Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my OC I don't own Transformers. It's only fanfic.

The woman sighs, running a hand down her face. She needed a break.

Depositing her palette on a surface, she fled inside the house where there was A/C and food. It was frustrating, graduating college with a degree and being unable to get employment from it. By 25, she thought she'd have her own apartment, her own car, and, most importantly, a place to belong.

She didn't have those things, though. Just a useless piece of paper and the same room she slept in since she was a toddler. She never thought chasing her dreams would mean living at home and being in debt for several years.

But to Margaret Witwicky, it was all worth it to be able to express herself, to share her art with the world. She'd make it mean something.

Splashing water on her face did little to wash away the ultramarine stain on her cheek. She was only taking a short break from critiquing her current piece, washing up and finishing her trip to the restroom.

She was a painter, an aspiring one at least. Hopping from job to job wasn't what she wanted for the rest of her life. She was currently unemployed, but she told everyone she was in between jobs as though she had something lined up, but she didn't. She'd just interview at wherever was hiring when she ran out of her slim savings. Her parents put her up in her old room after college, and nothing had changed. It was exactly how she left it, though that wasn't really her style anymore.

Next on the agenda was raiding the fridge. She picked out a blueberry yogurt from the back, grabbing a spoon from the drawer to eat it with. The round fruits were squished under her teeth, flavor bursting out. Savoring the last bite, she tossed away the disposable container. Nothing could ruin the feeling of relaxing after a long period of standing at the easel.

Harsh footsteps thudded down the stairs. She was wrong. Nothing except her little brother could ruin it.

"What's the rush?" She said, uncapping a bottle of water and leaning her hip on the counter. She sipped it slowly.

"Dad bought me that car we'd been talking about." Sam smiled, all teeth, and rubbed his hands together before patting them on his jeans. "I'm taking it to a party."

Her brows shot up, a look of confusion dropping over her features. "Whoa, okay. You get a jalopy and now you think you're Mr. Cool Guy?"

He shot her a dirty look, hurrying out the front door and taking a short cut through the lawn. "It's not a jalopy. You'll eat those words, Midge" he said, letting the front door swing shut behind him. She watched as their dad shook his head, spiking his trowel into the soil. She'd better get out there before they start arguing again. Sam walked from their mother over to a faded yellow Camaro that was new to the driveway. Black racing stripes adorn its length, a large spot of rust spoiling the paint job by the wheel well.

"Never thought I'd see you driving a car like this, little brother," she said, poking him in the ribs lightly while he opens the door. "A car after my own heart."

"Uh, what do you mean?" Sam squinted at his sister, the Sun behind her threatening to blind him. He looked up at her from his place in the driver's seat of his little yellow vehicle, fingers fiddling with the steering wheel. "Like what?"

"You know. Sexy." She raised an eyebrow and shimmied her shoulders, making him scoff. "Well. Have fun crashing parties."

Their mother yells out, "I want you home at 11 o'clock!" Margaret turned, leaving him behind with her parents, but she couldn't disappear fast enough. Ron caught her in his line of sight, zeroing in on her relaxed figure. He loved giving work to those who appeared not to be busy.

He rolled his eyes, but acquiesced. "Yeah, all right!"

"Sweetie, go with your brother," her father declares, waving the trowel over his should at her. "Make sure he's home by 11."

"What? Dad!" She pouted, her arms going limp at her sides, only just preventing herself from stomping her foot. She had plans to finish her painting tonight. "Why do I have to go?" Sam didn't look any more enthused than she was. Her dad's non-answer and the way he avoided her gaze told her he wasn't going to be questioned on this. He would just use the "my roof" excuse, anyway.

Her night off was taken out behind the shed and shot, so to speak, so she supposed she could try to have fun.

Maybe she'd be pleasantly surprised. A girl could dream.

Looking down at herself, she figured the faded denim shorts and old, oversized, cropped T-shirt were good enough for a high school hangout. The green converse on her feet had seen her through thick and thin, and her Razar flip phone was secured in her back pocket. She was ready, so she strolled back over to the passenger's side and crept inside. It was roomier than it looked, but maybe that was just her small frame coming into play.

"And, please, for the love of God, drive safely!" She heard Judy's shrill voice through the window and waved at her when the car rumbled to a start, puffing black smoke out of its muffler. It peeled off, and she prayed they'd make it to their destination in one piece.

His hand waves at her short, a splotch or two of wet paint close to leaving marks on the leather. "Hey, watch the paint! Jeez."

She caught his eyes when he looked over to the passenger seat. "I'm sorry, okay? I'll clean it later. Promise." The yellow muscle car was piloted to Miles' house by her little brother, though he gave her the stink eye all along the way.

Miles was his best friend. Even though the boy has had an uncomfortable crush on her for over a decade, she couldn't hate him. He meant well, and he was going through hormone hell. She can't blame him for reacting to it.

"Hey, Midge." He used her nickname when she got out and folded the front seat forward, climbing into the back. She didn't give him much of a response, flashing him a peace sign in greeting. The ride was winding and slow, but felt too fast with the way Sam took the curves. Gripping tightly to the fabric belt over her chest, she almost felt like it was getting tighter. Hopefully her brother would relax his foot on the pedal next time.

Her brother's best friend can't stop looking at her in the mirror. Eventually he opens his mouth, unable to take the quietude any longer. "Dude, are you sure we're invited to this party?"

They finally broke through the tree line and against the horizon she spotted dozens of young couples and groups of teens spread out on the lake and shore. Sam hit the breaks a little late into the turn and the tires squealed. "Of course, Miles. It's a lake. Public property."

Midge rolled her eyes, suppressing a scoff. "I don't think that's how it works, doofus."

He didn't seem to be listening, but rather panicking over some floozy from his school. "Oh my God. Oh my God, dude. Mikaela's here."

She tuned the conversation out, caring little about her brother's love life. It was always Mikaela this and Mikaela that. Teenage boys were gross.

They both got out, leaving her alone in the car. She preferred it that way. Not that she hated her brother, but they didn't have all that much in common when it came to hobbies and pastimes. They did both like classic cars, which was something they bonded over throughout the years. Midge simply tended to like her own company better. It was easier to focus without people around.

Her sketchbook helped her pass the time. For a few minutes she doodled an old Camaro with racing stripes, but it wasn't very detailed. She couldn't remember all of the specifics, so she winged it. She was startled out of her intense focus on the pad in her hands by the melodic pipes of Thurston Harris serenading her.

"Little bitty pretty one, come on and talk-a to me."

At first, she was only concerned with what the hell kind of car her dad bought Sam. Putting the sketchbook back in her pocket and the pencil in her hair, she leaned forward over the center console and peered closely at the radio.

It turned itself off after just one line, and she almost thought it meant something, but that's ridiculous. It was strange, but nothing big. The engine runs, the brakes stop the car, and it doesn't have any gigantic holes in it. That makes it a working machine in her opinion.

"Probably nothing," she said to herself, sinking back into her seat. She was disturbed by someone hurtling through the open window. That someone was Miles. He pulled himself the rest of the way into the seat and she tried to ignore the way he kept looking back at her to gauge her reaction. They sat in silence, waiting for Sam to join them.

The radio buzzed again, though neither had touched it, an old rock ballad bursting out of the speakers.

"Who's gonna drive you home, tonight?" the audio sung, filling the car with soft tunes.

"Hey, man, what's wrong with your radio?" Midge seconded Miles' inquiry, but they didn't receive any answers.

Instead, Sam longingly gazed at Mikaela in her strip of a skirt walking down the road ahead. "I'm gonna drive her home," he mumbled, leaning on the hood.

"What?" Miles cried, shocked. "She's an evil jock concubine, man. Let her hitchhike."

"She lives ten miles from here, okay? It's my only chance," Sam practically begs.

Of all her favorite ways to pass the time, witnessing stupidity wasn't one of them. She had had it with these adolescents.

Midge just wanted them to both shut up so she could think, but she was stuck here, listening to them bicker about who sits where and what's a party foul. The girl was tired, so when they finally drive off, she felt relieved. She was supposed to be the responsible one, but only for her brother. Miles wasn't her responsibility. and he really could walk; his house was close.

They picked up Mikaela, Sam developing a case of foot-in-mouth syndrome when in the presence of a beautiful girl, which I'll admit. She was a real knockout and way out of his league. She zones out, trying not to listen to the gag-worthy flirting.

"Wow." Midge broke her silence, but only after Mikaela had vanished into her house. Her warm, brown eyes trail from the raised patio back down to her brother. "That was so awkward."

"Yep. I noticed." Sam sighed, running his hands through his hair. "That was a stupid line."

She raised a brow at him, a playful smile gracing her lips. "'There's more than meets the eye with you?' Yeah, it was." She crawled up to the front seat, making sure not to step on anything important, as Sam put the car in reverse. "Let's go home, stud, before you make a bigger fool of yourself."

He sighed, but said nothing else as he put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. He drove them home and when they stepped inside it was pitch black outside. It must've been almost 11pm. Midge clomped up the stairs, yawning into her hand.

The next morning, she woke up later than is normal, on account of her late night. She was usually up before anyone, making coffee and doing yoga in the dewy morning air, but today she was stumbling down the steps in her pajamas shortly after 7:00, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Sam still seemed to be in his room, but she spotted her mother's figure out in the garden, and her father's hunched back at the kitchen island.

"Hey, Margaret." He slowly sipped his coffee, eyes scanning the same line of the newspaper over and over again. He threw it down, inhaling a long, drawn-out breath.

She poured herself a cup, wondering aloud, "You look tired. Something happen?" Stuffing two frozen waffles in the toaster, she waited for them to heat.

"I had to pick up your brother from jail this morning."

She gasped, looking worriedly at Ron. "No. Samuel Witwicky? Arrested?" The dark liquid sloshed as she stashed the carafe back on its base and turned around quickly. "Gosh. Really?"

He nodded somberly, his hands castled in front of him on the surface. "I just don't get it. Where did we go wrong with the two of you?"

"I don't know, Dad. That's your job to figure that out, not mine." She grabbed the waffles as they popped up and left with them. "Thanks for making coffee."

"You're welcome!" he called after her as she rushed back upstairs to get dressed for the day. By which she really meant toss on a faded bikini and some old daisy dukes with a few gaping holes in them. She planned on washing her little brother's car before she got covered in paint today.

She shook off the residual sleepiness, setting out toward the garage. She opened the rolling door, grabbing a bucket and sponge from the shelf, along with a bottle of soap from inside. Water from the hose filled it quickly on full blast, the suds forming a white foam on top. She dropped in the sponge and carried the whole thing out with her, a drying rag tucked in her back pocket.

The car seemed to glint in the early sunlight, a living sort of sheen that moved organically. She trotted herself out to the driveway, setting the pail down and dragging out the hose.

First, she swept over it with a pass of the hose. She didn't worry about getting herself a little wet on the moderately heated morning. The car was parked in the shade, close to the grass of Dad's prized lawn, and the concrete was cool on her bare feet. So then why was the car hot to the touch when she leaned over to pop up the wipers.

There's a slight warmth left on the top of her chest and her stomach. "Whoa, the hood is hot. Does Sam drive you around this early?" She wrung out the sponge, not sure why she was talking to a car of all things. She chalked it up to temporary insanity and tried to forget about it.

Chapter Text

"Whoa, the hood is hot. Does Sam drive you around this early?"

"No, just feeling heated at the sight of you," Bumblebee would say, if only he could. It wasn't just his broken vocalizer stopping him.

He wished he could tell her and Sam, come clean with all of them. It wasn't his choice, though. He had to obey Optimus' orders. Stay low, protect the planet, and wait. Last night, he put out a beacon for Optimus and the others. They'd surely arrive soon, but the teenager had seen him and ran.

But he had to let it out a little, he's not the type to be completely boring. That, and she was really pretty. Prettier than the Femmes he's used to seeing. Prettier than the other humans, too. But he didn't want to bring a Decepticon army down on Earth because he couldn't keep it in his plates, and Primus knew how she'd react to a creature so different from herself. He couldn't transform, so he played a song.

"That's why I'm hot blooded. Check it and see, I've got a fever of a hundred and three. Come on, baby, do you do more than dance? I'm hot blooded, hot blooded."

The female jumped slightly when the rock song burst from his speakers. "Jesus! That scared me," she muttered, returning to her task.

Humans had a quality to them that Bumblebee hadn't experienced before he came here. Flesh, they call it. The soft substance jiggles when they move and bounces when they jump.

Humans had evolved to breath air, to walk on their back legs, and supposedly many other things. Along with the forward progress came mammalian features like live births and heavy teats that secrete nutritional and necessary milk for their offspring. Bumblebee's extensive studies on the World Wide Web had taught him much about these milk-sacks called "breasts", mostly from the human men that posted about them.

It seemed he wasn't the only one mesmerized by their jiggling movements.

The way the soft flesh melded to their human hands, yielding to anything solid, it stirred something inside Bumblebee. He hadn't felt lust in so long, he almost forgot what it felt like.

She attracted him. It was easy to admit. Like most humans, her face was almost reminiscent of a Cybertronian's.

Oh, but what he wouldn't give to actually talk to her. Then again, hiding in plain sight wasn't bad. Not when the object of his affections leaned close and those breasts were caressing his hood, becoming damp and shiny.

His engine started to heat up, but he pushed it back down. She climbed up on top of him, kneeling with her legs spread on his hood, and his work was undone. She swiped over his windshield, then reached above to soap up his roof. He was rocked by the feeling, like she was giving him a full-frame buffing.

"If it feels alright, m aybe you can stay all night. Shall I leave you my key? But you've got to give me a sign. Come on, girl, some kind of sign. Tell me, are you hot, mama? You sure look that way to me."

She got off him, but the intensity never lessened. It just moved with her as she walked along his side.

She was stirring him up, the way she pressed her body against his windows and bent over to scrub his rims. He nearly yelped when she stuck the whole of her sponge in his muffler, swirling it around. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but it was different. He was just glad none of the 'bots were around to see it.

Her cheeks were squishy and freckled. Her lips were full. Her hair reminded him of fire, and her eyes the bodies of water on this planet. Finishing up with the soapy sponge, she returned it to the bucket with a splash and once again picked up the hose.

Cybertronian metal was hard and unforgiving. Her softness was part of her charm; Dainty, tiny, and adorable, the polar opposite of his ilk.

And he thought the other humans were small.

It was cooler the second time it washed over his chassis. He shivered, and not just because of the stimulating visuals. She came back around to the hood, her front dripping soapy water as she sprayed. Once finished, she looked at the wet bottoms that clung to her hips. "Great." She unbuttoned and let her shorts fall down, stepping out of them in just her swimsuit. Rag in hand, she walked back over to dry off the bright vehicle.

Once complete, she rinsed out the bucket and sponge, stowing them somewhere in the garage. When she came back, she was wrapped in a towel with a spray bottle and clean rag in hand. Her hand was smooth on his handle, pulling open the door and wiping him down. She got in all the nooks and crannies he never could. Like scratching one of those itches the humans talk about.

It was divine, especially when she hopped into his driver's seat and started wiping down his dash and console. She wound her finger in the rag, using it to get at the stubborn dust that sticks to his vents. His spark fluttered. This human would be the death of him.

And then she stopped. She looked left, then right, and touched his ignition to check for keys. She was onto him.

He was hot under the neck plating, his engine growling with pleasure. His screws jolted at every slight caress of her hand, wrapped in a rag though it was. He was on a hair trigger, having not been touched like this for so long. Gently, like an object to be desired, longed for. Even Charlie's hands didn't make him feel like that. It took all his strength to quiet his whirring motor.

"Weird." Midge said to herself, a flurry of interest and curiosity flashing over her freckled face. "I could have sworn... Whatever." She brushed it off, tossing her long auburn locks over her shoulder. They'd stayed surprisingly dry. Spraying more of the lemon-scented cleanser on the rag, she gripped his stick shift and wiped it down, leaving him holding back a whine. He patted himself on the back for outlasting it.

"Man, I'm getting-" She cut herself off with a yawn, something that indicated the human need to sleep. "-tired. Maybe I should have slept in."

He didn't want to keep her up, but had read a trick about playing soft music to help someone sleep. Delicate piano notes played in the low baritone of Elvis Presley.

"Wise men say, only fools rush in."

The toasty little creature kept his chair warm and breathed heavily, the pace slowing down. Like the pistons on a motor coming to a stop, her body's processes seemed to slow down until she became still. She looked so comfortable, curled up in his front seat.

He could go for a recharge himself, and he does, lulled into stasis by the steady sound of her heartbeat against his leather and the pleasant melody from his own speakers.

"But I can't help falling in love with you."

"Stop with the barking, Mojo. It's too early. Please?"

The high tenor of Samuel Witwicky made him turn his engine over. He'd woken up a few breems ago and was waiting for an opportunity, which seemed to have just presented itself.

As fast as he could, he tracked down the boy, spotting him from the backyard through an open window. In alt mode still, he rolled across the grass and revved his engine a couple of times to catch the teenager's attention. 

They needed to talk. 

Sam was in great danger, having posted Archibald Witwicky's glasses on the Ebay platform. It was how Bumblebee found Sam, and so it was how the Decepticons would find him, too. He couldn't risk the boy's life, regardless of Sam's feelings on the matter.

He followed, driving around the side of the house, threading the needle between the fence and the wall, zipping through the front lawn after the boy. He pedaled his heart out, looking over his shoulder every few nano-klicks. Bumblebee's best shot was to catch him and try to make peace until Optimus and the crew showed up to explain everything. The dark-haired child had been running from him since he saw Bumblebee transformed last night.

They make it to the end of the street before his forgotten occupant starts squealing like a car alarm. He's only following the boy, not running over him and his pink bike. Why was the woman so upset?

Her hands went for the wheel, but couldn't keep a grip on it with all its moving around. He was driving, after all. The woman let out high-pitched wail after high-pitched wail until he tried to say something. His radio switched on. The melody of Don't Worry, Be Happy by Bob Marley starts to play. Her screech died out, a concerned look focused on his radio.

"Don't worry-"

"We're chasing-"

"Your brother-"

"-to protect and serve!"

The chopped up audio formed a sentence, something he learned from an old friend, and she blinked, befuddled. She was shocked to her bones, fingers digging into his seats and her throat moving as she gulped.

"The car is driving itself. Midge, you're dreaming, that's the only reasonable explanation." Margaret held the sides of her head, grabbing hanks of hair in her fists. She shook her head, refocusing on what he said. "Wait, what about my brother?"

He stopped at an intersection, watching as Sam flipped over and flattened out on the ground, bike clattering. The boy peeled himself from the ground, rocketing off on the bike again as soon as he saw the Camaro.

"S-"

"Am."

"...have to get to him. He's in danger."

"I can't believe I'm talking to a car." She grabbed tighter on the seat and pressed her body into it. "Girl, you've gotta start going to therapy. No more- Wait!" She had lowered her voice, rocking slightly, before she looked up and snapped out of it.

"You can't drive on the sidewalk! You're gonna get us pulled over." Her smooth skin glides over his wheel, tan hands curling around his parts. Her voice comes out breathy and a little hoarse. "Let me drive."

"Never in a million years!" said a childlike tenor from his speakers, the pout obvious in their voice. He didn't even like it when Sam drove him, clunking about in his chassis with the clubs of meat he calls hands. After the first day, there were stains he couldn't even name all over his wheel and shifter.

A frustrated grunt left her. "Do you want to catch him or not? Because we won't if the police catch us, you get impounded, and I get taken to the station." She made a good case for herself. He thought back on her sensitive cleansing of his compartments and body, the gentle strokes of her skin on him. Maybe he did want her to drive.

She placed her hands at 10 and 2 on his steering wheel, waiting. She grinned when it loosened in her hands. He gave up control to a little human. What would he tell Optimus, that she gave him puppy-dog eyes? That she was the most gorgeous Femme he'd ever laid optics on? That he'd only known her for a few days and she'd already stolen his spark?

Chapter Text

"Damn, those are some responsive breaks you've got there, ghost car." That was how she thought of it until now, some kind of entity. She looked down to the radio, as if it was the car's mouth, realizing she never asked its name. "Actually, what should I call you? And are you a spirit from beyond the grave?"

"No. My name is-"

"-Bumblebee."

She let out a brief laugh. "I get it." Her right foot toed the gas, her left on pressed flat against the break pedal as she powered through a turn. Her teeth are on fully display, lips stretched wide. "Yellow paint, black stripes. That's pretty cute. You sure look like a Bumblebee." Paired with the bee hanging from his rear view mirror, it tickled her to know there were ghosts (or whatever it was) as endearing as this. She felt the seats warm and rattle a bit before quieting.

Her brother turned right and passed through a too-narrow alley, forcing her to take another route. She went straight.

"We're losing him!" said the car, the beeping of medical equipment in the background reminding her of Grey's Anatomy, one of Margaret and her mother's favorite dramas. She was taking a detour around the building, knowing she could take two rights and be where was he would come out, she just had to floor it.

"Hey, I got this. These are my streets." Midge whipped the car to the right, the tires squealing against the asphalt and surely leaving marks. She masterfully twisted the steering wheel with one hand and when Sam pulled out of the alleyway, she was already behind him.

He almost got away, swerving around hobos lining the road to the underpass. There's too much bric-a-brac to to be zooming around, and Sam had ducked behind a truck bed. "Shit!" she swore, locks of hair pulling loose from her messy bun as she tried taking a right to keep up, yet the wheel turned opposite, wrenched from her grasp by the possessed vehicle.

"What are you doing?" she asked the car incredulously. "My brother was right there. You told me he's in danger!"

"-not the only one," delivered the velvety voice of John Lennon.

She could hear Sam hollering outside. She turns around, looking out the back windshield to see the black and white vehicle jerking forward vehemently over and over. "Bee, that's a cop car. He'll get arrested again and that'll cause problems!"

"It's an impostor." It sounded like a line from a black and white horror film. Her racing thoughts suddenly slowed to a crawl. Were there more like him?

She shook it off, because the most important thing right now, the thing most at risk, was her dear brother's life. He couldn't even get out of bed before noon, how was he going to fight off a Crown Vic? She couldn't even see him anymore. The Camaro was going back to the entrance, but wasn't Sam still inside?

She growled, ripping off her seat belt and going for the door. The little silver peg went down, locking her in. It was impossible to move, not budging in the slightest with all her strength. Sam's yelping was louder than their arguing now, and she could identify the sounds of impacts. "Bumblebee! Open these doors right now!"

He responds with the radio, a twangy banjo playing behind the voice of a cowboy. "Sit tight, little missy-"

"We've got a train to catch!"

By train, she imagined he meant Sam. She threw up her hands, about to go on a tangent about the importance of communication when she realized how counter-productive that would be. She settled on something kinder. "Good. Thank you."

"Seat belts, everyone!"

"Whoa!" She hastily buckled back up, having been startled by the sudden throttle. Bumblebee rocketed around a left that took them back to the start. "There he is!"

Sam and his new girlfriend Mikaela were on their knees in front of a gigantic robot, like sitting ducks waiting to be obliterated. She had to shut her mouth, realizing too late that it was hanging open. "It was nice knowing you, Bumblebee." Midge bid him farewell as they hurtled toward the mechanical monster, sure to die. The tires squealed, the little yellow car drifting its backside into the monstrosity, tripping it. They missed the teens by mere inches, luckily, and circled back around to him.

She thanks God that they were all still alive and looked up briefly. Bumblebee popped open the passenger door and the two teens scrambled to their feet. "Sam! Mikaela! Let's go!"

"Sam, what is that thing?" the teen girl was saying to Midge's sibling.

"You have to get in the car," he said, avoiding the question entirely. She was sure he didn't know what it was either. Midge wasn't all too attached to her possession theory after that.

"I don't want to." They couldn't afford for her to hesitate- the enemy was only knocked down for so long.

"Come on, kids! Clock's ticking!" The young woman shouts from the driver's side. They had to get out of dodge and quick. The mess of wires and spark plugs encased in sheet metal was coming right for them, its sharply edged toes cracking the concrete.

Sam spun into the seat, pulling the girl with him and shutting the door. "Go, go, go, go, go!"

The Camaro peeled off the lot, storming through a cloud of dust. Before they entered it, Midge spotted the giant mech transforming back into the cop car, taking off after them. "Oh, shit. Bee, he's trailing us!"

