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Disclaimer: I do not own the Transformers movie, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
The Human Stain:
Chapter 13
'Cause I've still got
yesterday, running wild, yesterday

When I close my eyes I drift away

Back where I come from

Today may not be fair and tomorrow may not be there

But I've still got yesterday
-Emerson Drive,
Yesterday

Silicon Valley, CA

Simon Walters adjusted his
tie.
He was staring at himself
critically in the full-length mirror before him. His reflection frowned, lifted
an eyebrow and then leaned closer to his owner to inspect a small cut created
by an electric shaver. Simon ran his clean-cut fingers over the scrape,
assessing the extent of the damage before straightening once more. He was
dressed in a suit and tie, his usual attire, and it was another morning on the
west coast. His impeccable appearance was mostly thanks to his Versace suit,
polished shoes and careful grooming habits. His brown hair was still full, but
darker than that of his youth. The mirror man facing him concluded that he
still carried himself well, if not better, than he had in the past. Sharp angles
and a square jaw made for defined facial features, complete with a patrician
nose. He pulled back one navy blue sleeve, and glanced down at the Urwerk watch attached to his wrist. It was expensive, like
most things he owned.
7:00 a.m. There was still plenty
of time to get to the office and grab a cup of coffee on the way. He lived in a
gaited property in Atherton, where the average family household made in excess
of 210,000 dollars a year. It was one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the
Valley, and for good reason � it was the home of the Siliconaires.
The Siliconaires
were stereotypically defined as a group of white-collar office workers who
attended Ivy League schools such as Harvard, Stanford, Yale, or MIT. They
worked long hours and craved the higher rungs on the corporate ladder like a
dog slavers for meat. They hardly enjoyed the fruits of their labors, be it
expensive homes or trophy wives. All they could see was that seat as a
corporate executive to a multi-billion dollar company, that absolute power �
and Simon fit this mold more than most. He had graduated from Santa Cruz High
in a beachside hippie town with great grades. His SAT was only a few points
away from perfect, and he was easily admitted into nearby Stanford. Like many
of his ilk, he did well in college. His girlfriend at the time, later his
ex-wife, went to Santa Clara
University nearby. A good
school, but nothing compared to his Alma Mater. He scored an internship with
Sequoia Capital, a highly regarded venture capital fund in Menlo Park near school. It was the very fund
that financed Google and YouTube. After graduation,
he went from an internship to a true employee. He was a driven man, shrewd and
intellectual. His superiors saw this, and offered him a job. During this time,
he had also gotten married.
But that was just a
footnote, really.
His M.B.A. came next,
followed by more and more lofty aspirations. He saw a goal, attained it, and
eyed the next like a hawk. There was no stopping him, nothing that could keep
him from living the life his parents should have given him. He had been
well-liked in high school. After his divorce (his ex-wife was never very
career-minded) he had gone on to date another girl from his high school days �
Jennifer Kingston. Claire, his ex-wife, well � she never knew. They never told
her. Jennifer was now a marketing manager in Mountain View, and was a much better match
for him than Claire had been. It was never a matter of attraction, indeed he
had been very attracted to Claire initially � it was more their perception of
the world. They were inherently two different people, and that could never be
reconciled.
Adjusting his tie one more
time and double-checking his appearance one last time, Simon Walters turned
away from the mirror and left his walk-in closet. He lived alone in a three
bedroom house that sat along a street with many more like it. It was a large
Spanish revival, built with beige stucco hues and Moroccan tile. The grand
staircase he took to reach the first floor curled gently downwards to touch upon
a marble foyer, complete with stone urns strategically placed within the walls.
The front of the house was paned glass, and the grand double doors were
mahogany wood. His ex-wife had shared the home with him shortly before they
split, and thankfully the judge bequeathed it to him when the divorce
settlement had been reached. He had not only paid for it, but it was in his
name as well.
His footsteps echoed
loudly in the cavernous foyer as he stepped across the hard floor. He walked
into an adjoining room, a study with a massive wooden fireplace and executive
desk. A slim desktop computer perched atop it, and next to it was his
briefcase. Simon placed his hand around the handle and lifted, taking it with
him. His freehand dug into the pocket of his slacks, fiddling with the keys to
his Porsche 911. They jingled responsively, and he knew he was set.
