic:
Abrasions and mild bruising: 90 percent
Fractures of arms or legs: 10 percent.
Of that 10 percent: 80 percent would be compound fractures of same, resulting in additional risk factors;
15 percent would be fractures of the vertebral column; resultant spinal cord injury may cause partial to complete paralysis;
5 percent would be fractures of the cranium, resulting in additional risk factors.
In addition, probability of death is statistically significant should spinal cord or cranium fracture prove irreparable.
Holy slag. Jazz winced, and Maggie snatched her hand away from where she had been exploring sensor nodes under a plate, with very pleasant results.
“Did that hurt? I did it wrong, didn’t I?”
She petted over the gleaming silver plate and risked a glance up at him, guilty and curious and disappointed, a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar. Or a hacker caught just before breaking the mother of all encrypted codes. Jazz glanced down, visor flashing a brilliant blue.
“Maggs, you’re perfect. That was me, needin’ ta rethink the game plan here.”
Soft, too soft. No armor, no protection. He would have to give her that. Alright. What’s it gonna take ta get that probability down ta 0 percent?
“Game plan?” Maggie frowned.
“Mmm.”
Recommendation: Additional testing of stress tolerances and implementation of autonomic programming to safeguard subject.
A delay then, and no getting around it, especially not with Ratchet’s latest bellow still fresh in his audials, “Smell that? It means you’re hurting her!” followed by a chemosensory file nearly flung over the comm at him. “You get one whiff of damaged cells and I want you to back off and bring her to me immediately for scanning!”
Jazz didn’t want to scare her, they had barely begun, but better now than later. “I have ta add in some programmin’ I wasn’t expectin’. I’ll need ta run some tests, take some measurements. I’m hopin’ it won’t slow things down too much.”
Begin implementation of new parameters. Increase scanner range to include chemosensory files for breaks in cell membranes of organic. I want 0 percent damage, repeat 0 percent, with no margin of error whatsoever. Clear?
“Tests.” Maggie poked at one of his headlights then swirled one finger around the glass. “For what?”
Don’t say ‘squish factor’, don’t say ‘squish factor’. Jazz’s vents drew in deeply. “Just some extras I know Ratch will be demandin’, and keepin’ you safe is the priority here, Maggs.”
Acknowledged. The AI responded briskly, poised to begin writing new programming and send the shifting priorities into action, and Jazz would feel them, each and every one.
Below him, Maggie was intent on tracing the sigil on his center chest plating. It was enough to make his circuits twitch and his receptors narrow their focus to those soft fingers that wandered over his plates and unknowingly teased him. Of all the many distractions this experiment was presenting, Maggie was the only one he wanted to deal with.
Jazz carefully drew her up higher, one large hand cupping her aft. Maggie blushed but continued on. “There, right there,” he murmured, his focus finally on her.
AI, additional new parameter: Subjects blind until goals reached.
There was a distinct pause, and Jazz smirked. He could feel the AI trip up over that. It wasn't often he relinquished control.
Subjects blind, his AI finally confirmed. No status reports. Results will be hidden until final goal is reached.
There. That would free him up to concentrate on more enjoyable things.
Maggie hummed under her breath and reached for a small gap in his armor. Jazz relaxed, allowing the plating to shift and widen the seams. It shouldn’t be too bad, he decided, he could put the delay to some sort of use, maybe even run some of those tests Ratchet couldn’t get Mikaela to agree to.
Small fingers stroked the seam and slid in to tug experimentally on a sensor filament. Jazz's spark gave a pleasurable pulse.
On the other hand...
One large finger delicately traced the length of Maggie’s leg until it came to rest just at her thigh.
"I think," he bent his head to murmur, mouthplates brushing against the soft hair of the delicate little femme in his arms, "we can find a way to fill up the time."
Maggie quivered under his touch, tilting her head back to see Jazz’s softly glowing visor in the dim light. Her lips curved into a delighted smile. "I can deal with that."
Her purr brought an answering grin from Jazz. "That's my girl."
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A/N: My thanks as always to my lovely betas, ladydragon76, lb82, and chai16.
A very special thank you to quidamling, my go-to person for all things Will Lennox, for kicking ideas and helping with scene development, and to spacegarden for helpful advice on food and camping out with guys. ♥♥♥
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