"Go, go, go, go!" Sam repeated at the top of his lungs, smacking the dash with an open hand.

Her hand shot out, giving the boy a clip to the ear, harsher than the one he delivered. "Stop saying that like he isn't going! And don't hit him, idiot! You should know better than to distract the driver!"

Mikaela grasped the handle on the car's ceiling, her legs bracing against the door. "Oh God, we're gonna die. We're gonna die."

"No, we're not," Margaret assured, laying her hand on the teen girl's. "He's a perfectly capable driver, and I can take over at any time."

"Trust me, he's a much better driver than you are, sis!" He looked to his older sibling, his mouth spouting confidence but his face saying doom as the coupe veered off the road and neared a brick building, showing no signs of stopping. "Oh

Bumblebee crashed through the mosaic window and then a bookcase, turning into a donut in the middle of the otherwise empty warehouse. The cop car couldn't keep up with his reflexes, stalling out and having to start again from zero.

We came out on the other side. The Sun was setting, leaving the sky a dusky red. For the second time, Bumblebee wrestled control from Midge and steered into the alley between two scaffolding sets. He turned off his headlights and silenced the engine, the little chrome pegs switching down.

"We're locked in." He pushed into her seat, invading Midge's space to try the key, lashing out at the dashboard again when it didn't turn over. Midge gave him a warning glare and he scooted back onto the center console. "It won't start. At least we ditched the monster, right?"

"It's okay. He did this to me before. It means he wants us to stay inside." Midge was sure the machine had a plan. Having been with him all afternoon and still being alive, she had no reason to believe he wanted to hurt them.

"What? You kidnapped my sister? And why is it she's only wearing a bikini, huh?" Sam points a finger at the stereo unit, scolding the multiple ton machine. "Yeah, that's what I thought, got nothing to say. Don't do it again, buster."

"It's Bumblebee, actually." She crossed her arms, feeling miffed at the implication. "And I can take care of my-"

"Shh!" Mikaela shushed them sternly, which they obeyed. The look in her eyes said she wasn't messing around. "We're supposed to be hiding."

She chanced a look down at her lack of clothing, realizing only when Sam brought it up that her shorts were likely done drying. Hanging over the back seat as they were, she snagged and wiggled into them awkwardly. They were full of holes but they would do. She looked up, seeing why it had suddenly become quiet. The cop car was rolling by the front of their run way, but wasn't moving away fast enough. When it halted and its reverse lights came on, Bumble started up the engine and put the pedal to the metal. They zoomed past the patrol car. "To punish and enslave," was emblazoned along the side of the car, just one of many things that were wrong with it, not the least of which was that it turned into a giant, evil monster.

He drives up a one story incline and swerves, opening his door and retracting the seat belts all at once. The three humans were thrown onto the concrete in front of the city's water treatment center, ejected from their seats. Midge pulled away from the rough ground, feeling small rocks stuck in her scrapes. But that was nothing, she only had eyes for the incredible metamorphosis taking place before her eyes.

Metal shifted and changed, each piece of the intricate puzzle finding a new home easily. Bumblebee was coming to form right in front oh her and she still couldn't explain it. It was fascinating, making her heart thump powerfully, like the sound of his pedes meeting the ground. With each subtle shift, it was clear he did his best not to squash the much smaller humans. This was probably new for him, too. The fully erected being was stunning. The yellow Camaro had fully disappeared and in it's place was a man of steel, painted yellow. Two little nubs poke from the crown of his helm, his doors migrating to his back like wings, and his wheels became as elbows. Every part served a different purpose in this new form.

He took a protective stance, which Midge copied in front of her brother and his friend. She hoped it wouldn't come to blows, but she needed to be ready for that possibility. That was difficult to do, though, when you didn't even come up to your ally's kneecap. The cop car continued to speed down the docks, changing into its other form on the go and launching itself at their protector. Both robots barreled over their heads, forcing the fleshy beings to duck. Bumblebee got separated and slid further, sparks flying from his screeching metal. The other one turned to face them. Midge helped up the other two, trying to keep an eye behind herself. She saw when it spit out a much smaller version of itself, impossibly shiny and chromed out, seemingly made of blade-like metal.

The miniature giggled to itself like a crackhead. That thing needed the opposite of a fix. Everything it said sounded so close to English but wasn't, driving her in mental circles. She backed up, waving the kids on while it advanced slowly. "Go!"

"Midge, I'm not gonna leave you here." Sam grabbed her wrist, pulling the other way, and she gave in. She didn't want to die here. She just knew that her brother had to get home safe. She wasn't leaving anyone behind.

Though they ran away from the fight, it kept ending up on top of them. Bumblebee took a flying kick to the face and was planted into a water tower face-first. The following explosion made her shield her eyes and face from the heat and brightness. After the initial shock passed, she refocused on her companions and found them too far away. She raced to the other side of some boxes, intercepting their path, or so she thought. She only found Mikaela running, and turned around.

"Keep going! Find us a weapon!" Midge called after her, hoping she heard as she ran in the other direction.

"Help!" came the high-pitched screech of her precious dweeb brother, crying at the top of his lungs. "It's gonna kill me!"

His pants were around his ankles when she found them, the teen rolling around in the gravel with the chrome machine that was too small to reach him normally. She got close, stepping hard on the thing's back, taking it by surprise and pinning it to the floor. Sam stood up finally, losing his trousers all the way but escaping with his life. "Go help Mikaela! We need something that can kill it!"

He ran off, unsettling the rocks under his feet with every step. She hoped they found something useful over there. There was no time to day dream, though, and she squared her vision onto her captive. It was thin, made of a spindly metal skeleton, and a noggin like a bladed head massager. "Hee hee!" it cried, followed by more gibberish, and twisted its body 180 degrees, clawing at her calf. She pulled away from the pain and it rose, stalking in a slow perimeter around her. It seemed to understand that dangerous things could come in very small packages, like the two of them.

It feinted right and she over-committed, losing her balance when he went with the left. it sliced a hole in her the triangle of her top and she hissed, covering the spot before red started weeping from it. She was ready for its next attack, not falling for the feint, blocking its advance with her forearms. It still smarted, but not as bad. The bot distanced itself, letting the gap between them grow to 25 feet before it took a running start in her direction. She tried to stop it, but the machine avoided her hands, getting in a cut down the middle of her chest, a bloody line appearing down the center of her rib cage, stretching from collarbone to midsection. It wasn't very deep, but it started bleeding profusely. She stumbled, her foot going down the wrong way on the slope and sending her tumbling through the short fence. She rolled down the hill, wrapped up in a wrestling match with the combatant.

They landed roughly and stood as quick as they could. It drew back, winding up for a big finish and jumping on her. She was just able to stop it, her arms caging her in and keeping it away from her vitals, but her grip was slipping. Her back was up against the chain link fence. She could feel it leaving marks on her skin as the minion robot repeated over and over, "Witwicky! Witwicky!"

When she thought she couldn't hold it back any longer a battle angel with a hacksaw rescued her. Mikaela's weapon of choice was efficient and deadly, taking the arms off the creature easily. It wailed, oil and grease spouting from the cut lines. The teen girl advanced, clipping its head from its shoulders this time.

"Kill it! Kill it! Get it! Get it! Get it!" Sam encouraged, his hands turning to fists as he watched over the young girl's shoulder. Midge took a deep, relieved breath. It was finally over. Or at least, they had defeated the thing but it wasn't dead. Sam rushed forward, punting the cranium across the lot. "Not so tough without a head, are ya?" They breathed a collective sigh of relief and Mikaela took off her outerwear.

The dark-haired girl looked the both of them over, holding out the denim jacket to Midge. "So, what, it's like a family tradition to lose your clothes during a fight?"

"Something like that. Thanks." She smiled at the girl, snapping the bottom button to keep herself a little bit decent. "You two stay here. Don't do anything stupid."

"Where are you going? Midge!" Her brother wailed her name, voice cracking.

"I have to make sure he's okay!"

The teens were on her heels, running after her as she scaled the steep incline up to the higher level. They followed after her, stopping only when they saw the thing she approached: a giant yellow robot who went by Bumblebee.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee looked down at the minuscule woman, his blue optics whirring and refocusing downward. He had to be careful not to squish her. "Bee!" She yelled, feet pushing her ever closer. She slowed as she approached, a hand resting against his leg lightly. "Are you alright? Is the other one gone?"

"All systems go." He aimed a thumbs up at her, one optic closing in a wink. Scanning up and down his frame, Midge found barely a scratch on him. She was glad, as the robot had put his own life on the line for them. They probably looked like ants to the machine, just a couple of specks of dirt compared to a creature so large.

She breathed out heavily, a tension leaving her with the knowledge that he was totally uninjured. Growing up with Sam, it was a constant fight to treat his scrapes and bruises when he got hurt playing together. He always pretended that it didn't hurt when it did and she hadn't known why at the time. One of his classmates was bullying him about crying when he got hurt and being too weak to be a "real man." Sam shared it with her long after she stopped taking care of his boo boos.

"You really do look like a bumblebee with those wings," she joked, though there was some truth to it. The humongous machine looked sadly at her, his metal pointer finger coming as close to touching as was possible. He hovered near her sternum, gesturing at her center curiously.

He was so expressive for a being that had a face plate instead of a face. The pieces of metal around his optics were in unending motion to express his multitude of emotions. It was not so dissimilar to human facial expressions.

"What, this? It's not deep, I'll be okay." She beamed at the 'bot, feeling like the difference between their species was never smaller than when he looked at her like a kicked puppy. He brushed the tip of her chin, the metal edge softened so as not to scratch. It was only the barest touch, so careful, so delicate that it may as well have been a breeze blowing past.

Shoes scraped on concrete, pebbles rolling down the bank. "Hold on, wait. Midge, wait," her brother begged, jogging up nearly to her smaller form, his hand reaching out to her as he stopped several feet away. "What are you- You've been talking to this thing?"

"Of course I talk to him. He's... He's nice." The dopey smile on her face makes her feel like a love-struck teenager, not that she was ready to label what she felt with anything close to that. She had never felt the kind of tingle she did when she looked straight up at the transformed 'bot. Even though he had no mouth and she didn't know for sure, she felt that he was smiling back.

She had been drawn to the slick yellow Camaro instantly, but she hadn't thought of it as anything more than her typical interest in classic cars, and certainly not a crush... until now. She never thought much of her unlucky romantic life either. Since the time she started dating at 18, she felt out of place. Human men attracted her, yes, but she had never been boy crazy like her friends. Now, she thought she understood what they felt, but what that meant for her was uncertain. She tried not to think about it too hard.

Her cheeks felt warm, so she tried to shake off the thoughts and instead caught Sam's concerned eyes with a harrumph. "Okay, sorry. Just surprised, is all." Sam raised his open palms like a surrender, not wanting to aggravate her. His eyes seemed to bug out of the sockets when he glanced back up at the enormous robot. "So you.. Is that how you know my sister? You talk through the radio?"

In response, the iron giant clapped his enlarged servos and pointed to the dark-haired boy. "Thank you, you're beautiful. You're wonderful, you're wonderful."

The boy edged closer, his fingers just reaching hers, seeking a mite of comfort from his sibling. She gave his hand a squeeze. "So, what was that last night? What was that?"

The 'bot pointed straight up, to the vast atmosphere above their heads. "Message from Starfleet, Captain..."

"Throughout the inanimate vastness of space..."

"Angels will rain down like visitors from heaven! Hallelujah!"

The humans all listened thoughtfully as he spoke, having never imagined such farfetched things could be true. Midge couldn't hear what Mikaela said in response, not until she raised her volume to speak to the robotic figure. "What are you, like, an alien or something?"

He pointed at her like she had the right idea, crouching down to transform back into an unsuspecting, faded canary Chevrolet. His driver's side door opened up for the redheaded woman. She was in awe after seeing the change up close, gears shifting and metal turning until his human-like shape was nothing but a memory.

"Any more questions you wanna ask?"

Midge had so many more. She wouldn't even know where to begin with all of the possibilities bouncing around in her cranium. Where did the chairs go when he transformed into bot mode? Where did his face go when he transformed into a car? Did he need to eat? Sleep? Use the bathroom?

Above all, why was he so hot? But she couldn't ask that. She could say literally anything other than that.

Bumblebee halted by a puddle of dark colors on the white gravel. Mikaela hopped out, snatching them off the ground and rushing back to the car with the offering of Sam's pants. Sadly, there wasn't a spare shirt lying around for Midge so she kept possession of the teenager's tight denim jacket. Only the bottom button was keeping it closed around her ribs, and she was praying to God that she wouldn't bust it. She had enough on her plate.

"This car's a pretty good driver," Mikaela said in a hush. The inside of the Camaro was dark and cozy, the only music being that of the tires on the road. Margaret does a double take, looking back at the girl to see her planted in Sam's lap.

Midge nodded her assent to Sam's mumbled "I know."

She pulled down the sleeves of her borrowed jacket, holding them in her lap. "Yeah, it's nice to relax and let him do the driving." Bumblebee purred. He was already planning to drive her around whenever she wanted, so if she likes being driven around, that's a bonus. Two birds, one stone, or whatever the human idiom was.

"Why do you think it's a he?" Sam's eyes scan her face, scrutinizing her slightly sweaty features, dust clinging to her skin. That was how it looked to the yellow Autobot, anyway, when Sam turned his stare on Midge and whispered an inquiry to her. "You're not having sex with my car, are you?"

It loaded the 'bot's processor with all sorts of pictures. In his fantasies she'd be able to take his spike no problem, but it was hard to imagine what they'd get up to together besides kissing and touching. At their sizes, it would be near-impossible to interface the typical way.

He ran his glossa along her lips, plunging it into her mouth and savoring her taste in his mind's eye. Her velvety dermis skimmed along the surface of his chassis and he nearly let out a moan. He was snapped out of the fantasy by none other than it's star.

"What?" She raised her eyebrows, baffled and incensed by her brother's vulgarity and bluntness. "I can't believe you would say that. You are so closed-minded, just like Dad." She didn't know whether to laugh or sob.

The other girl gives him a dubious look and he does his best to defuse the situation before they both turn on him. "No. No, I'm not. I'm just worried about you, okay?"

"Right." She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. "The same way you worried about me with Douglas?" Midge's blue orbs were storms of displeasure in discordant, midnight seas. The venom in her voice was poignant and her words were harsh.

The name left a sour flavor on Bumblebee's taste receptors. Who was Douglas? Why did the redhead's uneasy blues sparkle with unshed lubricants when she said his name? The Autobot hated seeing her in pain like this.

"You're still mad about that?" came the fragile inquiry from Sam. He licked his lips, looking at the road for an escape, but finding none. "I didn't know Dad was gonna scrap your Hellcat. I apologized a long-."

"Yeah, well I never got him back. Apologizing doesn't make everything magically okay." Her spindly biceps were tensed, her arms crossed to barricade her wounded heart.  "I can do whatever I want and spend time with whoever I want. It isn't up to you now and it wasn't up to you then."

Sam blew out an exasperated breath, pupils darting around guiltily, scouring his brain for the right thing to say. He didn't find it, and nothing else was said for several moments. The tension was almost tangible, and it wore on Bumblebee's young passengers.

When enough time had passed, the only other female in the car did her best to soothe the tempers of her fellow occupants, firstly by bringing up an unrelated topic.

"You know what I don't understand?" At Sam's grunt of assent, Mikaela continued quietly, briefly wetting her lips. She turns her head over her shoulder, her face nearly brushing against his. "Why, if he's supposed to be, like, this super advanced robot, does he transform back into this piece-of-crap Camaro?"

Abruptly, Bumblebee slammed on his breaks, coming to a screeching halt across two lanes of traffic.

"Oh, see? No. Get... No, that doesn't work. See?" He let the Earthlings out, driving down the well-lit tunnel post-haste. Sam was the only one who audibly lamented the circumstance. Mikaela, Midge, and the boy all congregate on the sidewalk while someone screams at them.  "Great, now... See? Fantastic. Now you pissed him off."

So they wanted a high-end vehicle? He could make that happen, and not just to see the look it would put on the redhead's face.

"I don't know, Sam," she huffed, tired of her brother's constant bitching. "He didn't seem mad." Margaret stared after the lemony automobile, pulling at the hem of her shorts and hoping her whole ass wasn't on display. She felt like a whore standing on the side of the road in such a state of undress. She didn't even have any shoes on.

He came back looking so different she hardly recognized him. She was sure it was Bee only after he stopped in front of them, doors flying open to an empty cab.

"I know I said you had a sexy car before, but damn." At her words, Bumblebee revved his engine haughtily. The yellow Camaro was from the model year 2007, but still the same 'bot. The disco ball and bee image still hung from the rear view, and it felt similarly warm and tingly when Midge slid into the newer, more luxury vehicle. She turned to her brother, sliding in with the other girl. "What will Dad say?"

He shrugged, buckling up the two of them once more. "Maybe he won't notice."

"Right, like you could pass this off as the car he got for $4,000. He'd gonna know."

"But he wouldn't if you let me keep it in the garage," he suggested. The plea in his voice was obvious and hard to say no to. "I'll let you drive him."

"It's my studio, actually," she corrected, narrow gaze piercing Sam's hopeful stare. She loses her grit in a flash, her shoulders dropping and her scowl loosening. "But I... I guess I could make some room."

Chapter Text

He knew exactly when and where the others would make landfall. The humans watched from below. Bumblebee assured them it was all going according to plan. He didn't say it in as many words, but Midge was starting to get a feel for what he was saying before he even said it.

Flaming balls of metal shot over their heads, and the best they could do was stare agape. He wasn't exaggerating when he said they'd rain down from heaven.

Midge leaned over from the driver's seat and he felt heat of her body against his dashboard. Sam flinched and Mikaela's fingers clasped around his.

Twenty minutes later, they were meeting up with those flaming orbs. Bumblebee had driven them back into the city where they now stood. Above the trio hovered the form of a robotic man twice as big as him, and it was his leader, Optimus Prime. Midge fell on her buttocks, shocked into a stupor by the sheer enormity of the machine she bore witness to. He rolled his neck from side to side as though he'd been in the same position for a long time.

Bumblebee and his brothers in arms followed Optimus' example, reforming into standing 'bots. Ratchet's unsightly shade of fluorescent yellow clashed with his flashing red lights, but other than that he thought everyone had a pretty nice vehicle form. Bumblebee was elated to be with his brothers in arms again. They had spilled oil, energon, and lubricant together. He couldn't feel safer having them nearby.

"Are you Samuel James Witwicky, descendant of Archibald Witwicky?" The great, hulking red and blue form of his boss 'bot was hunched so close to them that they could probably smell his fuel lines.

Bumblebee moved forward, an unfinished metal servo coming up behind the redheaded woman to lift her back onto her feet. "Thanks," she mumbled, but the Camaro shook his head and ignored the way his fuel tank flipped.

"Yeah," Sam said dumbly. His mouth was stationary, not even his tongue moving to form the words. He gestured to her, deadpan expression on his face. He gulped. "Margaret, she also... she's my sister." He jerked his thumb back to point at her. His mouth continued to flop open, but he said nothing.

They were surrounded by the alien mechs, five of them including Bumblebee himself, so he could understand why they were a little in shock.

"Uh, hi. You can call me Midge." She hesitantly greeted the 'bot, eyes wide and voice warbling lightly. Bumblebee was really hoping his boss and his favorite human would get along. "You're huge."

"My name is Optimus Prime," he said evenly. He kept his hands loose and in front of his body to show his intent was not to harm them. "We are autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron."

Ratchet supplies helpfully, "But you can call us Autobots for short." His gaudy neon paint now had a jagged red stripe and a few new adornments.

Sam parrots him quietly, trying the word on his glossa — tongue, Bumblebee corrected in his thoughts — as he gazed at them all. "Autobots."

"Wow," Margaret breathed, spinning around to take in the whole crew. The yellow bot puffed out his chest just enough for it to be noticeable as her eyes scanned over him.

"What's cracking, little bitches?" The silver, smoothly contoured 'bot said from behind them, swaggering toward the three little beings in the center.

"My first lieutenant. Designation Jazz." Bee found Optimus' poker face impressive when his introduction was accompanied by a back flip from Jazz.

"This looks like a cool place to kick it." The silver Pontiac hopped backwards onto the front of an old pickup, crossing his legs.

Sam stared at him, unsure what to make of Jazz. "What is that? How did he learn to talk like that?"

Midge couldn't keep the laughter down, letting out a tremulous giggle at the humorous display. "I like him. He's funny."

Unfurling to his full, standing height, the leader of the Autobots explained. "We've learned Earth's languages through the World Wide Web." He then turned to the second-biggest machine in their group. "My weapons specialist, Ironhide."

"You feeling lucky, punk?" The chromed-out giant of a 'bot spun out his big guns, the barrels whining as he took aim at the humans. Bumblebee knew he wasn't going to hurt them, but they didn't know that yet. He silently waved at the bigger 'bot to lower the guns and Optimus took the words right out of his inoperable vocal processor.

"Easy, Ironhide."

With a gentle whir, he pulled back his shoulders and let the ominous gruffness leave his voice, and what remained was his raspy British accent. "Just kidding. I just wanted to show him my cannons."

"Maybe just show them to us next time? Instead of pointing them at us, I mean. They're really cool." The way she said it with that beaming smile, he knew she was being sincere. Even Ironhide seemed to melt at her kind demeanor. It warmed his spark to see her among his most trusted companions, being friendly with them.

Sam puffed out a breath, relieved, and looked back to Optimus, who motioned to the fluorescent medic on his left. "Our medical officer, Ratchet."

Ratchet's nose bounced up and down and he smelled the alley. "The boy's pheromones suggest he wants to mate with one of the females." He stopped there, but he sent Bumblebee a dubious look while he continued to sniff the air and kept his stare otherwise locked on the auburn-haired woman. The yellow scout pretended not to notice.

Optimus continued the introductions, gesturing back to the Camaro. "You already know your guardian, Bumblebee."

He chose that moment to mime a boxing match, showing off a little bit for his human friends as he played a hip-hop beat on the radio. "Check on the rep, yep. Second to none."

"Bumblebee, right?" The younger Witwicky repeated, looking up to the yellow 'bot. "So you're my guardian?"

He nodded happily at the boy, then doing the same toward his sister. Hopefully he'd be understood, but it was only a hope. It was difficult to communicate with them, like this. Difficult to communicate with all humans except for one that just seemed to get him.

"Not just yours, doofus," the oldest translated easily. Midge pushed her brother lightly, a playful smirk gracing her lips. It turned gentle when she turned it on Bumblebee. Too quickly, she looked down, hiding her eyes from him along with her beautiful smile. He wished he could see it again.

"His vocal processors were damaged in battle. I'm still working on them." A sudden cough was torn from his lungs. Ratchet's medical scanner was pointed straight at his throat, the ticklish feeling causing him some minor irritation.

"Hey!" she shouted, her short legs stomping their way to Bumblebee, putting her body in front of his stabilizing servo, almost as if she was shielding him with her small form. Bumblebee did not laugh, which deserved a pat on the back.

The joy was sapped out of him when Mikaela brought up a more serious topic. "Why are you here?"

"We are here looking for the All Spark." Optimus leaned in, his energon blue optics narrowing. "And we must find it before Megatron."

"Mega-what?" The question from her brother made Midge roll her eyes, crossing her arms over the half-unbuttoned jacket. It was the only piece of clothing not stained with her blood, he believed it was called.

"Megatron, you moron. Try listening for a change."

The Autobots' leader pressed a servo to his temple, engaging a holographic interface that displayed a vision of their homeworld. He encased the trio of humans in a memory of his, the spires Megatron put in place rising from the stony soil. "Our planet was once a powerful empire, peaceful and just, until we were betrayed by Megatron, leader of the Decepticons. All who defied them were destroyed. Our war finally consumed the planet, and the All Spark was lost to the stars. Megatron followed it to Earth, where Captain Witwicky found him."

Sam looked to his sibling, a finger pointing between them. "Our grandfather."

"It was an accident that intertwined our fates. Megatron crash-landed before he could retrieve the Cube. He accidentally activated his navigation system. The coordinates to the Cube's location on Earth were imprinted on his glasses."