A window shattered.
Simon�s head instinctually
snapped in the direction of the sudden sound. It had originated from the rear
of the mansion, toward the east wing where the golf course ran along the
property lines. It had to be the sunroom.
Fearing that some careless
golfer had finally launched a ball through one of the windows, the man set down
his briefcase and strode purposefully to the back of the house. He had always
thought this would happen, indeed he had brought it up
several times at homeowners meetings. The neighborhood�s country club had a
long stretch of green that ran by his house too close for comfort. All it would
take was one inexperienced golfer (and indeed, there were many) and he would
have a situation like this one. Cursing, Simon entered the sunroom. Like the
name suggested, it was composed mainly of tall windows that stretched from the
ceiling to the floor. He was never one with a green thumb like Claire had been,
so once she left he had replaced her plants with a pool table and wet bar. The
businessman�s brown eyes scanned the contents of the room, seeking the source
of the disturbance. He did not find a golf ball, but he did find the perpetrator.
It was something that even
the farthest reaches of his mind could not fathom into existence. He had never
been very imaginative � while his logic, intellect and business sense was a
shining contribution of humanity�s global economy, his creativity was lackluster
in comparison. As a child he could neatly fill in coloring books, but he could
never draw an original picture. The picture of what he saw before him only
entered his mind by the severe force of its presence.
The nightmare was near the
middle of the room, with the shattered window it had walked through just behind
it. It had a human form and stood six feet tall. It looked like it was out of a
medical book � a human deprived of skin and stripped down to the main muscle
groups. The very startling difference was that the �muscle� consisted of metal,
hoses, and wires. They formed a human shape, twining together much like the
separate elements of a human body. It had no eyes, just hollow pits with a dim
red light near the back. The head was skull-like, save for the joints and gears
that acted as muscles and moved the face to emit a leering smile. There was a
hiss of air as compressors tightened and created the pressure needed to move
the thing�s toothless mouth upwards. The skull was plated with what might have
been steel, and when it lifted its arm towards him, an array of wires whipped
outward from its body.
He might have screamed, he
could not really tell. Sound began to drown into the background, and the
thing�s corded tentacles wove around him and inserted themselves into his
flesh. The man felt a brutal sting from each penetration point, and then he
realized it was injecting him with something. His knees gave out and he
fell to the floor, dazed. The abomination walked up to him, still smiling its
ghastly grin. The last tube paused just above his forehead, and then reared
back like a viper just before that last, lethal strike.
There was a short bloom of
pain as the tentacle drove itself through his skull and into his brain, and
then all fell into darkness.
He felt no more.

o�Before she existed here, she
existed before, in memory...o

Claire finds herself
walking along the Santa Cruz
boardwalk under a setting sun with her boyfriend.
A warm wind comes from off
the ocean, and seabirds perform aerial acrobatics overhead. She feels young and
whimsical, which in itself feels strangely foreign. They are holding hands,
swinging the link between them as they move. Simon�s hand is warm and firm,
just as she remembers it to be.
It strikes her as odd that
she would think of it like that. Wasn�t it always this way?
She can hear everything �
the cries from the carnival rides, pinball bells, and the excitement of dusk on
the seaside boardwalk. They descend a few stairs to the beach, and Claire takes
off one sandal so that she can feel the sand beneath the sole of her good foot.
Her other limb is a prosthesis, obscured by her jean leg.
The roar of the surf
dominates the airwaves, followed secondly by the call of the sea gulls. Farther
still, sea lions bark from beneath the long wharf that stretches out into the
ocean to the right. A salty breeze stirs the stray wisps of hair framing her
face, and it tickles. Twirling the sandal on one finger, Claire glances over at
Simon. His tan face is gorgeous, his hair unruly, his spirit undaunted.
She loves him.
The girl leans over, and
pecks the boy next to her on the cheek. He startles at the action, turns to
look at her, and then rewards her with a deepening kiss on the lips.