"Wait, wait, wait." "Hold on. Just how do you know about his glasses.

"Ebay." Optimus blinked his optics, deadpan. He could see the next bout of annoyance rising on Midge's features. Eyebrows raised in indignation, she opened her mouth and questioned him in a deceptively calm manner.

"You put our family's priceless heirlooms up for sale... on Ebay?"

"Now listen, Margaret-"

"No, you listen!" She said, her pointer finger settling in the middle of his rib cage and pushing him back. "I am so disappointed in you right now. If dad knew about this... You're lucky we have bigger fish to fry."

"Your quarrel can wait." Ratchet's grumbling voice put an end to her tirade. "If the Decepticons find the All Spark, they will use its power to transform Earth's machines and build a new army."

"And the human race will be extinguished," Optimus finished as he stood, his gigantic figure casting them in shadow. "Sam Witwicky, you hold the key to Earth's survival."

Two mechs each line up on either side of their leader. Hydraulics hiss while they bend into place and metal clunks against concrete with every step. Surprisingly, the Earthlings seemed at ease around the titans after less than 24 hours of exposure.

"We'll talk later, Sam. This can't wait." Midge smiled, but she looked angry still to Bumblebee. Her arm pulled back to pat his back and he winced when she made contact. "You better not have sold them yet."

Chapter Text

Watching her brother run through the grass, she shook her head affectionately. Sam was an idiot, but she loved him. It was just past 11, which is when Sam's curfew was. He was going to get chewed out for it by their dad, not to mention the way he avoided the new stone path like it was the plague, but Ron wouldn't actually end up punishing him. That was just the way it was with Ronald Witwicky and his kids. He was a big softie.

Except when it came to their safety.

When Sam had tried to climb out the second story window because he made a "parachute" and tried to jump off the roof onto the trampoline, he'd been grounded for a week. They were so young she couldn't remember what it was, but their father had thrown away his favorite toy.

When Midge had told her parents she made a friend online. She hadn't known why it was so wrong, but they found out he was an older gentleman and they took away her computer privileges for years. Her internet access was monitored until she was 16. They had been extremely protective of her after that, and she wasn't even allowed to date until she went to college.

That's why he couldn't know, neither of their parents could. They would do anything to protect their kids, but that wouldn't help the Autobots or the Earth. If this was as important as they said, there wasn't enough time to convince their parents and save the world. They'd just have to wait.

"Mikaela, please, watch them so I can put some clothes on." Midge rubbed circles into her temples, fighting the stress headache that she felt coming on. "I'll be out in a jiffy. I just need a few minutes to clean up a little."

The teen nodded, shifting her weight to her other foot. "Yeah, sure."

"Thank you," the older woman huffed, turning on her heel to approach the garage door. She pulled it up, knowing it wasn't locked. She let it fall down behind her, running a hand through her thick, auburn locks. In the right light, they could look bright ginger. Her mother's was darker, but the tones in their hair were the same. Without a hairbrush to detangle the long filaments, she elected to tie it back up into a messy bun, leaving a few hanks loose to frame her face.

There, on her favorite stool, was a bundle of fabric that happened to be exactly what she was looking for. She whipped it out flat and checked it's viability. No holes, no rips, just stains. It was cropped just below the belly button and almost every inch of it had a different paint color. At least it was clothing.

Setting her borrowed jacket aside, she let the torn bikini top fall into a wastebasket by the door. A deep-basin sink in the corner served as a bath for the grimy girl who used a discolored rag to wipe the blood from her chest. She almost couldn't believe she was running around all night in this outfit. Anyone with eyes could see her ass cheeks hanging out of her shorts and their ragged fabric didn't obscure much else either.

Sweat, dirt, and blood streamed from the rag as she wrung it out. Down the drain it went, and she laid it aside to clothe herself. In the nick of time, she slid the paint-covered top over her head, the garage door making a shuddering noise as it was rolled back up.

She turned around to find the small yellow 'bot crouched in front of the garage, waving her toward him with his metal hand. "Can't I have a few moments to-" She halted her complaint as soon as she saw what was behind him, or rather what wasn't. "Fuck!"

She emptied her lungs through her nostrils, doing her best to slow down her heartbeat. The immediate flare of anger made her blood pump faster. She looked back at the bot when an impossibly large finger tapped her on the back.

Bumblebee pointed far above her head toward the house, so she turned to look. Tiptoeing over her fence, the humongous robot was about as stealthy as a raging bull. Her dad was going to freak.

"Bee, come with me." At his curious gaze, she continued, her fingers spread wide and her hands shaking in the air. "There's no time to explain but we have to get Optimus to cool off. If my parents see any of you, they'll go nuts. Like, totally bonkers!" She needed his help with corralling the Autobots because there was no way she could stop them with her noodle arms and toothpick legs.

His nod set her just a bit at ease. She frantically whipped her head around, zeroing in on the first floor deck that leads around to the backyard. "Through here. Bumblebee, come on."

Following after the redhead, Bumblebee barely bumped the hanging lights when he crawled below them. He did hit them, as his wings stuck a bit further out than the rest of him, but the lights were unharmed. The little human had a much easier time dodging tables, chairs, and dangling lights than he did.

Their heads popped out on the other side right next to Sam. He stood by the door speaking with his father about something they called "chores." It went over his head, but sounded very important to the fleshy creatures.

"I'm gonna do the trash cans and I'm gonna scrape the grill and I'm gonna..." He looked over his shoulder, a creaking sound catching all of their attention at once. Optimus crept over another building by the fence, brushing a low-hanging branch and rustling its leaves. "I'm gonna sweep up the whole house right now."

"Tonight, right now?"

Keeping abreast of the woman, he tried signaling to his leader to stop what he was doing, but the 'bot must not have seen him. Even waving his servos wildly, the red and blue mech paid him no mind and stalked across the green grass.

Stuttering horribly, Sam looked back to Optimus, then turned to his right. "Right now. The, uh... um." Brown eyes met blue optics and Bumblebee put his finger over his mouth, spinning some unattached gears to make a small shushing sound. Midge was like a deer in headlights, frozen up and staring back. The boy stared at them momentarily, then flipped his head back around. "I love you. God, I love you, just so much right now."

Margaret covered her mouth and nose with her hand, keeping her breathing from being too loud. "You know, Mom wanted me to ground you. You're three minutes late," he heard Ron mutter.

Listening to them speak, Bumblebee almost missed the flash of red under him rushing toward Optimus. He grabbed for it, but missed. Margaret, he realized, was the thing running between his arms and she ran at Optimus. He waited long enough for Sam to push away from the door, signaling his father's absence, before extracting himself from the patio and hurrying after her.

"Hey, big guy, I need you to stay on the street. Please don't-" She cut herself off with a flinch, her eyes closing at the same time as he made impact with the manicured lawn. It would surely need a makeover after tonight.

"Midge! I told you to watch them!" Sam shouted at the smaller Witwicky, sprinting frantically to where Optimus now stood. With how small they were, Bumblebee thought they would be unable to move so quickly, but they run circles around the bigger 'bot as he paces the lawn. "What are you doing? What are you doing? No, watch the path! Watch the path! Watch the... Please, please, please."

Each word grew more desperate, his voice rising by octaves at each step. The siblings danced around his boss 'bot's stabilizing servos, doing their best to keep ahead of his steel toes.

It always boggled him what the Earthlings put value in, like the seemingly-random cement statue of multiple bowls stacked atop each other in the center of the yard. It may have been some kind of religious shrine, though, so Bumblebee held his glossa. Whatever it was, it was obviously very important to the Witwickys and Optimus had just crushed it underneath his heel strut.

Come to think of it, the cement path was also indispensable to them. Maybe it was the material they treasured?

"Oops. Sorry. My bad." In his leader's defense, he did seem honestly regretful. The three humans couldn't possibly understand the Decepticon threat like they did, so they couldn't understand why Optimus was so determined. All of the Autobots here with them had seen the end of Cybertron.

They were veterans, and they had a very important mission. More important than anything to Optimus, for he prized freedom and life. Above all else, he would fight for the freedom of all living beings, even these small creatures that call themselves humans. If there are other species on other planets, they too would be at risk.

No planet would be safe from Megatron if he got his servos on the Cube.

Sam, eyes locked onto the pile of cracked concrete in horror, put his hands on his hips, then crossed them over his chest. If he were Cybertronian, he'd be venting steam out of his chassis with how mad he looked. "Oh, I... You couldn't wait for five... You couldn't wait for five minutes? I told you to just stay! Just stay! God!"

Mikaela ran around the side of the outer fence, her mouth dropping into an 'o' when she saw the titans in his yard. Sam set upon her, having a conversation he couldn't hear. The one he wanted to find, however, was the third and oldest human. He swept his optics over the yard again, thinking he may have missed her.

There. She crept up on a little tan animal, possibly the thing called a "mouse" if he had to guess. The only issue arose from that mouse being just next to Ironhide's stabilizing servo. It lifted its leg, letting out a squirt of lubricant on the 'bot's toe.

A gasp came from Ironhide before he wiggled his metal toes, flinging the mammal a few feet away. It landed safely in the grass, but the silver robot only just missed flicking Midge as well. "Oh, wet." He shook his foot back and forth, trying to get the liquid off.

"Whoa!" she exclaimed, ducking under the armored boot that easily could have taken her head off.

"No, no, no, no, no! Easy, easy! Hold on! Hold on!" Sam cried, approaching the bot with raised hands, and snatched the furry creature off the ground. Midge was trying to find a safe way around the gunmetal mech's legs. "This is Mojo. This is Mojo. He's a pet of mine. He's a pet. Okay? That's all. If you could just put the guns away."

"You have a rodent infestation. Shall I terminate?" The two heavy barrels on Ironhide's wrists whined, powering up and aimed at Sam. That sparked a fire in Midge's eyes, making her rush in front of him and push Sam back, standing in his place.

"I don't care what my dog did, don't you dare point your cannons at my little brother again." Her stony expression was almost uncanny the way it reminded Bumblebee of Optimus'. She was pissed off and showing it, challenging the big blueish metal 'bot by staring him down.

Her stare was hard and demanding. These robots seemed nice, but that doesn't mean she'd let them walk all over her and her family. If Ironhide thought he could blast all his problems away, he'd thought wrong.

"You are sorely mistaken if you think your oversized peashooter intimidates me." Midge folded her arms, widening her stance and raising her chin. She was trying to look powerful, intimidating.

That all went out the window when Bumblebee plucked her from the ground. He'd likely never be afraid of her now, looking like a rag doll in Bumblebee's palm. His radio buzzed while he found the right words.

"They are fragile... No guns."

The giant lug of a 'bot acquiesced finally, the weapons receding to whence they came.

"Thanks, Bee," she conceded, his round optics peering down at her curiously. He had only been trying to help, she reminded herself, and he did prevent her from being shot.

There's only enough space for her to sit, the tips of her bent knees hovering over the edge of Bumblebee's yellow and chrome servo. Even as the smallest bot in the bunch, he seemed to have the biggest heart. Bumblebee was nicer than most people were to her, and he's not even a human. People she's known her whole life probably wouldn't piss on her if she was on fire.

Sam, seeing her safe, finally allowed himself to go inside and find the thing they were there for.  He clutched Mojo worriedly under his arm, rushing to the back door. "Shut up and go hide! Watch them this time!"

"Just hurry," Optimus said, his stabilizing servos hissing as the hydraulics absorbed the impact. He inched closer to her house, peeping through the second story windows. "Autobots, recon."

Her red waves bend to the rush of air in her face and her loose bun lost its hair tie to the wind. The yellow 'bot did well keeping his hand level, but the force of the movement shook her. She wrapped one of her arms around his fingers to keep her balance. It also made her feel better to hang onto him as he knelt on the partially-enclosed deck once again.

He followed Optimus' lead by looking through windows, searching for anything that could help them.

"Those are my parents," she said, noticing his curious gaze pointing at them. Her mother had her legs crossed, leaning forward with her eyes glued to the T.V. Her dad rounded the coffee table with a glass of Zinfandel in his hand, chatting with his wife about something she couldn't make out. "They're good, but sometimes they make mistakes. They care a lot about me and my brother, that's why you guys can't let them see you. They'd flip out and try to stop us if they knew we were doing something this dangerous."

She looked back to her companion and awaited an answer. It came in the form of a nod, one that jostled a few hanging light fixtures in the process. He shuffled back from the house, straightening himself and turning to is left.

"Where's Mikaela?" Midge wondered, not seeing the girl anywhere on the lawn. The Autobot leader's dubious glance toward Sam's open windows was all the answer she needed. Bumblebee continued holding her out like he was showing off to Optimus. She wanted to tear her hair out, but refrained, letting out a short growl instead. "You guys have to chill out. You're doing too much and you are going to get caught!"

The 'bot said nothing, then sighed. "Autobots, transform."

"What?" She didn't have time to complain, as Bumblebee and the others followed their orders immediately. She can't fault them, exactly. Optimus was the boss and they were soldiers. They trusted him. She was, however, a little upset at being tossed into the air, landing in a car seat in the midst of moving and changing auto parts. He reformed around her, and by the time they touched the lawn, he was a Camaro again. She wasn't injured at all, but rather shocked, going by the scream she let loose.

Chapter Text

Hearing his sister hollering at the top of her lungs sent a surge of fear down his spine, so Sam ran to his room's window and his eyes found her immediately. She was stepping out of the yellow Camaro, surrounded by cars. She was just as upset as he was, and he could tell by the way she kicked at the rubble of the fountain.

"This isn't hiding. This isn't hiding," he repeated under his breath, hands cradling his head. "This is our backyard, not a truck stop."

"I know! I'm trying!" She yelled back, hands braced on her hips. On hand resting on Optimus' door, because there was no possibility she'd be able to reach the hood, she leveled with him. "Listen, this is our backyard. There are normally no cars here, so you guys are sticking out like a sore thumb right now."

At least she didn't have Sam on her back for now. She just had to find a way to corral these five humongous children. Still, they seem to wait for their orders from the big boss. Midge didn't care, demanding they transform because they were majorly suspicious like this. "That means change back. Now!"

Thankfully, they heeded Midge's orders. The five vehicles opened up, straightening into the form of gigantic men. She was lucky to be the first human woman to lay eyes on them, as each one was a specimen of such magnificence that she couldn't help her greedy eyes drinking in Bumblebee's form, even in such a high-stress situation. She shook herself out of the stupor, reminding herself what was at stake.

She rounded on the yellow 'bot, though this time not to ogle him. Stalking ahead, she grabbed one of the girthy cables in his boot. "Listen, Bumblebee." He winced, his gaze shooting down at her in confusion. Midge loosened her grip apologetically. "You're the only one I can count on, Bee. I need your help rounding up your buddies. The longer you guys are in the yard, the more risk there is of you being seen and that would be disastrous for all of us. Please, help me out."

The crack of a whip and the jingle of spurs began his reply. "Whatever you need, partner!"

"Get me back up there so I can talk to him." Midge told him, hurrying onto his servo when he lowered it. She noticed Sam's widened eyes on them once the 'bot lifted her up.

"Midge, you were supposed to watch them, not flirt with them!" He yelled, halfway leaning out the window with his open palm aiming at their mom's flowerbed, mangled and trashed Optimus' metal foot. "Now look!"

Her face felt instantly hot and she told herself it was from anger and not embarrassment. "Oh yeah? Why don't you come down here and try to wrangle a bunch of robots 300 times your size?" she seethed, hoping to hide how shy his words made her with a blanket of vexation. This almost never went well for her, starting arguments she didn't want and always ending in hurt.

"Oh, sure. Yeah, it looks so difficult for you, having my car wrapped around your little finger." he replied, voice dripping with a sarcastic drawl. "I got news for you. He's not Douglas' replacement."

His words struck her like a physical blow, the air leaving her lungs in a rush. Swallowing thickly, she ran her hand over her face, camouflaging her attempt to wipe away the hot blades of tears streaking down her face in the cool night. "Wow." She almost laughed.

His glare softened. He sighed, shoulders cowing as it set in that he had messed up. "I'm sorry, Midge. I-"

"We must have the glasses," Optimus interrupted, but only out of necessity. Sam sighed again. They'd have to put a pin in this for now.

Closing his eyes, Sam breathed through his nose. "I know you need the glasses. I've been looking everywhere. They're not here. They're definitely not here."

Looking like an overworked teacher, the blue and red Autobot ran a hand down his faceplate. "Keep searching."

"Did you ask mom?" his sister suggested, already knowing what he'd say.

"No, I didn't. Thank you." He looked back to Optimus, the sheer size of him, even when on his knees, forcing Sam to tilt his head back. "Look, I need you to be quiet for five minutes. Ten minutes. Okay? Please, I'm begging you. You've got to- You're making a racket. I can't- I can't concentrate. You want me to look and I'm hearing-"

Optimus nodded his head and waved his extra large servo placatingly at the boy. "Calm down, calm down."

Both hands steadying herself in Bumblebee's palm, she begged the bigger 'bot gently, "Please, Optimus. Work with us here." He stood at least twice the size of the yellow Autobot and towered over them with ease.

It was a long moment before he gave in, nodding his head and taking stock of his soldiers. "Autobots, fall back," he ordered, rising from his kneeling position and walking away from the Witwicky house. His second obeyed, taking the little redhead with him as he crept around the side of the yard, going for the street out back.

He was still on the grass when something halted his pace. Sirens and alarms flared up, alerting them to the nearby distress. In no time at all, Bumblebee's other servo had cupped over her head, forcing her to duck. It was dark underneath the improvised metal canopy. She couldn't see even an inch in front of her.

Ratchet had clotheslined himself on the power lines running down the street. He twirled into the earth below, flattening Judy's outdoor greenhouse in an explosion of sparks. She spotted the lights in the house flickering and realized they were screwed. There was no story she could come up with to cover this mess.

"Holy crap!" Midge shouted at the noise, spotting their ally on the ground after she was uncovered. "Ratchet, are you okay?" She yelled to the 'bot.

"Wow! That was tingly!" Ratchet moaned and let his head fall back down. He looked every bit like Midge's uncle, Tony, when he reclined into his La-Z-boy massage chair with a cold beer. "You gotta try that."

"Yeah, that looks fun." Ironhide said sarcastically, but Midge wasn't convinced that he would leave it be until he stomped away from the power lines.

"He's fine," Bumblebee reassured her. She wasn't in any place to contradict him, but she couldn't help worrying. Although they looked strikingly robust and near-impenetrable, she was sure that was simply not the case. They acted so damn normal that one could almost forget they were aliens.

She pushed down the questions about their sexual similarities that rise in the back of her head, not in the state of mind to deal with those feelings right now. As much as she liked the 'bot, they had a pretty big fish to fry. She was content to feel the feelings she felt for him, which were warm and fuzzy. They didn't require a denomination yet.

Ratchet, Jazz, Ironhide, Optimus, and Bumblebee were fundamentally human beings to her. They cracked jokes, had fun, made mistakes, got mad, and all kinds of other behaviors that she could only think of as human.

And humans got hurt when they were shocked and it wasn't obvious from appearances alone, but she eventually gave in. He knew the Autobots better than her and it seemed to be a minor injury. "If you say so."

The lights in the windows flickered, then went out entirely. She thought it spoke to some larger problem than just a surge, maybe a cable issue, but she wasn't an electrician. It was above her pay grade and she was doing horribly enough with auto engineering as it was, she didn't need another subject to fail at.

She supposed she was really worried over nothing when the med 'bot stood up as per Optimus Prime's request. Eager to comply, the two of them marched right back into the yard she finally lured them out of. "Ratchet, point the light."

"All right, think," she muttered to herself. Then, she had a look of discovery and all she was missing was the light bulb over her head. "Put me on the roof." She pointed to the roof's edge closest to them, just over the 'bot's shoulder.

"Roger, roger." Bumblebee nodded firmly and carefully lifted her to where she wanted to be. She thought in passing that it was like having her own portable elevator, then reminded herself not to think of the 'bot as being defined by his uses.

"I'll deal with Ratchet, you get Optimus to take a chill pill."

He offered her a thumbs up, turning on his heel strut to tap Optimus on the shoulder.

Standing atop Sam's room, Midge only had to climb to the top of the gable and make her way down. Ratchet was on the other side with lights as bright as a helicopter and he was about to blow their cover. The sandpaper-y quality of the shingles made it easy to gain traction even with her converse's flattened down soles. "Ratchet!"

The fluorescent 'bot wrinkled his nose at her, as though he could smell something on her. "Human."

"It's Midge, actually. You gotta put that light out," the redhead begged. She wrung her hands together, hoping it'd be in time. If their dad found out about the 'bots, there would be hell to pay. "Please."

No words left him, but rather a raspy, affirmative grunt accompanied by the flick of his light bar turning off. She went to return to the others, but was halted by his gruff statement. "I don't know what you think you're doing with Bumblebee, but stringing that young 'bot along is just cruel."

It shocked her, this being the first conversation she had with Ratchet, that he held such beliefs. She didn't think she was that obvious, but Ratchet and Sam beg to differ. She tried her best to deescalate. "Who says I'm stringing him along? I really like Bumblebee."

"If you care about him, you'll forget about your little crush." The fluorescent medic's head was shaking side to side when she whipped around, her piercing blue orbs settling on him. "Our species are just not compatible. Bumblebee doesn't need his spark broken, on top of everything else we've been through."

She blew a strand of coppery hair out of her face, dumbfounded, before the emotions started to hit her. She wanted to cry, turning away from the old coot. Instead of telling him how wrong he was, or having an episode, she let it go in favor of her family and the Autobots' safety. He could think whatever he wanted about her and she'd just have to prove him wrong. It wasn't possible for him to know that about their species, anyway. No 'bot had ever tried being with a human before, of that she was certain.

She crested the roof gable when a clamor erupted. The house wobbled. She tried to compensate, but couldn't. Her balance wasn't good enough to keep her upright, and she toppled over, landing on her back.

"Fuck!" she cried, no longer seeing the Autobot's heads as she slid down the tilted roof. She felt every bump and ripple with each strike in her spine. The edge was imminent. She'd survive, but she may break a leg or two. Praying that one of them would notice her predicament, she did her best to grip the shingles and slow her roll, praying in whispers the whole way down. "Somebody please catch me!"

Her converse-toed feet didn't find purchase on the gutter and she slipped over the edge into the open air.

"Come to Papa!" With a soft 'whump' she landed in a set of robotic arms. Cradled by yellow plates, she never more secure.

"Thanks, Bee," she breathed, smiling appreciatively at the wink he sent her. A heave of a breath left her, finally feeling at ease in the 'bot's embrace.

Her parents were arguing and it was coming from Sam's open window. Optimus circled his servo in the air, commanding them all with his severe demeanor. "Quick, hide." The Autobots sprung into action, each of them looking for somewhere they won't be found.

While he got on his tip toes to avoid crushing the deck and pressed his back against the house, Ratchet and Ironhide slipped around the left side of Sam's room and hid in the shadows. Jazz hemmed and hawed until the last moment and he finally jumped into the deck space under Sam's room.

The yellow scout squatted down, bringing the two of them back to the patio. Once more under the dangling, spherical lights, he flattened the doors on his back as much as he could, the woman nestled solidly against his chassis. His servo encased her like a turtle's shell, her arms and legs curled up against his breastplate.

What struck her was his warmth. When she thought of metal, she thought of the cold, harsh and unflinching. Bumblebee was anything but.

Her father lamented over the destroyed yard, his voice falling from the window. When he finally ducked back inside, they could all breathe again, so to speak.

There's a far-off sound like a conversation being had on the other end of the backyard, but all she could think about were stunning blue optics in front of her, scanning intently over every inch of her. He held her low and in front of his face, many times larger than her own. Laying in his palm on her back, she felt like Mojo, a tiny little animal being examined by a being much larger than herself. Belatedly, she supposed that was what was happening. She had a newfound empathy for the chihuahua.

Her hand rose, thin fingers coming to caress his metal jawline. He was pleasantly hot to the touch, his optic shutters drooping like half-lidded eyes. He held her closer to his huge faceplate, allowing her to truly take in how handsome he was. Locked in the 'bot's gaze, she felt the rest of the world fade away, until Optimus ruined the moment with a word.

"Bumblebee."