But his eyes � his eyes
are not closed, nor are they on her. They are sideways, looking out to the red
horizon and the late summer sun.
He was always that way, she acknowledges. Her mind
questions the knowledge of the was, and the
scene falls like the sand between her toes towards oblivion.

The room slowly came into
focus all around her, and morning peeked through the thin curtains beyond the
window. The bedspread suddenly seemed too heavy and restrictive, so she rose to
sit up. The young woman put a hand to her head, closed her eyes and furrowed
her brow. When she opened her eyes again, the details of last night came
rushing back even though her mind was still fixated on the dream she had just
lost.
Why was her subconscious
so interested in replaying old memories? Frankly, she would rather not relive
them � it left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Flinging the coverlet
aside, Claire hopped up on one leg before losing her balance and falling back
to the bed. She threw a glance over her shoulder to her slumbering neighbor, who
was curled up on his side and facing the bathroom. He was snoring rather
loudly, which was the most likely reason she had wakened. Quietly thankful to
him for interrupting her dream (or nightmare, depending on interpretation),
Claire forced a small smile. When her eyes fell away from Miguel, they drew
themselves to her stump. The blonde stared at her severed leg long and hard, as
if willing it away through wishes. Nothing happened, of course, so with a weary
sigh she pulled the prosthesis from against the nearby wall. Holding it with
one hand, she hopped on one leg across the shabby room to the shower.
Once she was clean and her
prosthesis was donned, Claire exited the bathroom. Her hair was still wet, but
without a blow dryer she would have to live with it. She felt slightly better
than the night before, a result gleaned from her new state of cleanliness.
Miguel was still sleeping, still snoring, so Claire merely passed him by and
went outside to see if Smokescreen or the two kids had returned with Bumblebee.
She wasn�t aware of the time, but it was pretty darn early if she went by the
position of the sun in the sky � it was barely halfway over the horizon.
She stared towards the
emerging orb in the open doorway for a moment, and immediately thought of Simon.
It was so unlike her � he rarely entered her thoughts anymore. It had been
years, after all.
I can�t be still
carrying a torch.
Her head rocked side to
side as she shook it, clearing herself of the ridiculous assumption. When her
eyes reopened, they darted to Smokescreen�s parking stall. The lot was empty,
devoid of yellow Camaros or teenagers.
Smokescreen was back,
however. He must have managed to get the soda off in time, too. His exterior
was completely unmarred by flaws, and Claire was quietly relieved. She did feel
slightly bad about her behavior last night � it was juvenile to be true, but he
had just pushed her too far.
�Hey,� she said in a low
voice.
There was no immediate
response, and Claire feared the Autobot might still
be angry with her. She crept closer, and leaned against the dusty pink siding
that covered the exterior of the motel. �Anyone home?�
�I was recharging,� griped
the car. His voice seemed slightly fuzzy, and Claire was surprised to find
herself comparing it to someone who had just woken up.
�You mean sleeping?�
�We do not �sleep�. We
recharge,� he corrected edgily.
She instantly understood
his icy tone. He was holding a grudge.
�Hey, uh�� She touched her
forehead anxiously, glanced sideways, and then hastily shifted her weight. �I
know this will sound kind of strange, but I guess� I just wanted to�
apologize.�
�Oh?� Smokescreen�s voice
was piqued with interest.
�Yeah, uh�� She blew a
wisp of hair out of her eyes, and appeared reticent. It really seemed unfair
that she was the one apologizing for the one thing she had done to cause
him grief. Seemed he had six times as many apologies to bestow upon her � not
that he ever would.
�I�m sorry. I shouldn�t of done that to you. It was childish,� she grated. There, it
was done.
�Apology accepted.�
Silence.
�So, uh�� Claire prompted,
winding one hand in a circle as if to encourage him to go forward with his own
atonements. �Do you have anything to say to me?�
A pause. �No.�
�What!?�
�What would you have me
say?� He seemed genuinely delighted to hear her suggestions.
�You�re kidding me. You
have so much to apologize for,� the woman pointed out.
�Like what?�
�Like�
nearly killing me last night!� Claire shouted. Thankfully, the pothole-ridden parking
lot was still mostly empty, save for the cars of a few customers and employees
on the far end.
�I was actually trying to
help you, if you recall. You were also quite ungrateful.� His voice was
matter-of-fact, meant to brook no opposition.
She gave it, anyways. �No,
no, no. You charged me when I was still between you and the vending
machine! You didn�t even wait!�
�I told you, I had faith
in your reflexes.�
Claire gave a hissed oath.
�You�re just like Simon. All you can do is see one
way, and that is your way.� Furious, she spun on her heel and began to
march back into the motel room.
�Wait.�
That one word, so simple,
stopped her. It wasn�t necessarily the word in of itself; it was the tone that
was used along with it. It sounded almost� desperate.
Desperate was a word she
would never even begin to link Smokescreen to, but she could have sworn she
heard it.
Slowly, she turned around
to face him again. ��Yes?�
�I would like to��
Apologize, her mind hopefully finished. It
was not to be.
��call a truce.�
Claire blinked. �A truce?�
�Yes, that is what I
said.� His tone was dry.
�But�� she trailed, not
quite sure what to make of that. On one hand, she was disappointed in him. She
had believed he was so close to actually coming clean for all the crap he put
her through, and now he was asking for a truce as if they were on equal ground
for their sins. It was preposterous! He always did have some nerve.
But maybe, just maybe,
that�s what she could say about herself.
A truce,
a peace offering.
It wasn�t an apology, it never would be, but it was at least an exit from the
constant barrage of insults, be they acted or verbal. She was more frustrated
with the recent turn of events than she had been during any point in the
divorce from Simon. If it were possible to make any part of her life easier,
even this one, she would gladly take it.
�Deal. You know what this means, right?�
She held out her index finger, and laid the opposite one across it to tick off
the beginning of a list. �No more derogatory remarks, for one.� She tapped the
two digits together to lay down the first point, and then moved on to her
middle finger for the next. �Two, you shall stop scaring the shit out of me. I
mean it. No more sudden moves which lead me to think that my time on this Earth
is up.�
�I wouldn�t try to put you
offline�� he protested abruptly, as if offended by the thought.
�Uh-uh,� she chided,
waving her pointer finger at him. When it effectively quieted the Autobot, she continued. �Three� you will attempt to be at
least tolerable. I know asking for you to be nice is a bit too much, so just�
try to be less offensive, if possible. Addressing me by my name instead of
�human� is a good start.�
The Subaru�s engine
grumbled.
Claire waved a hand at
him. �Your turn. What are your conditions for the
truce?�
His voice indicated relief
that it was finally his time to lay down the law. �My major concern is that
vile liquid you call soda. I do not wish to see it in your possession around me
ever again.�
A ghost of a smile frosted
her lips.
�Secondly, I ask that you
stop ignoring me like a parked car when I am addressing you.�
Confusion mottled her
features. Had she been ignoring him? How? She thought back to last night as she
calmly left him to rot with his paint problem and the way she had walked off on
him in a huff at the lookout. Realization dawned at how rude she had been. Oh.
�Third, I would like that
male human� Miguel� the man you brought along� I would like you to
suggest he use my air conditioning. You are both leaking liquid all over my
interior without it.�
�Leaking what?!�
�You are�� There was a
long pause as he researched the correct term through his connect with the
Internet. When he found it, Claire noticed that his high beams flashed with
inspiration, much like the proverbial light bulb would go off in a human�s
head. ��sweating.�
Well, that was rather
embarrassing. The truth hit her like those unexpected waves during the shark
attack. �I� er� alright.
I�ll mention it to him.�
�I am not breathing
on him,� Smokescreen added defensively. �I do not breathe. That is something
only you hum-- only you do.�
Claire noted the
correction near the end of his statement, and nodded approvingly. This just
might be the start of a beautiful� something. �Alright, I agree to your
terms. Do you agree to mine?�
�If I must,� he ground
out. If he had teeth, she imagined he would be grating them in reluctance.
�Great. Well, I had better
see if Miguel is up. I also have some calls to make.� Acting nonchalant despite
the great victory she had just attained, the human woman turned to face her
room again.