Their stares moved to him and the human and bot disentangled themselves. In the process, Midge caught a glance of a black SUV with flashing red and blue lights out front. The shadows of multiple figures stalking the front yard passed by. All the signs pointed to law enforcement being all up in her family's business. Her time was limited.

She rounded on the Autobot leader.

"You guys need to get out of here. Like now. The cops are here. They might want nothing, but if they see you..." Midge's forlorn visage turned to Bumblebee, her eyebrows furrowed. He echoed her features. "They'll treat you like science experiments, dice you up and find out what makes you tick. You gotta go."

Optimus deliberated momentarily, eyeing the lights in the front yard. "Very well." Bumblebee shook his head, not wanting to leave her. He only softened his resolve when his commander gave him a direct order. "Bumblebee, fall back. You must leave dealing with other humans to them for the time being."

He finally bowed to the directive, but not before looking at her like a kicked puppy just to drive the piercing guilt into her chest. She hoped it wouldn't be the last time she saw them, eyes trailing as the giant mechanical silhouettes stepped back into the street and transformed into alt modes.

The crunch of her father's beloved and pampered grass alerted her to an intruder. He looked like a cop, shined-up shoes and a black suit trimmed to fit the gangly, balding man that stood before her. "You must be the sister, Margaret Wickity," he stated, sounding quite sure of himself, clasping his hands in front of him. "Your presence is requested inside."

"It's Witwicky," Midge corrected, widening her legs in case she needed to dodge, arms hanging by her sides and ready to form fists. "I must admit, you have me at a bit of a disadvantage. I don't know your name, piglet."

There wasn't the slightest effort put into answering her verbally, but he flashed a badge at her so briefly she wasn't sure what to make of it. Sector Seven? It looked official, but she'd never heard of it before. She wondered what sector of the government they were under.

The man stared at her, sunglasses shielding his eyes from view. Midge raised a brow at the white-clad man behind the suit. He seemed to be defiling her mother's rose bushes. Each one he placed in that yellow bag was just another thing her mom would blow her top over.

"Your presence is requested inside." Like a broken record, he repeated himself. This time, though, he was approached by another suit, handed some kind of observational device. It had a large cube with a handle and a wand connected by wires. He waved the rod in front of her, the other piece of the device beeping at an increasingly rapid pace as he does. She swiped at it, knocking the wand away from her. She didn't consent to whatever he just did. "17 rads. That's enough for me to take you in, no questions asked. Cuff her."

"Do not fucking touch me. I know my rights." As the second man approached her, she pointed in his direction. It didn't stop him from grasping her wrist and using it as leverage to turn her around, slapping a pair of manacles on her. "Ow! Fuck you!" she shouted when he twisted her arm. This was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Sam stumbled into the foyer, finding his mother accosted in the family room. Black-suited men were not only posted inside, but outside as well.

"Aching joints? Fever?" asked a curly-haired man, one of the few not wearing shades.

Judy shook her head, seemingly affronted. "No!"

"What is this?" Sam breathed, looking back and forth between his parents and the intruders, when another two of them appear in the open doorway. Midge has her hands behind her back, a cop guiding her with his hands on hers. The man that seemed to be the head of the operation, with his slightly hooked nose and cropped curls, switched personas in a matter of seconds.

"How ya doing son? Is your name Sam?" He tossed Judy's bat to another suit, angling his open palm at Midge. "That your sister?"

His shaded brown orbs shot over to her, noticing the bloody nose and grass stains that weren't there before. "Yeah."

"Well, I need you two to come with us." The government worker takes a step toward him, and immediately his father and mother get in front of him. Even Mojo scurried into the line up, lip raised. "Whoa, way out of line."

His sister took a step toward them, but was jolted back by the man at her side, his hands disappearing behind her. She turned away from him and Sam could finally see the cuffs on Midge's wrists. It rubbed on one of his last nerves.

The only person who was allowed to be a dick to her was Sam. He'd have his revenge. Maybe not now or even soon, but he would get it eventually.

"Sir, I am asking politely." The agent stayed his course, raising his eyebrows and strengthening his tone. "Back off."

Mojo started barking up a storm, his squeaking woofs providing a chaotic backing track to their attempted abduction by their own government. He hoped Mikaela was still into him after all this. She was the best thing that could've happened to him and every crazy thing that went wrong felt like it was pushing her closer to him somehow.

"You're not taking my kids." Sam had never seen such a look of determination on his father's face. He was usually such a pushover that he almost thought him incapable of acting this tough.

"Really?" The curly-haired agent remarked, looking derisively at Ron. "You're gonna try to get rough with us?"

Ron pointed at the ground, his face turning red as he raised his voice. Judy nodded along, backing him up as a good wife should, or so she would say. "No, but I'm gonna call the cops because there's something fishy going on around here."

He smiled, a disdainful chuckle accompanying his words as he pointed his pen at them. "Yeah, there's something a little fishy about you, your kids, your little Taco Bell dog and this whole operation you got going on here."

Ron's eyes shifted, befuddlement apparent on his features. "What operation?"

Judy scooped Mojo off the floor, holding him close as if it could save him from the bad man with the government badge. "That is what we are gonna find out."

Just a hair after he'd closed his mouth, Simmons was approached by one of the men that brought in Sam's sibling. Brown tufts covered the sides of his head, but left the top almost bare. He slid off his sunglasses, revealing his sly gaze as he handed over a two-piece machine to his apparent supervisor. "I think direct contact."

"Both of them?" The head agent's mouth moved quietly around the words, almost imperceptible to teenage boy.

His subordinate nodded firmly, a muttered "She's a 17 on the Geiger," falling from the balding man's dry lips. It prompted his superior to take the device, turning his distraught gaze on Sam.

Simmons inched forward, eyes locked on the boy. "Son, step forward for me please."

He did as he was asked hesitantly. His mom and dad standing watch at his sides, Sam swallowed the saliva building up in his mouth. "Just stand?"

Without a word, the agent's gaze flickered between the parts of the machine. His right hand lifted the wand to Sam's face, slowly waving it down his chest. The older man's dark eyes widened comically as the machine clicked repeatedly. It only became more rapid as the wand went further down his torso.

"14 rads... Bingo! Tag them and bag them!" The man shouted, turning on his heel and swiftly strolling away. Instantly, the other suits were on them, separating him from his family. He was cuffed to match his sibling, hands wrenched behind his back. Midge was marched back out the front door, soon to be followed by the rest of them., as she raged at the unfortunate soul that had to deal with her.

The only luck Sam found was in being tossed into the same backseat as his sister and Mikaela. He looked to his right, feeling horrible about getting the two women wrapped up in this. Midge was sat in the middle, her legs the shortest out of them, the other girl reclined on her right.

The large, black SUV concealed them with heavily tinted windows, but they could easily see the city racing past the window. They took the highway, telling him that speed was of the utmost importance to their captors.

The head agent, Simmons, lifted an evidence bag in front of his face. "So, LadiesMan217." He extracted from it a cellphone, one that resembled Sam's own too perfectly to be anything else. Turning around in the passenger seat, he aimed the phone's lit screen at the teen boy. "That is your eBay username, right?"

Knowing how conceited — and inaccurate— the name sounded, he fumbled for an excuse. "Yeah, but, you know, it was a typo and I ran with it."

"What do you make of this?" He pressed play on the recording Sam had made the other night when he was following Bumblebee around. He couldn't believe they found that so quickly. They must have already known what they were looking for. "Is this you?" The head agent turned his head, looking at the two females and gauging their reactions to the recorded audio.

"My name is Sam Witwicky, okay? And my, uh, car is..."

"Sounds like my brother, but you don't need us to tell you that. Seems like your ears work just fine, pig."

He slid the cell closed with a 'clack' and pointed at Sam's sister, his eyebrows wrinkling his forehead as they rose. "Watch it, jailbird. I could have you locked up again in no time with your record." Collecting himself, he turned back to the brunette teenager. "Last night at the station, you told the officer your car transformed. Enlighten me."

The tremor in his voice is hard to force down, but he managed, while still becoming a stuttering mess in the backseat of the SUV. "Well, here's what I said, okay? Because this is a total misunderstanding that my car had been stolen, from me. From my home, and- but it's fine now because it's back! It came back!"

The stomp of Midge's flat converse on his toe was no less painful than it would have been with a sturdier shoe. Holding in the yelp, he looked tearily at his sister. She only gave him a pointed and commanding stare.

"What he means, is uh... I borrowed it. I brought it back thirty minutes later and he wasn't home. So it wasn't stolen."

"Really? That's a problem because your license is still suspended from that street racing incident all those years ago. You were in that pretty black Dodge muscle car, the one you modded to inject nitrous oxide into the engine, you remember that?" He pulled out a few photographs. An image of her car wrapped around a telephone pole was flashed before another was brought to the forefront: Midge and an olive-skinned man on the car's hood, his arms around her waist and his lips on her cheek. It was picturesque. "You and your beau endangered innocent lives racing on a public street! You'd go away for a long time with the right judge."

He hardly ever came around the house, but Sam remembered him. He had constant circles under his eyes, making him appear gaunt. The lanky, slim man never brought any drugs around the house, but Sam couldn't say he didn't suspect it when looking back.

It wasn't always that way. DJ was seemingly a nice guy when he first came into the Witwicky home. No one told Sam what happened, but he could tell that something changed between DJ and Midge along the course of their relationship. Sam was relieved when they finally broke up. He thought he'd get his sister back but that ultimately proved to be a pipe dream. They were getting older and growing apart as people do, but still loved each other dearly.

Midge, jaw tight, raised her chin at the man, her irises reflecting the light from the center console and touchscreen of the vehicle. "And that would be my crime. What do you need my brother and his friend for?"

"It's his car, his license plate, his responsibility. You got him involved."

"Why would you take my parents, our dog, even the rosebushes, if that's what this was all about?"

"Oh, you're sharp. You're sure you two are related?" Simmons chuckled to himself, and eventually it became a full-bellied laughter, his expression warping into something phony. Sam laughed along, and so did Mikaela, hoping to ease the tension somewhat. The agent suddenly cuts himself off, face going stony. "So what do you kids know about aliens, huh?"

"Oh, you mean like a martian? Like what, E.T.?" Sam blew air between his lips, making a flippant sound and shaking his head. "No."

"Uh, it's an urban legend." Mikaela licked her lips. Sam could see this becoming something of a tell for the girl, disturbing her easy poker face.

His sister shifted in her seat, wriggling her shackled wrists into a more comfortable position. "I think we'll find single-celled organisms on other planets within the decade." That really was what Midge thought, once upon a time. Sam was sure that her opinion had changed quite recently, with all that's been going on recently.

"You see this?" Simmons' suit rustled and he pulled from it a black and silver badge. "This is like a do-whatever-I-want-and-get-away-with-it badge. I'm gonna lock you up forever."

Sam gulped, his face breaking into beads of sweat that gathered the dirt from his skin as they dribbled down. Midge moved her hands again, this time bringing them to his own and awkwardly placing her hand on his. It made him feel comforted, safer, but there was nothing she could do about this situation.

"Oh, God. You know what, don't listen to him. He's just pissy 'cause he's gotta get back to guarding the mall." Mikaela provided support in her own way. She preferred to attack rather than defend, he found that about her after the night they'd spent together.

"You, in the training bra. Do not test me. Especially with your daddy's parole coming up."

The words made Sam do a double take to the high school girl. "What? Parole?" He huffed, feeling the niggling seed of doubt planting itself in his heart. This betrayal cut into his heart.

"It's nothing. It's just... You know those cars my dad used to teach me to fix? Well, they weren't always his. And we couldn't always afford a babysitter so sometimes he took me along."

"She's got her own juvie record to prove it." Dark eyes meet sapphires, the agent staring down at Sam's sibling. "And your record of charges is longer than my big, Jewish-"

"Excuse you!" She cut him off, indignation written on her face and open mouth.

"-Nose. What did you think I was gonna say?" Frustratedly, Midge blew a strand of hair out of her face. The head agent let a smirk fall over his features, sending a lascivious gaze at the two women on Sam's right. "They're criminals. Criminals are hot." Simmons was walking the line and he knew it. His sister scowled, blocking the agent's view of Mikaela's body with her own.

Threatening, flirting, dangling a plea deal in front of them. Classic interrogation tactics, as Midge would say. She and mom were always watching true crime shows about such subjects late at night.

"That'd be a real shame if your dad and your boyfriend had to rot in jail the rest of their natural lives." The clicking of the Geiger counter was back, its volume exponentially rising. "It is time to talk!"

As if punctuating his words, the car crashed into a wall that wasn't there a moment before. It then clipped something with its right headlight, spinning out on the freeway and smashing into some mechanical thing. It was like being inside of a golf ball when the club struck it.

Sam wanted to close his eyes, but didn't. The familiar red flames on blue metal in the corner of his eye made him feel at ease. Optimus' giant mitts wrapped around the roof, shattering the windows. He lifted up, raising the entire car before it eventually fell off. Sam grunted with the impact on the ground, the shock absorbers doing their job well.

The light from Optimus' chassis was too radiant to see anything else. It soon faded, allowing the teen to see his savior.

Sam leaned forward, taunting,"You a-holes are in trouble now." He realized a moment too late that something was missing. The body that was once in the middle seat was gone. "Where's my sister?"

Chapter Text

The redheaded woman had her finger aimed at the man that approached her. "Do not fucking touch me. I know my rights." Whatever those rights were, Bumblebee hoped it would keep her safe among the other humans. As he crouched behind the high wooden fence, he watched the woman secretly as her backyard was flooded with intruders.

He still hadn't figured out all of their different social cues to each other, though he'd been on Earth the longest. He was hopeful the humans would be released soon and then they would be able to find the All Spark, keeping Midge and her family safe from the Decepticons.

If not, then Optimus would come up with something, he'd have to. Leaving Midge in danger was not an option for Bumblebee.

"Ow! Fuck you!" His helm whipped back at her sharp yell. The man in black accosted her, both of her thin arms forced behind her. Two clicks follow and her struggling lessened. A hand on her back pushed her toward the house, but she stumbled and fell, a hiss prying itself from her clenched teeth.

"Get up," ordered one of the agents, yanking her off the ground with a solid fist around her upper arm. Bumblebee almost stood to his full height, blowing his cover, but was halted by a servo on his rotator cup. Looking back, he found Optimus' intense stare leveled on him.

"Bumblebee. We need to be smart about this if we want the humans to remain unharmed."

And he said nothing, because Optimus was right. He was always right about these things, no matter how greatly Bumblebee wished for the opposite to be true.

His system was beyond stressed, his processor running double time and sparks nearly jumping from his circuits. He needed to calm down, for her sake. If Bumblebee could trust anyone to get her back safe, it was Optimus.

And he did trust Optimus, but this feeling of worry and unease would not go away. The only cure was having her cocooned in his servos, snug and free from danger. All he had to do was wait.

Who was he kidding? He had zero patience left. He couldn't just stand there with his thumb up his exhaust port, not doing anything to help get her back, even if those were his orders. He couldn't stop thinking about Midge trapped in the back of that ugly, black box with wheels, hands tied behind her back. It got his wires in a bunch. She should be with him. Sitting in his front seat, relaxed, buckled in safe, singing softly to a cheerful song from his radio.

As soon as the car was stationary, he leapt from the bridge. His stabilizing servos hissed on impact, cushioning his more delicate components. Optimus peeled back the roof of the vehicle like it was a cube of energon, revealing his charges stuffed into the back seat. The man from before, the one he'd seen assaulting his human in the yard, was behind the wheel.

The yellow Autobot used his servo as gently as possible, clinching the fabric of her shirt between his two fine motor servos and plucking her from her seat. He used the other to help scoot her into his palm, cradling her full length in his hand and raising her near his face.

"I got you,"

"Thanks," she murmured in response.

Using his scanning function, he examined her closely. Blue and green indicators show him that there are no external injuries on her front side. Using his finger to flip her over, he gave her backside the same inspection. Abruptly, she jerked, her hands splaying across her rear, as though hiding something from view. Her leg muscles clenched, pressing together so tightly that it displaced the soft fat around her bones.

"Don't," she whispered, as though she could see the intent in his faceplate, his inclination to push away her minute hands and split her plush thighs. Bumblebee was naturally curious and yet he was infinitely more interested in what parts she shyly hid from him. The soft red tint to her skin made pride rush through his systems. What a beautiful color she became, with the freckles almost blurring into the red on the apexes of her ears and shoulders. He briefly wondered if she were hiding an injury, but there was no other indicators that she was.

"Autobots, relieve them of their weapons!" Optimus' orders jar the others into action, but Bumblebee still had a human in his grasp. He found a safe spot for her, nestled between his pauldron and his chassis. She leaned partly on his neck, her cushioned rear resting on his shoulder plate.

He let out a mechanical groan when she grabbed his wires for stability, the noises produced by his system before they would normally be modulated by his voice box.

"Sorry! Did I hurt you?"

On the contrary, he reveled in her touch, the soft skin rubbing along the alloy of his neck cables. "Not at all, darling," he played from his tuner, an eyebrow rising charismatically while he sent her a heated gaze. Midge reddened even further, beginning to look like a ripened tomato.

Optimus dragged his scrutinizing gaze over the odd couple, then leaned in closer to the demolished vehicle, speaking to its occupants. "You don't seem afraid. Are you not surprised to see us?"

The woman peeked over his chest plate, fingers curling over the edge. She spied down at her fellow humans down below. "Motherfucking feds," Midge muttered, her wrinkled nose and tight lips giving away her disdain for the agents before she let a single word slip. "Fuck that guy. I wish I could wipe that stupid smirk off his face."

Standing on his seat, Simmons leveled with the Autobot leader, swapping words with the much larger life form. His voice put an agitated expression on his human's face, which in turn, upset Bumblebee. If she wanted payback, he would get it for her.

He rubbed some gears together, getting her attention with the noise. Tipping his helm at the transgressor, she followed his gaze.

Bumblebee felt below his torso, finding and flipping his lubricant release lever easily. His plug popped off instantaneously, dropping through the air and bouncing off the Agent's head. Bumblebee reeled from the sweet ringing of her laughter, the giggle raising his internal temperature by at least a few degrees.

Spurred on by her chiming laughter, he leaned back, tipping his hips as he felt the release of liquids. His receptacle was nearly empty when Optimus cut in.

"Bumblebee, stop lubricating the man," he said, his vocals firm enough that Bumblebee knew not to push his luck. Flicking the lever back to closed, he acted nonchalant, raising his arms as though he was innocent. It was worth it so see her face struck with disbelief and glee.

The gaiety was broken by the urgency in Ironhide's roar.

"Optimus, incoming!" He took a knee, slamming his servo into the asphalt and sending a wave of energy through the road. It toppled a few of the approaching SUVs.

"Roll out." At the Prime's word, they transformed. Four bots stood between Bumblebee and the other humans. Helicopter blades slicing through the wind alert them to the threat overhead, and he had no choice but to leave them to the Prime. He'd not put them in danger if he could help it.

The young woman on his shoulder yelped, falling from her place while he reformed. She plopped into the seat, safe and sound, a seat belt strapping her in, the fabric like a slithering reptile winding around her hips. Bumblebee felt right again, his human in her chair and his alloy surrounding her.

And although she was safe, she wasn't pleased. The woman's blue eyes held a whirlwind of rage and worry.

"Where the hell are we going? We have to get to Sam and Mikaela," Midge barked at the yellow bot, voice full of emotion. The last time she saw the two, they were stumbling by the Autobot leader's feet. "Can you find Optimus?"

They sped down the road, leaving behind a trail of dust, and she had lost sight of the other bots.

"He will-"

"Take care of them," intoned an Italian mob boss from the tuner, his New York accent denoting his character archetype. It was perfect for radio.

"Everything will be okay." The seat vibrated under her and she gripped tightly to the strap over her chest. The bot's tires squealed as he takes a left straight into the gulch of the LA river, concrete being the most abundant surface there. That would have been fine if it wasn't a ten foot drop from where they were. "Locked on target."

It was then she spotted what Bumblebee already saw: Optimus wedged into the struts under the bridge ahead. Her brother and his classmate swayed, strung from the Prime's plates. Sam held tightly onto Optimus' shoulder, his other hand tethering Mikaela to him.

How long would his grip last, Midge wondered. Mikaela couldn't stay still, her legs kicking the air as though it wronged her. Then, she's falling, hand still attached to Sam's. He had lost purchase and the giant bot's foot swung. It barely touched the two and neither could find a foothold.

She urged the Camaro onward, panic underlining her strained voice. "No, no, no! They're gonna hit the ground!" On the edge of her seat, she watched them near the ground.

Please, let us get there in time.

Chapter Text

She was in one piece. She had all ten fingers and toes. Her head was on her shoulders. All round her, alloyed plates partly conceal her from the bright streetlights. Overhead, digits uncurl and she saw her savior.

Bumblebee placed her down, her shoes tapping lightly on the concrete of the river's edge. On either side, the same helicopters as before closed in on their location. Bee shuffled about, placing himself between Midge, Sam, Mikaela and the enemy. He scooted closer, like a goalie blocking a puck, only the stakes were much higher than being scored on.

She heard a noise like a firecracker, short and loud. Sharp, menacing hooks wrapped up Bumblebee's wrist and caught on his parts, sturdy wire tethering him to the vehicle that shot it. As the helicopter flew, it yanked him forward. He was targeted by another shot, then even more, bringing him down to one knee. He didn't fire a single blast, allowing the militant vehicles to get closer. He hadn't hurt anyone and yet the black-clad officers came down with a powerful force to attack the poor alien.

Midge had always despised the tactics of her country, thinking them too combative, generally. She was distinctly not on board with the war in Iraq, nor did she find it acceptable for their military to storm any country to install a new leader or gain monetarily from it.

Shoot first, ask questions later. This was the way of her government. Her father told her daily that she was brainwashed, insisting that she was being misled by her emotions. Midge stopped trying to change his mind a long time ago, and she was happier for it.

A warm, insistent hand on her back urged her in the opposite direction, away from the yellow bot and the blacked-out SUVs driving up to him. She looked to find her brother guiding her, his other hand on the teenage girl to keep them close and out of harm's way. Midge knew that was all he endeavored to do, to keep them all safe, but her heart had other plans.

She broke for the Autobot. Sensing Sam's fingertips catching the edge of her shirt, she slipped out of his grasp, graceful as a dancer. Pounced on by the multitude of men in black, he couldn't give chase. The rhythmic sound of helicopter blades beat in time with her pace and she heard screams for her to get down on the ground. She stormed on.

Midge avoided the sight of identical soldiers that surrounded the bot, her head low and knees bent. They must have flooded out of the cars when she wasn't looking. Each time a helicopter dipped closer, she stilled.

A cord latched around Bumblebee's feet, tripping him up and sending him sprawling at the river's edge. She moved forward, the trek to her companion's side seeming to drag as if she was in slow motion.

He was able to get one foot under him, but only for a moment before he was brought down again. The cheerful mech was supposed to be able to get away from this. He was supposed to run and save himself. He stayed only to protect them, protect her.

She thought back to his goofy behavior and how she cherished her new friend. How he made her laugh and that adorable wink he would send her. It felt like the Sun wrapped her up in it's warmth when he was holding her with all the tentative care that a gentle giant could muster.

There was no way she'd ever stop aching for that emotion, no way she could ever let it slip through her fingers without a fight. She would not lose that divine fullness that made her feel wanted. Appreciated. Loved.

"God dammit!" she cursed under her breath. She couldn't be having a crisis of this scale. Figuring out that she was attracted to robots in the midst of a battle for which she was woefully underprepared hadn't been on her 2007 bingo card, that was certain.

Frigid blasts of white smoke hit her in the face, flooding the basin they stood in. It was concentrated on the Cybertronian and it dissipated instantly, but was almost impossible to see through. It smelled slightly sweet, like nitrous oxide. She thought it ironic that something that almost killed her would now be used against her partner. She prayed there would be no lasting damage, waving her hands through the mist, feeling for her friend.

Flesh touched ore.

She palmed the cool metal, her warm hands leaving marks of condensation. They were spraying him with nitrous to cool him down to the point of stasis. It seemed to have almost worked, by the drained look in his usually playful optics. He seemed to have less fight in him with every passing second.

"Bumblebee..." she trailed off, not sure what she had planned on saying. She couldn't nail down a single thought, in fact, now that she was witnessing the cruel treatment of the 'bot in front of her. What could she say that would ever make any of this okay? She didn't think such a thing existed. Her palm migrated to hold his cheek. Their locked gazes were heated despite the cold and it felt like he knew exactly what she wanted to say, even though she couldn't find the words.

Those men were coming, and soon they'd be upon her. Wearing all black, they stood out while they snuck through the milky white smoke from their weapons.

Skin stuck slightly to his quickly cooling faceplate when she wrenched herself away, facing the soldiers. Bursting out of the white fog that concealed their momentary embrace, she wrapped up the legs of one of the men aiming a freezing mist at her bot. He was tripped over her shoulder, a loud crack resonating from his helmet hitting concrete.

She tackled another around the neck, but he held back her vicious elbow from his clamping around his trachea. She had knocked him over with her tackle, but had allowed his hand to get in the way and block her. He bared down on her and she could do nothing. Her past had made her a scrappy fighter, but she was easily outclasses in both muscle and technique by the bigger person.

"Stop attacking him!" she urged, rolling the both of them over so he was face down. She tried to use her leverage, pressing on his head with her upper body, but the man broke free and threw her on her back. "He didn't do anything to you!" she screamed, making a desperate swing.

He silently caught her retaliating arm, flipping her around while he cuffed her hands behind her back. Her chin scraped the ground, leaving a bloody smear behind. She was sure to have a couple bruises after a night like this, so what's a few more? She wriggled and squirmed, unable to break his hold.

Like a lobster with its claws banded, she had the fight taken out of her.

Staring ahead, she beheld the motionless robot, concerned blues locked on his form as she prayed for him to be okay please be okay please I need you to be okay.

As she prayed, someone snatched her off the ground, letting her legs scrape against cement while he held her up. Getting her feet below her, she's grateful her converse are still firmly tied. She was marched up to face the leader of the group of government dogs, the big dog himself: Simmons.

"We meet again." He sticks his nose in the air, haughtily looking down at her. "Ready to beg?"

"If you think anything you can do to me will make me-" Her brain cut in with a helpful image of Bumblebee, writhing in pain while the ropes held him flat and the nitrous oxide chilled his entire being. The haunting look in his dull optic spheres, not a trace of life dancing through them. The bitter, frigid cold of his plates that were normally heated with life and energy. She could still feel the chill in her bones.

If she wanted him to be unharmed, there were going to be compromises she would have to make. She swallowed her pride, speaking lowly. "What exactly would I be begging for?"

The agent chuckled, softly shaking his head. A smug smirk was plastered on his face, hands behind his back, still clad in the white undershirt Mikaela had stripped him down to. All over him remained the evidence of his and Bumblebee's pissing contest, his black slacks covered with slick liquid. "That's not how it works. You beg, and I tell you what your performance earns you."

She took a long, steadying breath. Sluggishly, she lowered herself to her knees. Rage threatening to bubble up from inside, she stuffed it down, making her voice sound thick. Shuffling forward on her knees, she put on her best doe eyes and begged, praying it would change his mind. "Please. Don't hurt him. You can can do whatever you want to me."

He spent a moment in silence, soaking in the picture of defeat she surely made. Her knees, still bare against wet ground, stung with pinpricks where sharp rocks pressed into her skin. She bowed her head, ready to prostrate herself further if that was what it took, until his shadow fell back.

"Should've begged harder," his gruff tone spat. She gaped at him in shock while he walked away, his pointer finger in the air, signaling for some kind of retreat. "I want that thing frozen and ready for transport," he intoned loudly, almost drowned out by the sounds of the helicopter.

"Wait! Please, I'll- I'll do anything!" Strong arms manhandled her again, dragging her up and pushing her this way and that.  She was forced into one of the boxy, Government Issue cars and she was now in the same spot that she'd started out. "I'll kiss your shoe, clean your toilets, anything!"

Babbling on would only distract the older man for so long. Nothing she spewed seemed to catch his attention, making her think his offer was just a pretense. He put bait on the hook for someone he hoped would switch sides, betraying her friends for some fickle thing, she was sure.

 Her volume came back down, hoping to garner some sympathy to her plight. "Let me ride with him at least. I can-" The door slammed, sealing her alone in the car. silencing her plea.

Tears tried to spring from her eyes but she stubbornly endured them. Her forehead falling to the chilly surface of the window, she peered through the thick glass at her best friend. The yellow scout was being dragged away to who knew where, to be dissected and analyzed and possibly destroyed. It was more than her exhausted mind could keep up with. A burgeoning guilt swirled deep in her stomach, writhing like a worm.

She teased her brother often, usually about screwing things up, but it was a facade. She only ever treated him that way because the opposite was true. She was the screw-up, the one that fucked things up beyond recognition. She'd ruined personal property, relationships, and more.

This was one screw up she didn't know how to unscrew.

Chapter Text

Midge wasn't alone for long, but she only managed to work herself into a few strained sobs. Escorted by three different agents, she felt like Hannibal Lector. They were on each side of her, one on her left, the other in the front passenger seat. They said nothing, shades hiding their eyes, and drove until the Sun began to break over the skyline.

They make no secret of their hostility toward her in their aloof, yet harsh treatment.

"Move," the one beside her barked when his legs, spread as to cover most of the middle seat, brushed Midge's.

 Twenty minutes later, she was being herded through a tall office building and placed in an empty helicopter waiting on the roof. The suits buckled her up, then turned around and left her to her own devices, making her scoff. They were underestimating her again, and she'd use that to her advantage when push came to shove.  It was a struggle to get done, but she was able to pull up her legs and slip her bound wrists over her feet, bringing them to her front.

"Hey! Watch it."

Her brother's voice had never sounded so sweet to her ears. Something inside her that was bent out of shape straightened out upon seeing him safe. He and Mikaela were uncuffed, held forcefully by well-dressed individuals who pushed them toward the helicopter.

"Midge, what the hell happened to you?" he said, wide eyes taking her whole form in. The two of them were forced into the seats across from her, another soldier coming from the left to take the last seat on that side.

The seats on her left and right filled up. To her left sat a large, black man wearing a football jersey she couldn't place, and to her right, a pretty, pale woman in business casual. She felt out of place between them, looking like what the cat dragged in if Sam's earlier reaction was anything to go by. They were soon taking off, each of them equipped with headsets to communicate and to protect their ears.

"Same thing that happened to you." Glossing over things was her way of coping with trauma, especially with unfamiliar company. Rather than relive the horrid memories, she wished she could put the incident in the past. Though she certainly hadn't fooled him, he didn't press further. It was some time before anyone spoke next.

"What'd they get you for?" The Australian accent coming from the woman's mouth was a bit of a shock, enough to pique Midge's interest. Her easy smile was contagious and, coupled with her exotic accent, gave the others a modicum of relaxation.

"Uh, I bought a car. Turned out to be an alien robot." Sam shrugged and shook his head, asking rhetorically, "Who knew?"

"What about you?" She nodded to Midge's smaller form. "Are you the dangerous one?" By her amused smile, she must have thought it humorous to poke fun at Midge's feeble appearance.

The redhead did not feel the same, but everybody got a freebie. That, and she wanted people to underestimate her. It often worked in her favor.

She shrugged, allowing her soft waves to fall around her shoulders. "The army must think so." It only made sense that a bunch of soldiers twice her size were afraid of her acting out again. They were all brawn. Without two brain cells to rub together, they would never understand that she was trying to help Bumblebee. "That alien robot and I have a... complicated relationship."

Sam looked at her incredulously. Was he jealous that she was taking his car from him? Was that why he had talked so much about Douglas the last few days?

"So it's complicated now, is it? That's certainly a level up from being strangers a few days ago. You know you aren't allowed to fall in love with my car, right?"

It was just like him to say such a thing. What an immature thought: ordering another's emotions to be or not be based on your own. Moronic, she would call it.

"Oh sure, let me just turn off my emotions. Yeah, right! You do not control me or my associations." She wanted to pinch her nose or rub her temples but she didn't want him to see how much he hurt her, was still hurting her. "And who said anything about love?"

She had, privately, but he didn't need to know that. She hadn't accepted it yet. Sam wasn't inside her head, couldn't know about the confessions she made to herself in the privacy of her own mind, confessions she wasn't ready to face in the daylight.

It started with physical attraction, something that drew her to Bumblebee, like the butterflies in her stomach or the blush on her cheeks. The unexplained feeling that made you look at a guy a little longer than necessary, or smile at someone you didn't know. Inexplicable interest would turn into attraction that then would become infatuation, then eventually, love. She wasn't sure where she was on that spectrum yet, so how could Sam be so positive?

"Yeah, well, it's pretty obvious, Midge." He crossed his arms, feigning that he didn't care, that her words didn't sting. "You act like I haven't known you for 17 years!"

She would have smacked him upside the head if the situation were any different. Sam, her little brother, thought he could forbid her from falling in love with someone! It was almost funny that he thought he had power over her, but instead of laughing she was growling. Realizing how childish she seemed, she bit it off and returned to silence, not wanting Sam to get one over on her.

Midge was supposed to be the older sibling, but she wasn't acting like it. She had thought she was above this, but her brother always knew how to bring it out of her.

"Siblings, eh?" the Aussie asked, but it didn't sound like a question.

The Hoover Dam was an incredible monument to their American roots and all the good that could come from the government in times of need. The dam was impressive, the thickness of it wide enough for a two-lane highway to run across it.

The sound of rushing water was fleeting but all around, like a shell to her ear, though she couldn't see any of it. It was all inside the structure. Where they stood atop the wall, there was nothing to see but tan cement stretching across the almost quarter mile-wide gap. No matter how nice she found it, it didn't change her feeling toward the agents that escorted the five of them to the only visible entrance.

Unfortunately, an unexpected hurdle stood in Midge, Sam, and Mikaela's way.

"Hey kid." Simmons stood with his arms crossed over his chest. A black beret sat atop his curls and on his nose, a pair of aviators to match. He looked around, avoiding their gazes. The anger she saw in his twitching brow and phony smile were held back in order to complete his orders. "I think we got off to a bad start, huh? You must be hungry. You want a latte? HoHo? Double venti macchiato?"

Sam stopped him from going on, asking succinctly, "Where's my car?"

As was the theme of the day, another man with shades and a suit butting into the conversation. His skin was lightly tanned. His mustache was well-groomed and so was what hair was left on his head. He spoke with a southern twang. "Son, I need you to listen to me very carefully. People can die here. We need to know everything you know. We need to know it now."

Sam nodded, looking every bit the patriotic teen ready to serve his country. He was, however, also a little twerp and would squeeze every drop out of the men who scorned him. He was like Midge in that way.

"Okay. But first, I'll take my car, my parents, the keys to these cuffs. Maybe you should write that down." He lifted Midge's hands by the chain and shook them pointedly, then looked at the women on either side of him. "Oh, and their records. Those have got to be gone. Like, forever." The girls broke into grins, excited for a prospective fresh start.

Bannachek, as she heard him called by a passing soldier, looked Midge up and down, as if weighing in his mind whether he could drop her or not if she became violent. He must settle on a positive answer, because he gestured for her hands and used a small key to free her.

Simmons stared at her brother, almost stunned that his boss was considering going along with the teen's whims.

"Come with me. We'll talk about your car," Bannachek decided, leading Sam inside. Mikaela and Midge followed, but the latter stopped a moment, turning back to the curly-haired agent.

"Can I get that latte with an extra shot of espresso?" she asked, if only to annoy him further.  She doubted she would get anything, hiding her tittering under her hand as she stalked away.

They met up with numerous military men along the way, all of them belonging to the same unit under Captain William Lennox and his second, Robert Epps. The duo they met in the helicopter, Maggie and Glen, walked along beside Midge and the two teens.

A few extra guards joined them, half part of the Secretary of Defense, John Keller's, personal entourage. It wasn't surprising that he would get involved in a National Security matter, but she was no less stunned to see him joining their group. "Alright, here's the situation. You've all had direct contact with the NBEs."

"NBEs?" Midge asked, an eyebrow raised in his direction.

"Non-Biological Extraterrestrials. Try and keep up with the acronyms."  Simmons continued on while he spoke, leading them through a cinder-block tunnel, surfaces shining with moisture. The inside was dark as the sunlight from the entrance faded away.

Just as the redhead thought it would become pitch black, a glimmer of brightness appeared at the other end. As they approached the illuminated innards of the dam, Bannachek turned his head to them briefly. "What you're about to see is totally classified."

It was colder than she expected, something frigid dancing in the air. The dampness in there helped the chill penetrate into her bones and made her shiver.

The lab inside was built in a semi-circle, centered on one large entity in the middle of a contraption. Like a figurine, he was suspended and held in position by various metal arms in place at his sides.

The blue light bathing the immense Cybertronian made him look even colder than he was. Encased in frost, he was likely frozen inside and out. There was no spark behind his empty optics. The lights were off and nobody was home. But even without the red hue of his eyes, he looked exactly the same as the Decepticon Optimus showed them in the hologram: Massive. Sharp. Wicked.

The nasty-looking thing had to be Megatron, or her name wasn't Margaret Witwicky.

"Dear God. What is this?" Keller stopped in his tracks, gaping up at the monster with horrified awe.

"We think when he made his approach over the north pole, our gravitational field screwed up his telemetry." Whether Bannachek provided commentary for her benefit or the others', Midge listened anyway. Observing. Analyzing.  "He crashed in the ice, probably a few thousand years ago. We shipped him here to this facility in 1934."

That was only a few years before Archibald Witwicky had passed away, but almost forty years after he initially discovered the extraterrestrial in ice. Why did it take so long, she wondered.

Simmons' raspy voice cut through the echo in the dam. "We call him NBE One."

Standing beneath the gigantic Cybertronian, each of them tipped their heads back to look at his form. Sam opened his mouth, digging his hole even deeper. "Well, sir, I don't mean to correct you on everything you think you know, but, I mean, that's Megatron." With his arms over his chest, he jutted his chin out at the oversized silver mech. It prompted the two Sector Seven officers to turn, facing the teenage boy. "He's the leader of the Decepticons."

"He's been in cryostasis since 1935," said Bannachek. The brunette locked eyes with Midge, then her brother. "Your great-great-grandfather made one of the greatest discoveries in the history of mankind."

Their gazes flip to the black-haired man, gray hairs decorating his temples. "Fact is, you're looking at the source of the modern age, the microchip, lasers, spaceflight, cars, all reverse-engineered by studying him." Simmons steps closer, his face nearing Sam's, getting much too close for comfort. Midge watched him like a hawk, daring him to pull something on her little brother. "NBE One. That's what we call it," he said into Sam's ear.

Keller's drawl had become clipped, shortened but still Southern as he questioned Bannachek. "And you didn't think the United States military might need to know that you're keeping a hostile alien robot frozen in the basement?"

"Until these events, we had no credible threat to national security," the brunette replied with a flat tone and a stoic expression.

"Well, you got one now."

Lennox, his eyes still glued to Megatron's form, gripped his fist tightly as gears turned in his head. "So why Earth?"

"It's the All Spark," Sam answered, eyes still glued to the massive being frozen in place above their heads.

"All Spark?" The Secretary of Defense probed, eyes narrowing. "What is that?"

"Well, yeah, they came here looking for some sort of cube-looking thing." Sam's voice hardened, spitting at the curly-haired man that stood entirely too close, "Anyway Mr. NBE One here, AKA Megatron, that's what they call him, who's pretty much the harbinger of death, wants to use the Cube to transform human technology to take over the universe. That's their plan."

Midge nodded along, hoping at least some of the big-wigs they were stuck with would see the truth. Lennox was the most open-minded, or so it seemed. She just hoped they would make the right choice when the time came.

Simmons, ever the skeptic, had to clarify. "And you're sure about that?"

"He's not just sure, he's right," Midge said, backing up her brother. The uncertain looks exchanged by Simmons and Bannachek caught her notice, the woman's perceptive nature getting the better of the two agents. "You guys know where it is, don't you?"

Though calculatingly reluctant, the man in the suit nodded his head firmly. "Follow me."

The room he lead them to overlooked an even bigger observatory. Three likely bulletproof windows gave them the view of the whole operation that was going to work on the massive hexahedron. The chamber was as damp as the last, it's ceiling much higher to allow for the immense size of the All Spark.

It wasn't at all what she expected. It was less like the Rubik's Cube she'd pictured and more like the Kaaba in Mecca. It's size dwarfed even the sub-zero Megatron's gigantic structure. If she had to come up with an estimate, she'd put it at 50 feet tall, minimum.

"Carbon dating puts the Cube here around 10,000 BC. The first Seven didn't find it until 1913." Midge figured Bannachek was referencing the seven framed portraits on the wall, which she had no interest in further examining. Some old guys who didn't know what they were dealing with held no new information for her, and that was all she was interested in. Her brother was clearly not letting this go, and she was also quite attached to her world as well as her new friend. "They knew it was alien because of the matching hieroglyphics on the Cube as well as NBE One. President Hoover had the dam built around it. Four football fields thick of concrete. A perfect way to hide its energy from being detected by anyone or any alien species on the outside."

"Hold on, you're saying the Cube has some kind of... detectable radiation that it's emitting? I mean, is it safe?" Had they been irradiated already and why weren't they told earlier, she wanted to ask, but closed her lips before it could slip out.

"Took the words straight out of my mouth." Maggie, evidently the new advisor to Secretary Keller, said, sending a small smile in the other woman's direction. She turned back to Bannachek to question him. "And what kind of energy is it, exactly?"

"Please step inside. They have to lock us in."

The room was small, made of steel and concrete. As Bannachek said, the man in the white coat closed the large door with a creak and engaged its equally-sized lock. Midge was too distracted eyeing the slashes on the wall closely to listen to the others' banter. She imagined the likeliest thing to make such marks would be a smaller version of the metallic monster she'd fought the other night.

Simmons cleared his throat, making Midge hear his next words involuntarily, her concentration broken. "Anybody have any mechanical devices? BlackBerry? Key alarm? Cell phone?"

Midge makes a show of searching herself, like everyone else did. She even turned out her flimsy pockets, realizing she'd left her cell on the workbench in the garage. She was in such a rush last night that she forgot it completely.

Glen fished a device from his pocket, tossing it to the agent. "I got a phone."

The scientists hand out goggles to everyone, organizing around a clear box in the center of the room. Simmons flung open its metal door, unfolding the mobile and placing it inside. "Oof. Nokias are real nasty. You've gotta respect the Japanese. They know the way of the samurai."

While the redhead wasn't sure about the company's origin, one thing she was certain of was that it wasn't from Japan.

There are even more claw marks on the inside of the box, she noted, taking stock of the robotic arm inside the box. This whole thing smelled of Cybertronian tech. She made sure her goggles were tightly affixed when the curly-haired agent flipped the switch that turned the whole thing on. The arm came to life, getting close but not touching the phone. As he continued to the other switches around the room, he spoke.

"We're able to take the Cube radiation and funnel it into that box." Simmons pointed at said box and with one more flipped lever, the thing lit up. A beam of energy struck the cell phone and the All Spark gleamed with immeasurable power outside the window.

For a moment, the Nokia just shook. It vibrated so hard that it became airborne. The grating metal sound that hit Midge's ears clued her in on exactly what it was doing, as she had heard it many times before.

The little monster transformed. Like a Swiss army knife, it unfolded into numerous blades and tools, racing around the small space on its servos. It ran straight at her, slamming itself into the thick, impact-resistant acrylic shield between them.

"Mean little sucker, huh?" Simmons remarked, the edges of his mouth curling smugly.

"That thing is freaky!" Maggie shrieked, flinching back with her jaw slackened.

Midge saw the mutated cell phone as very similar to the being she faced the night before. Though it had come from a larger Decepticon, the cell phone was small and vicious, just like the other.

"Kind of like the itty-bitty Energizer Bunny from hell, huh?"

"Nothing I haven't dealt with before," she said, keeping her voice low but not threatening. She raised a brow at Lennox, watching the thing's reaction when he tapped the glass. The little mobile had a Gatling gun form in its chest. It fired wildly, leaving pin-sized marks in the acrylic. It even let loose a few miniature missiles, the small explosions leaving smoke in the air.

It almost broke the plastic when it ran headfirst at Maggie and Keller and the agents decided to terminate the creature. Was the gibberish coming out of its mouth Cybertronian, or truly just nonsense?

Bannachek pulled the modified trigger in his hands, causing a bolt of electricity to smite the small machine, only leaving behind the smoking, blackened skeleton of a creature.

Why did it appear to be a Decepticon? Were all new Cybertronian beings violent by nature? And why was it so cute?

She was drawn out of her thoughts by the flickering lights and trembling walls. There's no mistaking the booming sounds from outside: Something was attacking, and only one group wanted the All Spark as bad as they did.

The Decepticons had arrived.

Chapter Text

Keller's lips started moving, his face shadowed, then illuminated by the flickering lights. "Gentlemen, they know the Cube is here." They turn off and on before staying lit, a low groan emitting from the walls and ceiling.

It was too urgent to mention the fact that there were a number of women among them. If the enemy knew where the All Spark was, there would be no way to stop them, not without the Autobots.

The older brunette stepped away and flattened a button on a small speaker with his right hand. "Bannachek. What's going on?"

Crackled and fuzzy, a worried voice filtered back through the console. "Well, the NBE One hangar has lost power and the backup generator is just not gonna cut it."

The balding agent admirably held back an outburst, but emotional control wouldn't be enough change their fate. Everyone in the room was listening, realizing the depth of the shit they were in.

Captain Lennox's team had fought a Decepticon before and walked away from it in the end. From what Midge heard from Glen and Maggie, it was much bigger than the slip of a robot that sliced her bikini in twain and the battle was hugely destructive, that they were "lucky it happened in a desert." That, and she couldn't take all the credit. Mikaela had dealt the finishing blow.

"Do you have an arms room?" Lennox asked, putting his hands on the desk and leaning in to meet Bannachek's eyes. Out of all the people she met since she stepped foot in this dam, he was hands-down the most determined to see this through. She respected that about the army man.

He reminded Midge of herself, somewhat. Not that she was buff or manly or militant like him, but they were both problem-solvers, doers, the kind of people that saw a problem and did something about it.

That was what she thought while she trailed the man's steps, racing to the armory as one. Neither of them would take this lying down.

Pop!

Click, click, click, click, click.

Air rushing through a small hole, then a firearm's chamber spinning. Add in the chatter and you've got yourself white noise, echoing sharply in the long hall. It droned on, almost lulling Midge into dozing off. She was tired from the mischief they've gotten up to in the last day or two, but would not allow herself rest until it was over.

"Forty millimeter Sabot rounds on that table!" Simmons stated harshly, indicating the white plastic surface in the middle of the room. On a different table, Midge discerned a few fleetingly forgotten sidearms, probably placed there temporarily while a warrior changed their gear. On its side it had lain, a pistol with a woefully empty magazine grip. She stood with the other civilians, grouped up in on the shadowed edge of the operation, and subtly shifted closer to her target.

The conversation and the metal snapping faded together, becoming an unbearably loud white noise. Midge only knew that in the aftermath, though, when it had stopped, leaving her ears ringing with the sudden quietude. The lights were flickering and even the mess of gritty, war-forged soldiers had the decency to look to the rafters, concerned.

When the twinkling steadied and became solid, Sam rushed into the eye of the storm, striding right up to Simmons while the man slipped rounds as thick as Midge's wrist into the open rifle. "You gotta take me to my car," Sam begged, staring into the man's eyes even as he was ignored. "You have to take me to my car. He's gonna know what to do with the Cube."

With the big lug distracted, she made a show of cracking her back and rolling her shoulders. She made it look natural, stretching out and snagging the pistol nonchalantly. Immediately, she tucked it into the back of her waistband, shrouded only by her thin, ratty tee.

"Your car?" Simmons shook his head, holding in a laugh but letting slip a disbelieving smile. "It's confiscated."

"Then unconfiscate it!" Midge growled, she and Mikaela stepping up next to Sam. Every time she thought the younger girl would run, she impressed her by sticking to Sam like glue.