�Claire.� He stopped her
again, this time with her name. It had a rather poignant effect on her.
�Yeah?� She did not bother to turn around.
He would still just be a stationary Subaru in a pitted parking lot, and she
would just be her crippled self. Nothing would be different.
�Thank you.� The words
were the most genuine thing she had ever heard him say, and it rang through her
person with the clarity of a chime. Her back went ramrod straight for a second,
and then the tension slipped from her shoulders altogether. The phantom smile
widened, and became more corporeal.
�Welcome,� she whispered
back, before disappearing into the motel.

They both called into
work, and faced an irate assistant manager as a consequence. His angry voice
buzzed across the phone, first to Miguel and then to Claire. They dialed the
store in quick succession, but thankfully Zebrowski
did not clue into their mutual absence. He seemed to take it merely as
coincidence that the two both called in again. They did not act as anything
more than acquaintances working together while on shift under Zebrowski�s watch, so he suspected nothing more than a
sickness circling about the store.
Claire�s second call that
morning was a bit more cringe worthy. She dialed the Boyd garage, and held her
breath when John picked up.
��Ello?�
he answered.
�Hey, John, it�s Claire.�
��Bout time you called.�
In his usual manner, John Boyd said nothing else besides what was absolutely
necessary. There was a broken clip of sound as John got off the phone and
handed the receiver to his father.
�Claire! Where are you?
I�ve been trying to get a hold of you for awhile now, girl. You should have
called sooner.� There was a stern undercurrent to the older man�s tone, which
let Claire practically feel his blatant displeasure with her.
�Sorry, Mick, I really
am.� She began pacing the strip of soiled carpet before both of the beds.
Miguel was in the bathroom again, doing god-knows-what, and the few belongings
they had brought with them were packed and ready to go. Sam and Mikaela were waiting outside in the Camaro
along with Smokescreen, so Claire felt particularly rushed to end the call
after giving Mick a quick update. She had two options: she could tell the
truth, which would no doubt cause her more conflict, or she could lie.
Honestly, no pun intended, she was tired of fabricating stories. She hated it.
On the other hand, Mick would definitely call the police on her if she explained
that the car she loaned had suddenly changed into a Subaru who could also � by
the way � transform into a humanoid robot about twenty feet tall.
Not only that, he wasn�t
the only one. Yes Mick, it is a he� not an it. How,
do you ask? Let me explain�
She shook the scenario
from her brain with a quick turn of her head. Looks like she
had to lie again.
Claire sighed.
�Uh� well� you see� it was
stolen. Someone stole it the night you loaned it to me, right off my driveway.�
The lie had a grain of truth to it, and she would do her best to sprinkle those
in any chance she got. �They must of hotwired it. They� they just drove off
with it. I heard the engine running and by the time I got up, I saw the car
taking off down the street. It was dark, so I couldn�t see the driver.�
Mick Boyd was silent on
the other end for almost thirty seconds. She had a bad moment where she thought
he had hung up on her, so she questioned his presence. �Mick�?�
�I�m here. Damn, Claire.
Damn.� His voice was dumbfounded, torn between the point of belief and
disbelief. �I, well� I don�t know what to make of that. Such
a nice car.�
�Probably
why he was stolen.�
Yeah, right. Smokescreen looked like a piece of junk before.
��He?�
She froze. Shit. �Er, yeah, I mean� she? Cars are
female, right? Sorry, I get them mixed up. He � she is � was�
such a masculine car.� Heat rose in her cheeks, and she wasn�t sure why. Embarrassment at being caught in her ruse � had to be.
��Right�� the man trailed
dubiously, and then fell silent again. He left the line dead for a few more
seconds, but Claire could feel his mind turning. It was a very prickly
situation, and she knew she had him stuck. �Well,� he
began reluctantly, �I don�t know what we can do. We can�t report this,
obviously.�
�I know,� she affirmed,
�It would raise too many questions.�
�We never reported it in
the beginnin�, which we should of.�
�I�m so sorry, Mick, I��
�It�s alright, Claire,
these things happen� I suppose I�ll let John know too. We�ll keep quiet. We�d
be hurt just as badly by this getting out as you would. Should of kept to the straight and narrow from the start.� He
uttered a swift curse.