"We do not know what'll happen if we let it near this thing!" Simmons almost screamed in reply. He was looking mighty fearful, and not only of the imminent threat. "Well, I mean maybe you two know, but I don't know."

"You just want to sit here and wait and see what happens?" Sam shouted, his stance widening.

"I have people's lives at stake here, young man!" At last, the agent had lost his composure, wagging his finger at Sam and hollering at him.

Having seen enough, Lennox bodily grabbed Simmons, wrenching him to the side and forcing the firearm from his grasp. It clattered on the ground while Lennox pinned him by his collar against some kind of military ATV. "Take him to his car!" the brunette seethed, grasping the agent by his bulletproof vest.

Seeing the curly-haired man in distress, another agent drew his rifle on the leading man. Lennox's men struck harder and faster.

The captain pulled out his own pistol, pointing it at the person aiming a rifle in his face. "Drop it." Instantly, his company followed his lead, slamming elbows and rifle butts into the agents nearest to them, holding enough of them at gunpoint to cause an impasse. The black-clad agent seemed to weigh his options, his deep brown irises twitching to and fro, searching for an out.

Midge swiped a loaded magazine off the table, praying it would slide in easily, and jamming it in the grip of the pistol. She'd seen people do it in movies and was surprised when it simply worked. She knew there was no reality in which they took down all the Decepticons without the Autobots' help. In order to reach them and figure out what to do with the Cube, they needed Bumblebee. It wasn't just her crush that was at stake, but the entire world.

Looking down at the weapon, she made sure the switch on its side was flipped to the side that said 'FIRE.' She pulled back the hammer, cocking the gun and making it ready to fire. She pointed it at the closest, the first one to raise his rifle, and the whole room went still. She'd never fired a gun before, but she and her mom watched a lot of cop dramas. She knew just enough to squeak by, and Midge was sure she had them all fooled now based on their wide eyes.

The only people she saw fighting for the right thing were the soldier and his teammates, plucked from the battlefield in Afghanistan and she was throwing in with them. If anyone could get her to Bumblebee, she knew it would be them. Midge was impressed at how quickly the soldiers picked up on the facts of the situation, learning the ins and outs in no time at all.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" Bannachek raised his hands, astonishment painted on his unsettled visage.

"Drop your weapon, soldier," Simmons demanded, eyebrows rising indignantly with his finger raised. "There's an alien war going on and you're going to shoot me?"

Briefly glancing to his captive, the soldier maintained focus on the weapon in his face. "You know, we didn't ask to be here."

His words spoke for them all, including the Witwicky siblings and their tag-along. When they met the soldiers, she had assumed they were there by choice, but she was proven wrong and a similarity appeared between them. None of them asked to be there.

"If he doesn't shoot you, I will. The venom dripping from every word had to be enough to cover up her gnawing anxiety, the prickling sensation on the back of her neck because she didn't know if her 'bot was in one piece. "Unless you get me to Bumblebee." Her fingers flexed on the grip, trying not to let the clamminess grease her palms.

The curly-haired agent took on a new, more stern facade. "It's a deadly giant robot, not a bumblebee." He rolled his eyes at the woman, settling on the soldier. "I'm ordering you under S-Seven executive jurisdiction."

"S-Seven don't exist," Epps' voice intoned fiercely from over her shoulder. Blue eyes fervently searched the room for any sudden movements. A droplet rolled between her eyebrows, dripping off the apex of her button nose. She dare not move an inch, knowing her bluff would not cover her inexperience forever.

Lennox concurred, turning to look at the curly-haired agent again. "Right. And we don't take orders from people that don't exist." With both of their guns pointed at the same man, Lennox looked toward Midge gratefully and readjusted his grip on the pistol, his short brown hair plastered to his moistened skin.

"I'm gonna count to five," Simmons threatened, forehead wrinkled with the height of his brows. He was practically lain back on the vehicle now.

"Well, I'm gonna count to three." Lennox's right arm moved quickly, changing his target to the agent he had accosted. His face gave nothing away, pressing the pistol further into Simmons' chest. A glistening bead of sweat rolling down his cheek was the only evidence of nerves. "Mm?"

She was in awe of the man's control, both over his mind and his body. Not only was he sharp as a tack, but able to change minute details of his expressions and body language in a nanosecond. He was the last person she'd want a quarrel with.

"Simmons?"

The agent turned to Secretary Keller upon his voice breaking the silence. "Yes, sir?" he said in a small voice.

"I'd do what they say. Losing's really not an option for these guys, and by the fire in her eyes... Well, I think there's a saying about it. Ain't nothing in hell like a woman scorned."

She almost wanted to correct him, but now wasn't the time for a "Hell hath no fury" discussion. Plus, he was the Secretary of Defense, defending her from the government he worked for. She let it go and focused instead on the discussion at hand where the head agent was giving in.

"All right. Okay." Simmons nodded lamely, his gruff demeanor softening instantly. "Hey, you want to lay the fate of the world on the kid's Camaro? That's cool."

Finally, the situation had deflated, the tension blowing out when the ultimatum had been accepted. Flipping the safety to on, she passed the gun over to Lennox, admitting that she wasn't sure how to uncock it. The experience would have to be short-lived, however, as she had an important friend to rescue.

Chapter Text

Even with the extreme temps, his optics never went offline. The frigid air was only cold enough to keep his gears from rotating at speed. His joints were locked up, but his systems remained on. With the pain in his frozen wires, he almost didn't hear the screaming voices.

"No, no! Stop, stop!"

"Stop! You've got to stop!"

There was so much noise all of a sudden that he could barely parse it. The redheaded angel that looked about ready to hit the men who kept him there was all he could focus on.

"Put down the freeze ray, asshole!"

His human, his little smidgen of joy, had come for him. His optics followed her zigzagging between silhouettes much bigger than her. She was a firecracker, alright, pushing her way through the crowd. Bumblebee was glad to see his Sam and Mikaela safe behind her, though he still worried about the Autobots.

"Let him go! Let him go!" Sam's voice rang out. Once the sprays of white, freezing smoke had halted, Bumblebee raised up on his servos, looking back to find some of the most amazing humans he'd ever met staring in his direction. "Are you okay?"

"Bee, say something. Please." Midge is the only one that dared getting closer to him, one of her minuscule hands reaching out for the plate on his pede. Her eyes are glazed and red, like tears might well up at any second. "You're not hurt, are you?" she asked, hand skimming the edges.

The frigid feeling started fading. Bumblebee was warming up and so was his memory.

The last time he saw her face replayed in his CPU.

The crushing guilt returned with vengeance, the memory flickering behind his shuttered optics. A fierce-looking Midge crashing to the pavement face-first. Her flaming red hair darkened by the water on the ground. She was reddened with anger and injury, blood streaming from her lips and chin. There was so much red, and he was powerless to stop it.

That ugly, carmine liquid coming out of her was akin to his energon spilling out of his fuel lines. It pained him to see her hurt. In any case she seemed better now and he intended to keep it that way. He grabbed her, lifting her out of the enemy's line of sight. He holds her close to his chest where his armor would protect her most vulnerable parts. His other servo reformed into a high-energy blaster, the weapon whining with a charge.

He flipped down a solid yellow mask to cover his faceplate, analyzing the large number of humans around him. They presented a not-so-insignificant threat. Thankfully, Bumblebee's plating was made of tough enough stuff to keep his companions protected. It wasn't ideal, but transforming and driving them out was an option.

Some of the uniformed humans wore white under their black coveralls, some of them all black, and some of them dressed in shades of green and brown. He had no idea which ones had guns and which didn't, so they were all potential threats. Midge shifted against his palm as he waved his gun around. Nobody moved a muscle.

"Listen to me," her brother demanded. "The Cube is here and the Decepticons are coming." The words from Sam snapped him out of it, if only because the Cube was the answer to saving the universe. He fully sat up, his stature looming dauntingly over the many humans that had just threatened his life by the river. That felt to him like it was only moments ago.

"No, no, don't worry about them. They're okay. Right? They're not gonna hurt you or Midge." Sam held a hand out, gesturing for the men to stand down. They didn't, so he turned his head to face the men. "Just back up a little bit, he would never hurt her. He's friendly. He's fine."

"It's okay, Bee," his human whispered into his mandible, making him lower his blaster. Her gentle, confident tone soothed his nerves. "We talked to Simmons. They're gonna take you to the All Spark. Just follow Sam."

The redhead's calm demeanor helped sooth his frayed nerves. Folding back his mask and putting away the blaster, he acquiesced and followed the teenagers. He never put Midge down, though, preferring to soak in the sensation of her heated skin on his still-cool frame. It felt as though she was marking him with burning, tingling hand prints against his frosty plate and he kind of liked the feeling..

The All Spark, the key to keeping his species alive, was immense and beautiful with toy-like staircases built all around it.

He stopped under one corner of the Cube, letting out an inquisitive whir and placing his servos on either side of it. It was Bumblebee's first time seeing the massive hexahedron with his own two optics. Cyan sparks of energy alighted on his fingertips, sending waves of it along the Cube. He should be able to miniaturize it this way, or so the legends claimed.

In a few seconds, the structure was folding in on itself in the shape of a grid. Each piece slotted into the larger whole, until all that remained was a Cube small enough to be held by a human. He felt a few lingering jolts of energy while it sealed off the edges.

"Holy crap, Bee." Midge's breathy, awed reaction made his chassis swell. He turned to the others, switching on his radio.

"Message from Starfleet, Captain."

"Let's get to it."

"He's right," a man in olive drab agreed, dropping down off a raised platform. The letters on his chest spell L-E-N-N-O-X, presumably his name. His hair was messy and brown, but lighter than Sam's, and he was taller than the teenage boy. Lennox met the eyes of the men in nearly identical uniform as he spoke. "We stay here, we're screwed with Megatron in the other hangar. Mission City is 22 miles away. We're gonna sneak that Cube out of here and we're gonna hide it somewhere in the city."

Bumblebee couldn't help but notice and appreciate Lennox treating him like the sentient being he was, rather than calling him an it. The man had already made a better impression on him than the others in him company. Most of them, he didn't recall, except for one agent Simmons. He was the man at fault for his forced cryogenic stasis and the abduction of his protectees.

"Good! Right," said another man he couldn't recognize, pointing a finger and turning on his heel. His hair was almost entirely white, but strands of coppery-brown shimmered on top of his head, and his black suit stood out from the bunch with it's quality and sparkling lapel pin.

"But we cannot make a stand without the Air Force," Lennox pressed, his eyebrows rising.

The white-haired man whipped around, finding Simmons. "This place must have some kind of radio link! Shortwave, CB."

"Right, yes." The agent nodded along, curls stuffed under his black beret.

"Sir, you've gotta figure out some way to get word to them. Let's move!" Lennox ordered his own group and Bumblebee followed, stabilizing the unusually quiet young lady on his shoulder. His alloyed fingers were stiff with the lingering chill and her warmth felt pleasant on his extremities.

"-Cat got your tongue?" he asked, the recording of the woman's voice cheeky and playful. Though it didn't quite fit the current mood, his options were limited. She tended to have a lot to say, but not since he rebooted in this underground cavern.

"No, just... I'm glad you're okay. I thought you..." She trailed off, then shook her head as if to shake off the thoughts. "It doesn't matter now. I'm fine." She smiled, her eyes closing and he swore he saw the glisten of tears in her lashes, but they were gone as quick as they came.

He wanted to crumple.

"I will always-"

"-come back to you."

He wished he could say it with his own voice. He wanted to properly reassure her, but this was the best he could do. Before he put her down, he held her close to his face, nuzzling into her in as much of an embrace as he could offer. At his size, he's surprised she lets him touch her at all. Optics shutting for just a moment, he tried to draw in as much of her affection as he could in that fleeting moment, knowing it needed to be enough for him.

He let her go, setting her in front of her brother and his classmate, both of them respectfully — or awkwardly — looking away from the odd couple.

Transforming to his vehicle mode, his doors popped open for the young trio.

"You three, get in the car!" Lennox commanded. They obeyed, Midge sliding into his driver seat with Sam in the passenger. Mikaela fitted the Cube into a mostly secure spot in his backseat before sitting herself next to it. "Mr. Secretary! Get our birds in the air. When we get to the city, we're gonna find a radio and I'll have Epps vector them in, okay?"

She didn't stick around for the response. Buckling herself into the soft leather seat, she instinctively rested her hands on the steering wheel, keeping her arms loose and her grip fleeting, allowing him to turn the wheel while her palms skimmed over the leather finish. Bumblebee turned over his engine, rolling along while the men in army camo ran in multiple directions all around him.

"One of these days, we're going out for a joyride. What do you say, Bee? Me, you, and the open road." Midge smiled, imagining the picturesque scene that awaited them in her fantasy.

His engine revved three times in rapid succession, indicating his interest and eagerness. Sam groaned, doing a perfect performance of the annoying little brother routine and crossing his arms.. "You guys are gross. If I wanted to hear a couple of old farts flirt with each other, I'd have stayed home with mom and dad."

"Old?" the redhead scoffed, affronted. "I'm only 25, you turd!" She was considered quite young by almost every standard, not including her brother's. Then again, she was halfway to being 30. She couldn't help ruminating on the topic.

I mean, we were definitely flirting so that's on me, but calling me old? I'm not old... Oh, God. Am I old?

"You shouldn't be so hard on them," Mikaela shrugged, a slight smile dancing on her lips as she fidgeted with one of her bracelets. "It's sweet. You want her to be happy, right?"

"Yeah," he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. He wouldn't meet Midge's gaze, shifting uncomfortably. "That's what I always wanted."

Midge watched Lennox and the others drive up next to them in ATVs outfitted with all sorts of weapons. She tried not to think about what lay ahead of them. Their path wouldn't be an easy one, of that she was certain. They fall into place behind Bumblebee, following him through the exit tunnel, finding the sky hitting he horizon on the other side.

Mountainous terrain encased them on all sides, but the road they were on passed through the range. Once they were out of the casing of rock, the road fed into a highway with proper lines painted in white and yellow.

"Cube's okay?" Sam asked, twisting his torso to look at the teen in the backseat. Midge knew he was desperately trying to think of anything besides her and Bee's small touches of reassurance. The seatbelt across her chest almost hurts with how tightly it holds her. She grips it back, squeezing to let him know she's here.

"Yeah, it's fine," Mikaela responded, though she also checked on the All Spark to make sure it was unharmed.

"Put the seatbelt on it."

Midge rolls her eyes gently. Her brother was one of the weirdest people she knew, and it shone through even here. Why would it need a seatbelt when its in one of the safest places it could be? It was safe as houses.

But things would be boring without that silliness.

As he drives, the 'bot very liberally keeps with the lines. He drifts into the middle of the black top, but only because there was no traffic for miles. The road was creepily empty until it opened up into a four-lane highway and traffic started to crop up here and there.

Sam placed his hand on Midge's shoulder and pointed. She followed his line of sight and found their allies on the road about to blow past them in the other direction. "There's Optimus."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," she muttered, leaning her upper body out the window to scream at the group. "We have the Cube!"

Jerked back inside by her seat belt, she let out a disgruntled 'hey!' and fell into the cushion. Optimus' tires squealed while he drifted into a moving u-turn. He and the other 'bots wind up trailing behind Lennox's crew. Bumblebee's tuner buzzed to life once more.

"Please keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times."

She raised a brow and crossed her arms. "I notice you didn't mention heads." Blowing a strand of red from her face, she relented.

As the lanes increased, so did the risk of collateral damage. More passenger cars lined the road with every passing second, it seemed.

"No, no, no!" Sam seethed, eyeing a cop car racing up the lanes. It traveled with a rectangular truck even taller than Optimus in his alt mode. It was some odd mix of military and construction, a crane on it's top, but with small windows designed for war time. "It's the same cop." 

The Decepticon Cop's sirens were on and people were getting out of his way. Still, the vehicles in his group cared not and proceeded to smash their way through the traffic. Sedans flipped and vans flew.

"Yeah, and he's got backup this time." Midge watched the other Autobots, who noticed the 'con's presence. They swerved in order to clog the lanes, forcing the 'cons to slow up.

As they drive by an overpass, the construction vehicle begins to transform. It's so far back she can barely make it out. She thinks it's some kind of crane or digger, but she can't say she's read up on her contractor's handbook recently.

The thing became a metal monstrosity, all pointed ends and jagged edges, and skated through the civilian vehicles. He has no qualms about crushing them underfoot or slicing them in half, his optics set on the group that carries the All Spark.

The blue-and-red 18-wheeler transforms as well. Their statures seemed evenly matched. His wheels remain on his heels, allowing him to skate the same way the Decepticon does. It viciously speeds up, cutting through the middle of a passenger bus without a care.

"Oh my God," Mikaela mutters, her hair dancing with the force of her breath. She and the Witwickys watched, horrified, as metal crashed into metal.

"Holy fuck," Midge intoned, looking on in horror at the destruction behind the yellow Camaro. Flames erupted, framing the soiled yellow 'con in orange and red as he dove for Optimus, tackling him over the railing at the edge of the road.

They go sailing off a steep drop, smashing through a highway sign on the way down.

"Oh my God!" Midge cries, covering her mouth with a hand. She wasn't sure how long the drop was, but she hoped Optimus could withstand the fall. "Is he okay, Bee?"

"He acts tough, but—"

"He can back it up. Don't worry."

The bot's illuminated radio buzzed with noises, the dial flicking around in circles. He was trying to reassure her that the Prime would be okay. He was powerful in his own right. There's no way he'd go down like that, or so Bumblebee seems to imply.

"I gotta have faith-a, faith-a, faith-a!"

They arrived in Mission City posthaste, the buildings speeding by as the Camaro followed his military entourage. The ATVs pulled to a stop and so did Bumblebee, parking between a Broadway theater and a pawn shop.

The door opened before she could touch the handle, so Midge stood, keeping one leg propped up on his frame. Her brother huddled with Mikaela on the opposite side. Lennox and his men flooded out of their vehicles, too.

"Air force has arrived. Pop smoke!" He called out for everyone to hear. Green smoke swarmed the air and everyone waited with bated breath. Midge's grip on Bumblebee's door tightened, eyes tracking the F-22 in the air as it sailed over their heads.

"Good news, right?" she mumbled to the car, a soft laugh leaving her. But the jet sailed toward them like a bullet and her smile faded as quickly as it came.

"It's Starscream!" Ironhide shouted, transforming before her eyes from a large pickup truck into a mech. Bumblebee copied him, standing to his full height ready to defend.

"Please tell me you copy," Epps murmured into the radio, staring hopelessly at the approaching jet.

"Back up! Take cover!" Ironhide roared, moving for a white semi-truck. "Bumblebee!"

Midge reached out, wishing he didn't have to put himself in the line of fire. The yellow 'bot waved her back, sidestepping over to where the gunmetal mech awaited him. At her side, Mikaela grabbed hold of her free hand. Sam neared her other side, touching her shoulder to pull her back to the sidewalk.

"No, no, no, no, no. Move!" Lennox's voice cut through the noise and clamor. Midge spun around, steering the younger couple closer to the curb as she sensed the impending danger in the command.

Bumblebee and Ironhide squat in front of the 18-wheeler, their servos catching it under the carriage to lift it up at an angle. The rapidly returning jet in the sky opened up it's underbelly, readying it's weapons to fire.

"Back up," cried the larger of the two. He waved the humans away, civilian and military alike. "Back up. Incoming!"

The 'con fired more than once. The first shot missed completely, but the next sunk into the top of the semi's load. The resulting explosion threw both Autobots into the air, not to mention all the humans that were nearby. That included Midge, Sam, and Mikaela, who were thrown to the asphalt by the missile's impact, all the members of Lennox's squad, and the civilians that didn't get away in time.

They'd be lucky if there were only injuries.

Dust clouded the air, obscuring the view of all in the vicinity. Midge's vision was cast in warm shades of amber from the lingering flames. She heard shouted words launched through the fog but couldn't make them out, her ears still ringing from the blast.

Face-down on the concrete, Sam reached out for Mikaela's hand. He meets her eyes as they rise together from the rubble. 

Midge knew the teens would be fine with one another to count on, moving on to checking herself for injury. She only felt a bone-deep soreness, an ache that somehow reached muscles that she didn't know existed. She ignored the tightness in her calf.

Brushing the dirt off her features and trying to ignore the ringing in her ears, she picked herself up as the others do the same. Pulling herself out of the crumbling facade of the corner store, she stumbled over the curb.  She steadied herself before she fell.

She looked down at her feet, making sure she stood on solid ground before she walked this time. Flecks of yellow caught her eye, though. A bright cadmium shade of yellow that she recognized was sprinkled over the damaged road. Searching frantically for his signature yellow shade and expressive antennae, she finally found him not ten feet away. He landed on a toppled van, crushing the car's frame.

He was in even worse shape than the rest of them. He was scratched up and dirty, but it was more than that. She could only hope Cybertronians didn't feel pain the same way humans did, because it looked excruciatingly painful.

"Bumblebee," Sam huffed. "Your legs..."

They weren't there.

Gone. No more. Absent, but not disappeared without a trace. His metal was mangled, his cables were frayed, and his yellow plates were snapped. His fluids leaked onto the heated pavement, sizzling away. The yellow sparkles she'd seen on the asphalt made sense now.

Bumblebee moved his servos to the road, hauling himself off the armored truck that softened his landing. He dropped onto his front and did his best to crawl forward. Sam circled around to his front.

Midge was on the 'bot in moments, hurrying to him and ignoring the pain blooming in her right calf.

"Bee!" she breathed, relieved to see his illuminated optics. Her body moved on autopilot, taking her to his side. "It's gonna be okay, we'll find Ratchet. We'll get you fixed up."

Bumblebee gave her a look that spoke volumes. He looked so human in that moment. His eyes seemed to scream at her, 'I need you to be safe.' His lowered wings said 'I don't know if I can keep you out of danger.' His lowered brows and flattened antennae told her that he wanted things to be different.

"You gotta get up." Sam told the 'bot, as though will could rebuild servos.

"He doesn't need a cheerleader, he needs a medic." Midge seethed, feeling frustrated and at her breaking point, not just from her brother, but the explosion. She scowled at her behavior. Taking offense on Bumblebee's behalf wouldn't help him either, though, she supposed.

Sam's head whipped around but he couldn't locate the fluorescent medic. "Ratchet!" As the younger Witwicky screamed, the veins on his neck tensed and his face reddened. He walked backwards in front of Bumblebee as the bot dragged himself forward, his chassis scraping against the road. "You gotta get up. You're okay."

But Bee couldn't get up. He wasn't okay. When human lost legs, they got a wheelchair or crutches to get around, not words of affirmation and good vibes.

Her brother went quiet. Midge felt partly at fault for the shift in his attitude.

Her brother was needy, and nosy, and irritating at the best of times, but he was also giving. He gave his all up until now, for his planet and for the Autobots. He'd been there for Midge as much as she had been there for him, these last few days. She realized that she might have been a little harsh on him during that time.

The way he empathized with the yellow mech, the way he cared for the 'bots and was trying to help them, not only to save his planet, but also countless others... It reminded her that the Witwicky siblings weren't so different. As much as he got on her nerves, she'd do anything for her brother and she knew he'd do the same. 

He used to be a selfish brat, but he was changing. He was growing up, like she had after her accident. He was doing something he believed in, standing and fighting for what was right. He was trying and that was better than most of the world could say.

Her little brother was becoming a man. She was proud.

He'd need a helping hand, though. He was still just a kid, no matter how much he'd grown.

"Come on, don't give up," she gently encouraged both males. "There's got to be something we can do. We can—"

THOOM! KABOOM!

THOOM! KABOOM!

The sound of tank shells displacing air as they leave the barrel and colliding with random debris shattered the tentative air around them. Another Decepticon was attacking. This one was land-bound, taking the form of a massive military tank. It was outfitted for modern warfare, but it rolled back and away, as though retreating.

The impacts threw more dust and dirt into the breeze, but not as much as the stampede of everyday people rushing to get out of dodge. Lennox and his men took a different approach, giving chase after the 'con that rolled its treads over parked cars and parking meters. Altogether, the street cleared out quickly, the people scrambling away like bugs when their rock is turned over.

Midge's worries and emotions would have to take a back seat, she decided, at least until they'd gotten out of this mess. 