It was true. If Mick
believed her story and reported the car stolen, it would force the police to
question how she had come into possession with it in the first place. Not only
was this a confounding problem, there was also the fact that she was driving
about in an unregistered Subaru at present. She would be labeled a car thief, and
the Boyds would be accomplices. It was one nice,
tight trap that she had put them in. Needless to say, she felt lower than a
street thug. �I really don�t know how to thank you for this, Mick, if you ever
need anything, please��
�I�m not happy about this,
Claire, and I don�t think I�ll ever pretend to be.� Mick�s tone was grave and
curt. She could not blame him. He hadn�t once used her name in the sing-song
way he usually did, which was a very bad sign.
�I understand, I��
�I think in the future, if
you would like anything done on your car, you need to find another place. I
just can�t risk this business and you�ve put several generations of my family�s
good name into hot water.�
Her stomach dropped. He
was telling her to never come back.
Mick continued, ��You can
come pick up your car today, but that�s the last time I want to see you on the
property. Y�hear?�
Shocked, Claire could only
stare at the motel�s far wall. It came in and out of focus, mirroring the
thoughts in her mind. �Y-yes, I understand.�
�I don�t know why you
didn�t call earlier. My youngest said he got a call from you the day you
brought your car in, but that�s it. You need to be more responsible.�
�S-Sorry, Mick��
�It�s all water under the
bridge now. Just make sure you come by today and get your car or we�ll have it
towed.�
Fuck.
�Mick, I need more time��
�You�re soundin� awfully suspicious. That�s exactly why I do not
want to do business with you anymore. Just get your car and get out.�
There was a �click�,
and then the phone went dead.
Claire was still holding
her cell phone to her ear, as if oblivious that the call was really over. Mick
had just hung up on her, and furthermore he wanted her to stay away from his
business. The day was just nose diving.
Slowly, Claire lowered the
mouthpiece from the side of her cheek and slid the phone shut. She dropped the
item into her purse, and took slow steps towards the duffel bag on the floor.
The woman bent down and lifted it, before settling the shoulder strap across
her collarbone. Still dumbstruck, she shuffled for the motel door and out into
the bright sunlight.
If anyone was keeping
score, she was undoubtedly in the negative.

The day passed rather
unproductively for both Claire and Miguel. They first rode to the lookout in
Smokescreen with the Camaro containing both Sam and Mikaela just ahead. Claire had protested the entire length
of the drive about pulling a Uey in order to retrieve
her car. She no longer cared much for her dealings with the mechanical aliens;
she could only think about paying more out of her pocket to some tow manager in
order to get her car back. The entire situation was an absolute nightmare, and
she was on the verge of tears again.
Smokescreen and Miguel
ignored her entreaties for the most part. They stopped by the lookout and met
the other Autobots before Optimus
briefed them about what they had discovered since last night � which wasn�t a
whole lot. Apparently there were several new Decepticons
in the area, those of which none of the other Autobots
had ever encountered. Optimus had managed to
intercept a few of their communications (the �how� of this was never fully
explained to Claire) and found them in the vicinity. They were no doubt new
recruits from the fallen transporters. Optimus and
the others seemed more concerned on the idea that more Cybertronians
had survived than was initially thought than the actual fact that they were here,
on Earth. No new Autobot identities had surfaced,
even though there had been some hope held that any number of the transporters
had contained a dozen or so.
Miguel was rapt with
attention during all this, as were Sam and Mikaela.
Claire would continually sneak longing glances to the road leading out of the
lookout much like an impatient student would look to the door for freedom
during a long lecture. Even though it seemed they were facing a takeover by Decepticons (another one of Optimus�
theories), all she could think about were her own problems. It was a typically
human thing to do, and she was no different than the average. Miguel would have
been doing the exact same thing if he were not as burdened as she.