They were on their own, currently. Even with the trio of them, they couldn't just lift a 16-foot robot. She needed to find some kind of tool or leverage. A set of wheels would do nicely, as would a hydraulic lift.

"Stay here. Neither of you move." Her blue irises were wide, her intense stare piercing Sam's. She walked over to him, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Be safe." She did the same to Bumblebee, but her lips are too small to give him any idea how much she cared for the giant mech. She didn't mind that her face was smeared with grease when she pulled away from his helm, she barely noticed it.

Her adrenaline had spiked, making her leg feel gummy even as blood started to stain her socks. Stalking off, pain forgotten, Midge spotted an answer to her prayers. Thank God that someone had called Mike's Towing because the white truck would be their saving grace. She checked for threats left and right as she crossed the street, her feet carrying her as fast as they were able.

She got to the driver's side of the pick-up, trying the door but finding it locked. All the doors were, as she found out. Midge started looking on the ground for a piece of rebar or rubble to smash in a window. She saw another pair of feet instead, and followed two legs up to the person's face. The teen held up a small hatchet in both hands.

"Thought I'd axe... Need some help?" Mikaela said when their light eyes met.

"I think you mixed that up," The redhead replied, a smile growing on her lips as she took the proffered handle.

Smashing the window was easy. Reaching it wasn't. Her eyes didn't even make it past the door handle.

Midge climbed on the helpful rail below the carriage, holding onto the door as she swung the hammer. She reached inside, letting the door swing open and stealing her from her improvised step stool. She dropped to the ground, then hunched over Mikaela who poked her head under the dashboard, ripping out a handful of wires.

The redhead stared, dumbly agape, amazed as the younger girl struck them together relentlessly. Then the engine turns over and they're in business.

"Nice trick," she complimented, nodding appreciatively down at the girl. "I bet you're a blast at parties." They shared a smile before piling into the front bench seat together. Midge took the wheel, parking haphazardly next to their boys.

"Sam, help us out with this," Mikaela called, gesturing at the truck.

Working diligently, they wound the cable into an intricate harness around Bumblebee's form. While Sam barked orders from a vantage point on the back of the truck, the sounds of combat seemed to creep closer. The rest of the Autobots pounded the street behind them, notably still lacking their leader.

"Sam! Midge!" Lennox's dirt-covered hands and face broke out of the dust, nearing the trio rapidly with his men. An explosion at their heels barely fazed them. "Where's the Cube?" He yells over the sounds of warfare, running up to the truck but not stopping.

"It's right there." Sam gestured behind him to the base of the tow truck. Midge stepped back, letting him direct Mikaela how to wrap the cable and wiping her hands on her shorts.

She filled the space Lennox left next to her brother, sending him a curious look.

The captain returned, jogging over and pushing his rifle into Midge's hands. It was so heavy she almost dropped it. Turning back to her brother, he fished something out of his flak jacket.

"Okay. All right, I can't leave my guys back there so here. Take this flare." Placing the flare into Sam's hand, the captain pointed off into the distance. Sam followed the line of his finger. Coming back to the boy, the older male met his eyes, piercing him with a deadly serious look. "Okay, there's a tall, white building with statues on top. Go to the roof. Set the flare."

Sam shook his head, eyes wide. "No."

"Signal the chopper and set the flare so—"

"No, I can't do this."

Lennox shouted over him, a commanding edge in his voice. Reaching up to Sam's collar, Lennox pulled him down to eye-level. "Listen to me! You're a soldier now, all right? I need you to take this Cube." He grabbed the All Spark, foisting it into Sam's arms. "Get it into military hands while we hold them off or a lot of people are gonna die. You want to protect your family, don't you?  Your sister? Your girlfriend?"

Sam's distraught expression faced the ground, but it was obvious he accepted the weight of the obligation. He held the flare and cube as though they weighed a ton, looking down on them with reverence.

Mikaela stood behind Midge, peeking over the top of the woman's head. Lennox turned on the two of them, his tone stern as he shooed them off. "You two got to go. You got to go."

"No, I-" the teen girl began, her black ponytail whipping as she shook her head.

"Go finish hooking him up." Midge said to the girl away, nudging her in the direction of their precious cargo. She rounded a withering glare on Lennox. "You got another thing coming if you think I'm leaving Bumblebee here."

Lennox was about the only authority figure she met today that had gained any semblance of her respect. She owed him a reason, at least.

"You both need to go."

"I'm not leaving him here to get killed by 'cons. You can take it up with my supervisor," she scowled, walking around to the driver side door. She stopped, pretending to realize something. "Oh right. You can't." It left a sour look on Lennox's face, just as sour as the taste in her mouth.

"Sam, we will protect you," Ironhide promised, leaning his massive face in close.

Midge stared the gunmetal mech in the optics. "You better." She kissed Sam on the cheek before he could run past her, pulling him into a short embrace. "I love you, Sammy. Get back to us safe."

"I love you, Smidge." He hugged her back before running off in the direction Lennox had pointed him. Her little brother was not so little anymore. This was proven doubly by the fact that Mikaela pulled him aside to share a tender moment. She wouldn't begrudge them that.

Midge tried the wires under the steering wheel the way Mikaela had earlier and the engine started after several tries.

"Girl, get that tow truck out of here, now!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" Mikaela yelled back to the man in fatigues from the back of the truck bed. The younger girl hopped in the passenger seat, turning to the other. "Drive."

Chapter Text

The pickup's tires squealed, leaving marks on the pavement. Bypassing the demolished cars to the sides of the road, Midge steered carefully and toed the gas. Even with her eyes on the road, she felt sick.

Images of Sam flipped through her head like old photos. Seeing him in their elementary school before she graduated from it. The day he lost his first baby tooth. Seeing him go to the sixth grade dance with a girl. His blubbering face when he found out Midge was moving.

He may not have been the best brother in the world, but Midge could've been a better sister. What she did then was a perfect example.

Midge ran from the problems at home, leaving Sam alone to deal with the mess she left behind. She packed up and moved out when she went to university in Nevada. She had four years of freedom with nothing to drag her down. No DJ, No Douglas, no fake friends, nothing.

Her little brother was out there, in the middle of a battlefield, and she was leaving with his support system.

"Sam's still back there," Mikaela said, as though speaking the words straight out of Midge's guilt-ridden psyche.

Midge sighed, stubbornly avoiding Mikaela's probing gaze. She knew she'd rather be next to him, making sure he's okay, but these two needed help, too. Mikaela was still just a kid and Bumblebee was injured. None of them belonged in an active combat zone.

"We could go back," Mikaela insisted. "If the military can't take out that tank thing, then Sam is—"

There was an abrupt, sharp pang in her ankle, making everything suddenly feel much more high-stakes. She yelled, the pain sudden and intense. Midge snapped, the pain turning her words harsher than intended.

"Fuck! Don't you think I know that?" she seethed at the girl and gritting her teeth. She shouldn't have. It wasn't Mikaela's fault, none of this was.

The situation was fucked up and evidently so was her leg. Holding back a grunt, Midge let her forehead fall to the wheel. She breathed, trying to rein in her irritation.

"Sorry. I'm sorry."

Mikaela, feeling lost, wasn't sure what to do. Midge was supposed to have the answers. She was older than Mikaela and was always such a cool, in-control presence. She couldn't help but wonder: What now?

She met Bumblebee's optics through the rear windshield. He nodded at her, then turned a wondrous yet concerned stare on Midge.

Reaching out with bated breath, Mikaela hesitated, a moment of uncertainty passing through her. She wasn't sure if she was overstepping, but she owed it to the woman to try.

Mikaela touched the older woman's back, rubbing it slowly. Noting the uneasiness in her eyes, Mikaela peered closer. "Are you okay, Midge? You don't look so hot."

Midge sucked her teeth. "My foot fucking hurts." Bending her knee, she lifted her foot up to the chair. Her sock was soaked, her blood staining the white fabric red. "Shit... Well it looks worse than it is."

They both looked the gore, uncertain. Peeling down her sock revealed a metal shard stabbing her flesh from below. The rod speared her through the ankle, pinning her muscles in place.

She yanked it out, knowing she had to, in order to free her muscle. She pressed her lower leg against the seat and hoped the cushion would help stop the bleeding. She could barely feel it. She didn't know if that should please her or scare her.

"Use your other foot." 

Surprised and uncertain, Midge met Mikaela's eyes. She had never heard the younger girl sound so discompassionate. Then again, the stakes were astronomical. The world was forfeit if the Decepticons won.

"The world needs him, and he needs us to help," Mikaela whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She only wanted everyone to be safe at the end of this. 

Midge was shaking her head, opening her mouth to say no, when Mikaela kept going, cutting her off.

"Homecoming Race, 1999. You’ve driven with worse."

Midge laughed, sputtering like an engine, but there was no humor in it. "That was a lifetime ago."

The girl shook her head, inky locks waving around her heart-shaped face. "And yet people at school still talk about it. The prom-dress wearing smidgen of a Witwicky that won the Speed Queen trophy four years in a row... even driving with her left foot."

Closing her eyes, Midge breathed through the stinging in her foot. Impacts sounded all around them, war still being waged on the streets of Mission City. Gunfire rang in her ears. What awaited them back there was surely death.

"The answer is no. You're asking me to risk—" Midge tucked a wayward strand of auburn behind her ear, looking behind her to the 'bot once again.

His pleading was evident in his gaze, the bright blue optics burning with worry and eagerness. He didn't want to turn tail. He wasn't afraid of dying.

Instantly, she realized her folly. Her indignance faded, replaced by guilt as she recognized the fear in his face. He was afraid of what would happen if he didn't help, not fear of death.

Midge wanted to keep them safe, and she was making the choice for them. She was forcing Mikaela and Bumblebee to go along with what she wanted. She got so caught up in her protective nature that she hadn't realized.

"I hate it when you're right," Midge huffed.

Her left foot moved up to the brake pedals. It had been a while but she still had the touch, whichever foot she used.

She threw the truck in reverse. She gave the gas and brake a tap, feeling out the new sensation with her foot.

A satisfied smirk fell onto Mikaela's lips, watching as Midge started returning to her normal self.

She opened the front window, leaning out to scream, "Legs up, Bumblebee!"

While he did listen, his metal still scratched the asphalt, sparks flying from the friction.

Swerving onto the main road, Midge straightened the vehicle. The tires squeaked as she veered around debris.

"If you've got ammo, I can chauffeur!" Midge smiled, the intensity of the situation getting her high off adrenaline. She couldn't remember the last time she drove like this, save the time she was trying to save Sam.

She pressed the pedal to the metal, reversing down the street and facing Bumblebee toward the enemy. Lennox and his crew seemed to be taking cover in a blown-out bodega.

Going reverse at full speed, Midge deftly piloted the vehicle to avoid the totaled and stalled cars all over the road, their drivers long gone.

The Decepticon became visible around the bend and Bumblebee raised his blaster.

Mikaela was turned around in her seat, watching closely as the yellow 'bot fired round after round toward the far-off silhouette.

"Shoot! Shoot!" Mikaela shouted, egging him on with the encouragement.

"I think he plans on that!" Midge shouted, watching the road through the rear view mirror. Bumblebee moved with grace, adapting best he can to her wild steering. She avoided all the obstacles, weaving through abandoned vehicles like nobody's business.

She almost rammed them into a taxi, narrowly missing it by slamming the brakes. The tow truck skirted the sedan, drifting around its edge.

Midge spotted the green-and-brown clad bodies of Lennox's men huddled behind cover and she gunned it. Bumblebee, seemingly anticipating her every move, let his blaster fire only after he took aim and compensated for the shaking tow truck.

The ugly Decepticon lights up here and there, explosions rocking its body. The final blow comes as one of three.

The last shot buckles the 'con, taking out his spark chamber and taking him offline permanently. His lifeless frame dropped to the ground, the asphalt shuddering.

Midge felt relieved, but the tension didn't leave her shoulders until she was standing next to Bumblebee, looking up at his joyful face plate.

"Nice shot," Mikaela complimented as she trounced into the broken down bodega. Lennox's men hollered their thanks and congratulations at them, some of them cheering about the victory.

It was all too soon that they were moving out again, darting down a side street to find the action.

Mikaela, sitting tiredly on a chair in the ruined shop front, pulled her flip phone out of her tight jeans. She dialed a number and put it to her ear.

"Dad? Are you okay?" Her words were shaking, but there was strength in them.

Midge, her head pressed into the chassis of her friendly 'bot, soaked up the heat of the sun. While they both rested their injuries, she laid on top of him and he laid on the back of the tow truck. A breath left her, the stress draining from her shoulders. The only thing she was missing was knowing her brother was safe.

For now, they'd done their job. Mikaela, Midge, and Bee had taken out the tank and that was all they needed to do. Lennox and the others would be alright. They'd get through this.

Lennox left them with one of the bulky, brick-like radios that they had and promised to call when things were safe.

They basked in the aftermath of their battle, even as sounds of combat echoed around them.

"I'm just glad you're okay. You'll be okay, right? You can just... get new legs or something?" Midge asked, gesturing down at his missing servos.

His radio hummed, "Something like that."

As they reclined together, Bumblebee never truly relaxed. They were still in a war zone and the girls at his side were just that. Soft, fragile, breakable humans.

He'd seen a lot of good soldiers go offline. 

But they weren't soldiers or fighters, no matter how scrappy they were. He hated seeing his human friends get hurt, especially Midge. It pained his spark to see her like this, fluids leaking out of her

Bumblebee's large finger prodded gently at her ankle, startling her awake when she started to doze off. The warmth of the sun and the sheer exhaustion had almost lulled her to sleep.

"What?" She said, feeling his chrome. "It was just shrapnel from the explosion. Don't worry, it's nothing."

But his palm curled over her like a blanket or a shield. His eyes said that it wasn't nothing, a low whine stemming from his gears. His presence enveloped her. Maybe he could worry about her a little and that wouldn't be so bad.

When she came out of her nap, it was because the radio on her stomach was buzzing. A voice rang out, muffled only by the speaker's crummy quality.

"Megatron is down."

The tires hadn’t finished settling before Mikaela burst from the truck. The older woman smiled, watching over the back of the bench seat as she ran toward Sam.

Midge got out, gently hopping along the side of the truck to stop by Bumblebee's hulking form. She was sure Sam wouldn't want his "embarrassing older sister" to ruin his moment with Mikaela, so she hung back with the 'bot.

She leaned against Bee’s frame and let her gaze drift over the soldiers and bots they’d fought beside, their silhouettes bathed in dust and sunlight. It was a relief to know it was over.

She closed her eyes, sending up her prayers for Jazz. Ironhide handed his lifeless parts to Optimus, a few words of sorrow leaving him.

"Oh, Jazz..." Optimus lamented, taking his lost friend in his servos. The dawning Sun rose over the skyline, beams of gold shining onto the Prime's plate. "We lost a great comrade, but gained new ones. Thank you, all of you. You honor us with your bravery."

Midge was about to make a comment, but she quieted herself when a series of loud beeps and whirs left Bumblebee's faceplate. Midge blinked, stunned. For a second, she felt like she imagined it—like static made into speech, clicking and whirring. Optimus, however, responded like nothing was awry, stepping closer with fondness in his voice.

"Permission to speak granted, old friend."

Bumblebee's faceplate moved, his mandible jostling as though he was saying something. All that came out was more of the same, like an electronic device speaking to another. Glitches and tones oscillated through each syllable as he spoke the strange language.

Midge wasn't quite sure what to make of it, but she assumed it must be Cybertronian. She never heard anything like it before.

Optimus nodded as though understanding Bumblebee's strange dialect. He spoke in deference, looking to the humans. "If that is their choice."

Sam narrowed his eyes, looking between the scout and the Prime. "What was that? What'd he say?" He shouted.

"He wants to stay with you. Both of you."

"Yes," Sam said seriously. He nodded his head, the dirt on his face making him look dour and battle-worn. There was a red gash over his eyebrow that moved when he blinked.

"Yes!" Midge shouted at the same time, jumping just enough for her feet to leave the ground. She didn't even respond to the pang in her leg, the pain forgotten in her excitement. Relief hits her, emotions running high after the harrowing battle.

"They are so cute together," Midge sighed, leaning back onto the hood of the yellow Camaro.

Sketchpad in hand, she stared at the couple as they giggled together, sharing a gentle moment in front of the sunset, wild fields rolling below. California was breezy, temperate, and beautiful on this particular afternoon. It was the perfect excuse for a bit of R&R.

Warm winds carried the scent of the city, greasy food and burning rubber accenting the subtle hint of hot pavement.

Bumble buzzed, a gentle whir of his gears telling her that he agreed. Midge smiled.

After facing Megatron and the Decepticons together, she and Bumblebee had grown even closer. Two peas in a pod they were, constantly tagging along with whatever Sam and Mikaela were doing. Neither one of them was a third wheel as long as they had each other.

She was happy for Sam. He found a great girl, the kind that stuck around through thick and thin, including alien disasters. Midge had grown fond of Mikaela, despite her earlier misgivings.

The pencil in her hand left soft gray marks against the paper. She sketched out a dreamy image. Shaded silhouettes merge into one, holding each other close.

The white vinyl of the foldable lounge chair accented their shape, so Midge used it to break up and refine the drawing. Mikaela's hand was scrunched in the back of Sam's shirt and his nose was buried in her hair.

There was nothing like near-death to remind you how important your loved ones were. Midge had thought about her relationship with Bumblebee often in the months since Mission City.

Her ankle healed. Bee got his stabilizers fixed up. But none of them had forgotten the flames and twisted metal. It stuck with them.

Midge was content to relax atop her favorite 'bot and sketch the evening away, whether it was landscapes, wildlife, people, or 'bots.  Bumblebee seemed unable to sit still. He nearly hummed with energy, the heat radiating off his hood.

Like a bull caged in its pen, about to be set loose for a rodeo. Like a greyhound in the moment before the gun fires and starts the race.

"What's your problem?" Midge asked without looking away from her muses, turning the pencil around to quickly erase a small smudge.

“I feel the need… the need for speed! Ow!”

Midge snickered at the sound of Tom Cruise's voice filtering out of Bee's open windows.

“What—gonna ditch us for a joyride?” The graphite skimmed over the page gently, smoothing light grays over the white paper. She tilted her head to keep the sun out of her eyes. "I see how it is."

He revved his engine, the roar rattling his hood under her. She felt the vibrations shake her body and stowed away her pencil and notebook. She smiled at the 'bot, turning over onto her front. She folded her arms under her and bent her knees, her feet swaying in the soft winds.

 The speakers came to life once more, answering her in song. "Baby you can drive my car."

"Hey, Sam!" Midge called out. Sam grunted, still lost in Mikaela's eyes. Midge smiled and jumped off the hood, kicking up a bit of dust when she landed. "We're gonna go on a drive. Be right back!"

Sliding into the soft leather seat, Midge curled her graphite-stained fingers around the steering wheel. Bumblebee revved the engine for her, the vibration rattling her bones.

She was looking forward to this drive and all the ones they'd have after. As though there was something to look forward to, something to work toward, she pressed on the gas. 

At least it wouldn't be boring with the Autobots around.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee sits on his aft, skid plate flat against the cement floor of the cluttered room. His antenna twitch and give away his curiosity, listening close.

The garage is empty save for the two of them.

"Keep 'em shut!" Midge says, opening the wooden drawer under her work bench. Bee nods with a metallic scraping noise, his servos covering his optics. 

She rummages around, then pulls out the clear CD case, holding it behind her back when she turns around.

She burned the CD just for him. Bumblebee was the special person in her life. When Valentines day rolled around, he's the one she thought of. When her mom asked her if she had been on any dates, she'd thought of their weekends spent together.

But it's not enough to care about him, to want to be with him. He hadn't shown any interest, so she tried to let go of the draw, the chemistry between them. She'd rather do that than cling to what would never be.

He's an Autobot. She's a distraction. All bruisable flesh and breakable bones, not much of a fighter and mostly useless. She couldn't even hold a regular job.

And yet Bee stayed with them. He protected them even though it means he barely sees his friends, his lifelong companions.

Midge climbs into the gigantic mech's lap with practiced ease. Getting a foothold on his greaves, Midge lifts herself over his poleyne, plopping into his lap.

Under her familiar touch, he shifts back to allow her more space, leveling his tibulen to help her balance. She holds out the CD case as close to his optics as she can reach while her free hand presses against his breast plate.

"Okay. Surprise!" When he opens his optics, she's smiling wide, watching his reaction carefully. She shifts her weight as he stares at the little square in her hands. Facing him, she's surrounded by the yellow plate of his stabilizers.

He is surprised, but she can also see the wheels in his head turning. He uses a digit to tap the acrylic case, raising an optical ridge at the woman.

Midge can't help but wonder if anyone had used his tuner for CDs or cassettes. He doesn't have to say anything for her to know what he's asking.

She's gotten better at that over the last year. Their interactions were always teaching her more about how he communicated, even now.

"It's a CD. You put it in your CD reader, and it plays recorded audio." As Midge speaks, she takes the disk out of its case. Leaning on his chassis, she slides it into the reader tucked into his waist. "I thought it might be easier if you had a few words recorded, especially the ones you use all the time."

He tilts his helm, watching. She smiles shyly at the bot when the audio finally plays.

"Midge... Sam... Mikaela... Optimus..." Midge's voice repeats, but it isn't coming from her. Rather, it stems from Bumblebee's speakers. He's at a loss for words, so to speak. The CD continues through the names of the Autobots and Lennox's men, then terms she thought he'd use. All the basics so he wouldn't need to search for them on the radio all the time. It's only full of words. No phrases, and nothing complex, but she hopes it's useful to him regardless.

She watches his faceplate go from stunned to touched, his optics widening with glee.

"I thought it would be good if you could call everyone by name. I know it doesn't sound like you, I mean it's my voice, so... Anyway I'm sure you sounded different before, but, you know, better than nothing." She chuckles sheepishly, realizing she's starting to babble. A blush rises to her cheeks.

He fast forwards the CD, analyzing all the info at speed. She feels weird, listening to her own voice speak to her, but she'd get used to it. It wasn't so big a deal compared to what the 'bot had been through.

He's eager to use the words she gifted him, spinning the CD to find the right ones. There's a slight pause between each word as he patches them together. It plays with a familiarity that makes his spark warm up.

"Midge... favorite. Bumblebee... love... Midge,"

Her blush darkens as her own voice tells her he loves her. She tells herself internally that he doesn't mean it like that, can't mean it like that... right?

He probably means it in a friendly way or familial way, she convinces herself, even as his servos curl around her and pull her into a hug. Even as he nuzzles his cheek to hers. Even as his frame relaxes against her body like a lover in her embrace.

Bumblebee loves the gift. When was it that he last he received one, decades ago? Centuries? Millennia? Not since the war began, at least. He's been a soldier for so long it's hard to remember being anything else.

As he holds the woman, Bumblebee can't help but reminisce on their time together. This year had been shorter than any other. He feels like it flew by with her at his side, laughing and adventuring. They both had a love for going fast and having fun. Her reckless courage and stubborn nature could be called flaws, but he liked them anyway.

"I love you, too, buddy." As Midge leans her cheek against his, she soaks up the stunning warmth of his metal. It calms her like a heated blanket. She wants as much as she can get of this closeness before it inevitably ends.

It feels like coming home. Like having someone in his corner, icing not only his physical wounds but his emotional ones. And yet she slams down a wall with that one word. Buddy.

He closes his optics, soaking her up like a sun beam. He wants all he can get of her. Her laugh, her touch, her presence. He wants more, more than what a 'buddy' should want.

He told her he loved her. He used his words—technically hers—and she said she loved him too, but it wasn't equal. It's not the same thing he expressed. Did he say it wrong? Was there a right way?

He thought he'd finally be understood, but maybe it's harder than he thought. Humans are... difficult to understand, but she's worth it.

Bumblebee seeks help from the only other human he can trust: Sam. How else would he understand the ways of the human female? He barely understands Cybertronian females as it is.

"But she said it back, right?" Sam clarifies, eyebrow raised at the bright yellow 'bot. Sam sits in a lawn chair, an empty paper bag crumpled in his lap from the fast food he'd just finished. The teenager lifts a milkshake from the arm rest, putting the candy red straw to his lips and sucking out the beverage.