The briefing ended early
in the afternoon, but it seemed forever to Claire. She found it vaguely
interesting that Optimus and the other aliens
believed that they were at the focus of a planetary invasion when � wait for it
� surprise, surprise, they were extraterrestrials themselves! The
viewpoint they took was very human in concern, which worried her on more than
one level. If Optimus could have such a human
perception for things, that meant Smokescreen could too. Granted, he always
seemed to be on the opposite end of the playing field when it came to her, but
he was more the disgruntled fan yelling insults from the sidelines in hopes
that the player � herself � would shape up for the endgame.
Ha, not likely.
The talks ended, and the Autobots shifted back into cars. It was really an amazing
feat to observe, and even Claire could forget her pending issues when she
watched them transform. They took mind-bending twists and turns at a phenomenal
rate of speed, almost like a rubik's cube completing
itself on fast forward.
Once they reassembled
themselves into their Earthly guises, they broke off to continue with tasks
only they knew of. Ironhide and Ratchet left
immediately, while Bumblebee idled to speak with Optimus.
At least, Claire thought they were speaking � just not in a way she
could audibly understand it. Both were parked side-by-side, oddly quiet save
for the intermittent creak of their frames as their weight settled.
The wind picked up, and a
grain of sand blew right into one eye. She rubbed irritably at the offended
area just as her eyes began to water. Her greatest wish was to be home, knowing
she had a normal car - no guns, lasers, or shape-changing abilities, thank-you-very-much.
Sometimes those things
were just too much to ask for.
Miguel was tearing himself
away from Sam and Mikaela after initiating a brief
discussion with them on their next course of action. He was walking towards
Claire, who stood off to the side near Smokescreen. Smokescreen, for his part,
seemed to be �recharging� or whatever he did to lapse off into a state of rest.
In fact, Claire had the sneaking suspicion he had been snoozing through the
latter half of Optimus� briefing. Slacker.
Claire�s cell phone rang.
It jostled her into
action, and caused Miguel to pause mid-stride. Fumbling through the purse on
her shoulder, the young woman fetched the phone and put the object to her ear
with a new sense of hope. She failed to check the number first, assuming it was
Mick Boyd.
�Mick? I�m so glad you��
There was static on the
other end of the call, but then a female voice floated through the earpiece.
�Claire�?�
The world stood still.
��Jen?�
The distant voice on the
other end chuckled nervously. �Yeah, it�s me.�
�Wow. Oh, uh, hey. What�s
up?� The voice from her past wound it�s way around Claire�s heart, coiling like
a snake and squeezing. Her palms began to sweat. The last time she had spoken
to Jen was years ago, just after the divorce from Simon was finalized and she
moved out of California.
�Oh, nothing� except��
There was urgency in her old friend�s voice.
It has to be something;
she wouldn�t call me out of the blue like this for nothing.
�What? What�s wrong?�
Claire�s tenor rose in alarm.
�It�s just� Simon�s
missing. He didn�t go into work today. I�ve called everyone he knows. The
police are already looking into it.� Claire heard Jennifer Kingston�s voice
crack for the first time, and she sounded like she was going to cry.
But
why�?
Why would Jen know first Simon didn�t go into work�?
�Wait, I don�t
understand,� Claire said suddenly, and the knot around her heart constricted
further. �How do you know that he didn�t go in�?�
�I thought he told you�?�
Jen stated tentatively.
�Told me what? I
don�t talk to him anymore.�
�Claire, we�re dating.
We�ve been dating for quite awhile now.�
Oh.
She stood there, under the
open Nevada
sky, and didn�t feel the freedom she should have felt. She was instead
paralyzed, rooted to the dusty ground like a malformed cactus. There was
nothing she could say, and her mouth ran dry. The simple words sucked the air
from her world and left her dizzy and unbalanced.
�Claire, are you there? I
am so sorry, I thought he��
It took her a few more
seconds to regain her hoarse voice. She sank to her knees, and bowed her head.
�N-no, that�s fine. Go on.�
�I really shouldn�t of called, I just thought you might know where he is� I�m so
sorry, Claire.�
I am so sorry, Claire.
That�s why we�re here.
Jen�s words from the dream
repeated through her mind like a mocking reminder, and Claire struggled to
think straight. Despite her shock, she was truly worried now that she was aware
Simon had not gone into work. �I� I�ll let you know if I see him. I�m� sorry to
hear he�s gone.�
�Thanks for understanding.
It means so much to me. I really care about him and��
Claire cut her off, unable
and unwilling to hear anything more. �Good to know. I�ll keep an eye and an ear
out.�
��Thanks again�� Jen
replied brokenly. The two ended their calls almost simultaneously, and then
Claire chucked her phone at the gravel beneath her. It bounced once, twice, and
then skittered across some loose pebbles before stopping. Miguel quietly
observed this, and made a detour for the object. He bent at the waist, picked it
up, and then offered it to its owner.
Claire jerked her head
back and forth, stood, and took a deep breath. She noticed both Sam and Mikaela had stopped talking and were now staring at her
quizzically. Both Optimus and Bumblebee were still
parallel with one another, but they too faced her. Smokescreen�s voice came
from directly behind, and she might have noted a hint of concern in his voice.
�What�?�
�Nothing,� she ground out,
before coming to her senses and snatching the phone from Miguel. She dropped the
hated object into her purse and strode away from the group. Her legs took her
to the scrub dominating the landscape, along with the crags and rocky
outcroppings. Claire picked her way through the brush, climbing higher and
higher. The grind of metal behind her alerted her that one of the Autobots had transformed, but she paid it no heed. The wind
whipped about her ponytail, throwing long strands of blonde hair across her
haggard face. She was so, so tired.
The city sprawled below, a
blocky template of houses and vegetation. Birds careened in large circles above
that, and Claire secretly wished to be one of them.
A twig snapped behind her
� no, maybe an entire forest fell � and Claire realized that she had been
followed. Her eyes turned, her head with it, and she was greeted by the rather
large presence of Smokescreen. He had transformed back into his large humanoid
form, and she wondered how she hadn�t heard his footfalls until he was nearly
upon her. It had to be pretty bad if she was so wrapped up in her inner turmoil
that she wouldn�t notice an earth-shaking giant coming her way.
�Hey.� She leaned back
against a large boulder, refusing to look up at him. It would probably give her
a nasty crick in the neck, anyways.
�I overheard your phone
conversation��
Claire held up one finger.
�My end or both?�
�Both.� Smokescreen was a
total dick, but at least he was honest.
She worried her lower lip
with her upper set of teeth. �I thought I told you to cut that out.� Strangely,
it didn�t bother her as much as it should have.
�It was not something you
listed as part of the truce.�
The blonde woman paused,
and thought back to her conditions. He was telling the truth � she hadn�t
listed that. It had been an oversight on her part, unfortunately. �Well, I
still would like it if you would stop.� The rock behind her back was warm,
almost hot.
�I suppose I can fit that
under attempting to be tolerable,� the large mechanoid
replied. His shadow fell across her much smaller form, blocking out the light
from the sun. One of his large hands fell to a spot just before her, palm open.
�Would you like a lift?�
�Literally
or proverbially?�
�Both.�
Claire looked at the open
hand for a few seconds, desperately trying to curb her lips into a disapproving
line. She contained herself for as long as possible, but her laughter
eventually burst out, bringing tears to her eyes. She pushed herself forward
from her rocky rest, and put her trust into Smokescreen that he wouldn�t drop
her. He had saved her quite a few times before, so killing her was not his
intent.
The metal palm rose
upwards like a fast elevator, and she clung for dear life. Her vantage point of
the city became ever the more spectacular with every foot, and she found
herself forgetting the phone call entirely.
Maybe, just maybe,
Smokescreen wasn�t a total dick after all.

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. All
recognizable characters are the property of HasTak.
All original characters are mine.
A/N: There is Chapter 13, lucky 13!
Okay, maybe not. Anyways, it�s a bit longer if you�ll notice. I�m trying to aim
for longer and still keep good updates until I move.
Also, here�s something
else for you guys! Smokescreen and Claire, just a quick
drawing from a scene in an upcoming chapter. Guess that lets the secret
out, too. I�m Quietharm, and I have another account
on called Quietharm too. Dang.
Here�s the link to the picture:� http://quietharm.deviantart.com/art/Claire-Smokescreen-80692071
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The Human Stain