Bee lets Midge speak for herself, playing the recording of her from earlier. "I love you, too, buddy." The words fall from his speakers dejectedly. He hadn't expected it to hurt so much after the fact. "Buddy... Buddy... Buddy..." It repeats like a broken record.

"She said that?" Sam blurts out, a bit of his shake dribbling from his mouth onto his shirt. He dabs an oily, used napkin on his face. "That's bad, that's real bad. You're being friend-zoned."

Bee tilts his head at the human, his question obvious. Sam sets down the shake, chewing on the cherry he sucked through the straw. "It means she only thinks of you as a friend. Not, like, romantically. You gotta change that if you want her to take you seriously."

"Ruh-roh," says a popular cartoon dog on the radio.  Bumblebee's antennae droop, giving him a kicked puppy look. Sam sighs at Bee's dramatics. The 'bot always was a little extra.

"I'm not saying she doesn't like you. You just have to take it slow," Sam says, not unkindly. "You don't start with 'I love you.' You skipped, like, 20 steps."

Bumblebee’s cooling fans whirr nervously. "...There are steps?"

Sam, nodding, stands from the lawn chair, stretching his arms and back. He turns back to Bumblebee, ready to impress on the 13-foot 'bot the basics of women and dating. "You gotta woo her first. You know—romance her."

Wooing Midge would be difficult. Bumblebee had a few ideas already, but nothing concrete. It would have to be something big, a grand gesture. Bumblebee just isn't sure what that gesture should be.

Scrolling through radio channels to find inspiration, he lands on a relevant one and plays it to Sam. Humans must have some kind of formality that they follow, and this one seems as good as any.

A British narrator's posh accent alights with curiosity as he describes the animals he's sure to be observing. “In the animal kingdom, elaborate mating rituals are used to attract a mate. In many species, the male initiates the mating ritual with a display of physical prowess, vibrant coloration, or elaborate vocalizations. In some cases, he offers a gift."

Sam's eyes squint, his face taking on a puzzled expression. "What?"

"When the female accepts the gift, copulation may begin."

"NO! Uh-uh." Sam's sudden panic, his hands waving wildly, takes Bee off guard.  His antennae flatten, his optical ridge bowing apologetically. Sam sighs, letting the panic leave his body with it. "Start small. Ask her out on a date."

Bumblebee doesn't want that kind of reaction from Midge. He doesn't want to scare her. He worries about her fearing his size, his clumsiness. He never felt as gigantic and clunky as he did when she was underfoot, and that even scared him sometimes.

While Sam's mind is fraught with worry over the possible union, he still wants to support his friend. Although at first he was afraid Midge would go down the same path she'd tread before with DJ, he could see that wouldn't happen with Bee.

He'd proven himself more than once, Sam couldn't deny that. There wasn't anyone he trusted more with his sister. He didn't leave Midge on the front doorstep after midnight, as sloshed as a fish in whiskey. He didn't keep dangerous secrets. He didn't make reckless decisions that risked Midge's life and leave her to clean up the mess.

"Look, I mean—I’ve seen movies. And girls like... gestures, I guess. Mikaela loves flowers and compliments." Sam recalls the advice his dad gave him—before he met Mikaela, before national disasters became their new normal. "Be confident, open her door for her, pull out her chair. Just be a gentleman, and the, uh, well... things will happen naturally."

Bumblebee catalogues everything Sam says. He searches for reference images of women with flowers and holy crap there's a lot of them. He makes note to look up how to be a confident gentleman and compliments that make girls blush. He liked seeing her cheeks make that pleasant, rosy color, like a tint falling over her fair skin.

"You should probably keep it simple for the date, like dinner and a movie. Er, well, a movie." Sheepishly, Sam rubs the back of his neck, thinking more deeply about what Bee should do for such an important first date. Midge wasn't necessarily hard to please, but Sam was never 100% sure what she wanted. "Some chick flick like The Notebook, but download Die Hard for back up. Oh—and tulips. She likes tulips."

Nodding, Bumblebee's thoughts ricochet in his head. He clings to Sam’s advice like it’s gospel, because, Primus help him, he’s flying blind.

He was so young when the war started that he never had much of a chance. His planet was gone before romance could sprout. What little he knows of it is from stories and memories shared by veterans and other soldiers he knew. He isn't a woo-er, he's a soldier.

Bee downloads the movies Sam mentioned while he determines the best course of action, sucked into the planning of what he'll say and what he'll do when it comes time to ask. 

He's drawn out of it by a hand on his pede. He looks down at the youngest Witwicky.

Sam licks his lips, choosing his next words carefully. "You know, I used to be afraid for Midge. Thought she was gonna fall for another asshole with a pretty face." Bumblebee stares, touched by the words of his young friend. "I don't think I gotta worry about that anymore. Good luck."

"$51.87, ma'am," reports the clerk clad in orange. It's the same shade of afternoon Sunbeams shining through the window, bouncing off the car that waited for her like a dog outside a coffee shop. Midge hands over her debit card, looking the other way when his voice cracks halfway through.

The clerk, his face marked with bright red pustules of acne, returns the card and receipt. His hands tremble, his eyes darting down, then back to her face.

"Word of advice, Carl?" Midge reads the name off the tag clipped to his polo. She smiles to the teen, too nice to be real. His unkempt curls are matted with sweat, probably because the A/C in the old brick building was shot. "Eyes are up here. And it's miss, not ma'am."

She takes her leave with her purchase, the door jingling as it swings behind her. It was hot. She'd been working on a painting all morning when she ran out of titanium white. It's crucial to creating the gradient she wants. 

It also means a lot of time spent waiting for paint to dry just so she can spread more on top. Why couldn't she have chosen to be an acrylic artist instead?

Her canvas tote slung over her shoulder, Midge walks off the sidewalk with casually swaying hips. Honking horns and slamming car doors waft over from the nearby streets.

Her tattered converse's soles are so thin she feels the heat from the black top. She jogs across the parking lot and slides into the yellow Camaro, her sanctuary from the unforgivingly bright sun.

He was her constant companion, always offering to accompany her. She never had to go far to find the 'bot, and for that she was grateful. He claimed it was for her safety, but she knows the truth—he likes the music. Likes hearing her sing along, even if she doesn't have the best singing voice. 

She's just happy to call him her friend. It's more than she could've asked for. She should be happy with what she's got. The friends that she could rely on, she could count on one hand and she wasn't going to screw that up.

And yet, at the sight of him, she feels warm and it has nothing to do with the temperature. Butterflies riot inside her belly and her lips grow dry. Her tongue wets them as she gets close.

Snapping the door shut behind her, she winces at the loud noise. Midge gives the car an apologetic look as she settles in.

He has Luther Vandross queued up, ready to play the perfect line. He has it all planned out. Luther's dulcet voice will do all the talking. Her face will flush and her heart will flutter.

Then she'll say yes. He needs to believe that.

"All done," she says, depositing her tote in the passenger seat while she buckles up. The engine roars to life, and Bee turns his radio on. "Let's go home, bud."

There's that word again. Bud. Buddy.

His confidence flies out the window. He sets the radio to a random station, avoiding the song he actually had in mind. He'll bide his time, he can always try again later.

"Friend-zoned," Sam's warning floats through his CPU like a cybernetic ghost.

A strumming guitar plays in the lovely voice of a young woman. "Ooh, turn it up, Bee." Midge's head starts bobbing as she lays her hands on the wheel, just in case a cop was looking.

Bumblebee does as asked, allowing the melody to play louder through his speakers. He gives up on playing Luther after that, promising himself that he'll ask her soon. He just needs the moment to be right.

Bumblebee pulls out of the parking space and sets off toward home.

"I'm just an ordinary girl," she belts along to the music. He turns onto the main road, the tired asphalt rumbling under his wheels.

Midge shimmies her shoulders, her manicured nails tapping to the beat. "Sometimes I'm lazy, I get bored. I get scared, I feel ignored."

This is why he loves driving her around. The emotion, the life always seeping out of her. Uncontrolled, wild and free, she was stunning. He opens the windows, letting the heated air whip through his chassis.

It's funny to hear her words mirror his feelings so closely. It must be pretty common to feel this way, like there's a bolt is stuck in his intake that he can't swallow. Like his tank's on fire and he's burning from the inside out.

The drums match the beat she keeps, her golden red waves splashing as she moves to the music. "I feel happy, I get silly. I choke on my own words."

The music lowers. He hadn't meant to, but he's lost in the moment. Maybe he doesn't need the perfect timing or the perfect line. Maybe all he needs is to be as real with her as she is.

"Everything okay?" She asks, noting his sudden silence. "Bumblebee?"

Her eyebrow raises as she pauses. The silence stretches between them while Bee gathers his courage. Optimus would laugh if he could see him now. 

There won't be a better moment, so he has to make this the one.

Bee doesn't answer, just sets the song to play again with his spark in his intake.

Luther's voice is like velour. Liquid velvet spills from Bee's speakers, the piano and snare accenting him wonderfully.

"Can I take you out tonight?"

Chapter Text

Fog still clings to the corners of the mirror from her shower. Hairspray and makeup scent the air of the upstairs bathroom, moist yet powdery.

Smokey black liner pairs with Midge's dark garb while neutral tones couch her angles, softening her vibe with a brown eye and mauve lip. Rosy blush over the top of her cheeks and the tip of her nose makes her look almost sun burnt.

The finishing touch is a shining pin she places delicately in her curled hair that matches the silver chain clasped around her neck. Her crop top stretches across her chest, its off-the-shoulder neckline baring her freckled shoulders and the stretch of skin between her ribs and her belly button. Her classic black leather skirt ties off the hot-yet-mysterious ensemble.

She does a 360, checking out how her ass looks in the mirror, just in case.

Lowering her voice, she tries for the sultry ease of a Hollywood actress and gives the mirror her best bedroom eyes. "Bumblebee... Eat your heart out."

But it doesn't feel like her. Midge's confidence comes from labor, not ease. She's no Marilyn Monroe, but she isn't a nervous wreck either. She's somewhere in between, wanting to bite her nails but resisting tirelessly, clenching her teeth so she doesn't chew her lip.

Bumblebee hadn't provided a dress-code of any sort, for obvious reasons.

She'd been through her whole wardrobe and it was the only thing that looked right, felt right. DJ said it made her look sexy. She always wore it for dates, it would be weird to wear anything else. But it's like DJ stained it, his residue making her feel like it doesn't wholly belong to her.

"Red is definitely your color," he'd said. He never could leave well enough alone, especially when it came to her. Midge lets out a huff, hoping to leave his memory along with their past.

She catches Mojo outside the door, staring at her as if critiquing. "Too much?" she asks, pouting. Should she throw on an oversized shirt and trade her skirt for cutoffs? What does date night look like for a Cybertronian?

A horn honks outside her window—three short, then two long—to tell her he's arrived.

"Shit!" Her voice raises an octave, her nerves flinging back to the surface. She'd just gotten rid of them with her long, relaxing routine. Now the "pep-talk" portion has to be canceled so she can get a head start on the "rush out the door" portion. She was getting ready early just in case of this event.

This is the date, the one that makes or breaks everything. If they don't keep seeing each other after this, Bee might still want to see her. Right now he's keeping up with Midge and Sam, but what if he wants to go back to being a one human 'bot? He was with Sam before she met him.

Midge stuffs the nerves back down, swallowing the jitters with a swig of vodka. The bottle, usually hidden in her sock drawer, was meant to keep her hands steady for painting. Tonight was just as important. She needed enough to chase off the tremors. Not too much, in case they got pulled over.

She hadn't expected him to be twenty minutes early.

She snags her purse off the bed, the black bag trailing behind her. She tears down the stairs, taking them two at a time. She almost trips over Mojo at the base of them, sidestepping the chihuahua at the last second.

Willing herself not to look in the hallway mirror, as she's sure she just undid all her hard work in the rush of it all, she tumbles into the foyer. Midge slips on her heeled black boots, adding a good inch or two to her height. 

She throws the door open, letting the last dregs of afternoon air filter inside. The voice in the back of her head—if she screws this up, it's not just a friend she's losing, it's her only friend, her best friend, the one she trusts with her life—goes silent.

There he is, parked on her sunset-soaked driveway.

Her gaze lands on him and it's like being struck by lightning.

Her breath hitches, caught in her throat like vinyl sheeting under a vacuum. She's frozen in place for a moment.

Bumblebee, looking radiant, awaits her like a chariot awaiting his princess. She steps out, hoping to leave her nerves behind like Cinderella's glass slipper.

Making her way down the driveway to the Camaro, she steps around him, her wide eyes looking him up and down. He's practically glowing, his metal shining as if just-waxed.

She has to imagine he spent all afternoon getting cleaned up, and it's paying off. Her mouth waters like he's candied diesel and she's a kid in a candy shop.

Each section of his plating is buffed to perfection and molten gold seems to drip off his cad yellow paint. Even the black of his stripes looks darker than usual, like she could fall in if she got too close. His tires are the same. They're black as night, glistening as if perpetually wet.

"Hello, handsome." She steps back into the shoes of confident, gorgeous Midge, the one from the bathroom mirror. "You trying to upstage me?"

His engine revs playfully, twice, making Midge laugh. The driver door opens before she can reach for it.

"Isn't she lovely? Isn't she wonderful?" From inside the luxury vehicle, Stevie Wonder's soft, soulful tone drifts out.

She slides in, taking refuge in the soft, warm leather. The tiny plastic flower pot on the dash makes her chuckle, the fake tulip's red bulb swaying like a metronome. Trailing her finger under its leaves, she can't help but ask, "Okay, how'd you know?"

"Sam," he answers easily, Midge's pre-recorded voice playing as he spins the disc she gifted him. She loves that he's getting use out of it, but it's a little embarrassing to listen to herself. Her eyes drift, taking in the polished interior. There's little blue tree peeking from behind his bee and disco ball decorations, printed with the words 'New Car Smell.'

"You certainly stole the show from my perspective," Midge says, coy smile on her lips. "So, where are we headed?"

The radio sounds like static. The knob does a lot of work, flying back and forth over the channels.

Bee doesn't find a word for it. 

It doesn't have a marking, or a sign, or even a road that leads up to it. It's just a quiet little clearing he found on his escapades. It's empty, calm, and gorgeous. Bee wants to tell her but it doesn't have a name in her language or his.

He sat in that clearing for hours just because it smelled like her. Made him feel like she was all around him, in the flora and fauna. The gentle embrace of the clearing felt like her arms on his alloy.

He just knows the feeling. Settling on a channel, he plays the song that feels the way he does when he's there.

"You belong among the wildflowers. You belong somewhere close to me."

Midge smiles, her glossy lips parting to show off her straight teeth. She's never had to accept so much praise in one afternoon. Her cheeks were already sore.

"Far away from your trouble and worry. You belong somewhere you feel free."

If someone told her it was another dimension, she might have believed it.

The clearing is otherworldly, soil likely never disturbed by human feet. The meadow sprawled around them, the long, soft grass flattening under her bare feet.

She threw her boots off as soon as she felt the velvety blades on her calves. She runs toward the fireflies dancing between the branches and smells the sweet honeysuckle aroma. It's like paradise.

She breathes out and the trees seem to drink it up. "This place is amazing. How'd you find it?" She says to the massive mech, his metal frame looming above the tallest tree in sight.

They walk side by side, Bee leading her to a giant sheet spread across the dirt. It's comically big, looking more like a parachute than a picnic blanket, it's edges pinned to the ground with wooden spikes.

Midge laughs throatily, shocked to see him shake a skillet of Jiffy-Pop out of his gauntlet and set up a heating element.

His massive servos feel bigger than they did while he was practicing this. She watches him closely, her ocean eyes tracking each clumsy movement as he uses his own power to fuel the cook top.

He's intensely focused on his task. He crouches over the pan with the stillness of an alligator before it closes it maw.

Midge is intensely focused on him. She's speechless, impressed by his attention to detail. He's usually swinging his fists at world-ending enemies, not preparing food. He nudges the wire handle gently, making sure the kernels don't burn. It brings forth old memories of circus elephants on tiny platforms and bears riding unicycles.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop pop. Pop pop pop pop.

The aluminum top domes out, popcorn filling it quickly. It's almost absurd, the care with which Bee pulls the pan from the flame.

The planning, the fore thought, it was all there. Bumblebee's put more thought into this night than she had into her whole week. How long had he been preparing for this moment?

"Wow."

The whisper tumbles out of her accidentally, her breath stolen by the gentle nature of his titanic fingers splitting the foil with the absolute edge of the angled alloy. The hulking 'bot is practically falling over himself to please her. The significance isn't lost on her.

He sets the pan down and pushes it across the blanket. He waits for her to take a bite, looking away until her teeth crunch down on a handful of the snack. The crispy, airy texture pops in her mouth, the salty, buttery flavor seeming to melt in her mouth. It was the best pop corn she'd ever had, whether it was the method or the chef. 

Her eyes shut, savoring the taste. “Mm. This is better than I can make at home. You're going to ruin me for all other men, you know."

The tension leaves his frame and his spinal strut slumps. His chassis loosens, his aft plopping onto the blanket finally. His faceplate seems to lighten, glee gracing his metal features.

"That was always the plan."

He moves over, leaning his pauldron against the treeline.

He watches her form like a hawk while he shifts around her. He can't be complacent, lest he squish her or forget his strength. He's always gentle when she's near.

There's the level of precision that's required to be an Autobot, and then there's the level of precision that's required to touch a human without breaking them. The gap between the two is vast.

For Bee, the popcorn was a test. A minor one, but a test all the same. He knows Sam said not to worry about mating rituals, but Bee's an Cybertronian first and foremost. Some things are just baked in.

Succeeding was proof of his ability to be careful, gentle, to provide. To do things for her that aren't always easy. And her reaction, her subtle approval, sends shivers down his spinal strut.

He's passing.

Somehow, he's passing every test.

It was no Notebook, but Die Hard did end with romance. The credits roll against a nearby cliff face before Bumblebee cuts it.

A husband trying to reconnect with his wife went to the party she was at, and in so doing, ended up involved in a hostage situation. The main character's quick thinking and military prowess proved to win his wife back as he eventually saved her life, risking his own in the process.

Bee assumed being married was like being sparkmates. He's vindicated when they kiss at the very end, riding home in the back of a white limousine.

Matters of the spark are popular tonight. In life, in film, in song. Bee can't help but draw parallels to his own life, his own relationship.

He liked it more than he thought. Bee lets his tuner break the silence, an older woman with a New York accent speaking for him. "We should do this more often, sweetie."

She looks up at him, her head tilting back to reveal her wide smile.

"This night has been..." Midge trails off, looking for a word to describe today. "Perfect."

He waits a beat, as if she was going to take it back. His radio crackles, "Really?"

"I mean it. This is already more than I expected," she breathes, a disbelieving smile forming. At his concerned stare, she realizes her mistake. "Not because you're a car—God that sounds bad. I meant I didn't think anybody would ever... try so hard. For me."

It strikes Bee as odd. From what he gathered, she had been involved before. Surely, someone must have understood what she was worth.

"Your... ex..." Bumblebee pieces together two sound bites, static chasing their edges. A beat passes before the last word streams from his tuner. "...Didn't?" He leans in, his frame covering her like a metal canopy. If he could shield her from the entire world, he would. Without a second thought.

"No." A sad smile spreads on her lips, like ice melting in the palm of her hand. "DJ liked working on cars, I liked racing them. We worked well on paper, but he was obsessed. With control, with speed. No matter what it was."

She thinks back on their relationship. He had rushed through things there, too.

Bumblebee strangles down the jealousy that rises in his tank, asking with a clip, "What happened?"

Midge sighs and picks a tiny white blossom from the meadow, twirling it between her fingers.

"We fixed up a '70 Dodge Challenger together when we started dating." Lifting the bud to her nose, she inhales softly. The scent is familiar, reminiscent of the perfume her mother used to wear. "All Black, cherry engine. We called it Douglas. He was a work of art. Like you. Special."

Her eyes glaze over, her voice thinning. She can visualize the Hellcat. He was her baby, her pride and joy. She can feel the wind whipping through her hair as she careened down the interstate. The sensation of flying before the inevitable fall.

"Mod after mod after mod, DJ put in that thing." Midge's eyebrows lower. She scoots closer to her 'bot, seeking his closeness. "We were just kids... But he knew I didn't want to drive with nitrous. Turned it on anyway, in the middle of a race and I... I couldn't control it."

She hears the tires squealing, sees the street lights passing like darts.

Bumblebee silently waits. He doesn't move except to make space for her at his side. He'd seen her drive, been driven by her. He knew how sure her hands were. He's looking back on last year's decisions with a new appreciation.

It makes sense now, why she seemed so free driving him in a way that she didn't with others. She trusted his driving.

Bee could have stopped that crash from happening. He could have prevented nitrous from affecting his engine. She didn't have to be afraid when she was in his driver's seat. She didn't have to be careful.

"I woke up in the hospital. Couldn't move my legs. I ate out of a straw for months." She shakes her head, trying to keep the emotion from clogging her throat. She looks down and the flower she held is crushed, her fist closed tightly around the satiny petals.

Bee's optics are unusually dim. The description of the injury almost makes him hurt for her. His pain isn't physical, but one of the spark.

On Cybertron, a 'bot's only down for as long as it took to get new parts. Humans don't have that luxury. They have to heal. He knew that, but didn't realize the extent of it.

"Fractured spine. Spent a year in physio. It was my car, my race, so it went on my record." She sniffles, blinking away a tear. "Things weren't the same when I got out of Juvie. My friends were... They wanted nothing to do with me. Sam and my parents, they were all I had."

She trembles visibly. The night air is warm, though, a light sheen of sweat on the caps of her shoulders glistening under the light of Bee's optics. Her hair isn't as sleek as it was before, some strands coiling and springing free.

"Douglas got impounded. DJ ghosted." She shrugs, an attempt to brush it off. Like it didn't hurt her. Didn't bleed her out on the little white blossoms her car sailed over.

But her hand clenches on his

They flew past street signs. The other racers faded into the background. She gripped the steering wheel for dear life, her knuckles white as snow. The tachometer needle slowly tipped over 160. There were no more numbers on the dial.

"Shut it off! DJ, I swear to God! !" She screamed, blue eyes glued to the thankfully empty road ahead.

He was laughing. He had a shit-eating grin on his face, tipped back against the passenger seat. "Fucking hell, Smidge. You're the best driver I know."

The rubber seemed to pull away from the asphalt. It was like levitating.

"You got this. Just win us this race, baby," he was saying as Douglas jumped the barrier of the interstate, barrelling off road. Ocean eyes never met amber, locked instead on the tree trunk that approached far too swiftly.

A gray and yellow servo scoops her up, pulling her onto his chassis. He doesn't want to control her or fix her, just comfort her. He hates that she went through it all alone.

Bumblebee's chassis rumbles, a mix between a growl a static. He wishes he could go back in time and keep her safe from it all.

Loneliness. Abandonment. Isolation. Exile. Change. 

All things Bee understands, sympathizes with. His spark near rips itself to pieces, pained by every detail of her suffering.

She lays her head on his plate, her eyes closing. Wind tousles her hair and she breathes him in. Amongst the metal and energon, there's something that's uniquely him. Sugary and golden.

It swirls in her mind, her mind like a bitter Darjeeling left steeping too long.

DJ always soured it—curdled milk, moldy lemon. DJ was acrid and harsh. Bumblebee is a hard, honey candy, his insides gooey and sweet, and she needed his saccharine all along.

The garage welcomes them silently, the only sound that of the rolling door falling shut.

She looks even more beautiful when he sits back to observe her, taking in her windswept locks and the makeup that was smudged against his plating earlier. He feels more than ever, drinking up her tired but satisfied visage.

He doesn't know what she's thinking, how she's feeling. Doesn't know if she wants this as badly as he does.

Only that he'd do it all over again if it got her to look at him like that.

The door to the kitchen glows behind her. It's a portal to another world, one he can't enter. Doing so would be like trying to squeeze your hand into a dollhouse, only his hand is metal and the dollhouse is paper. Behind him, the rolling garage door blocked out the outside world.

"So." Midge rocks back on her heels, looking at the open tube of paint, the toolbox spilling nails and drill bits, the oil stain on the floor—anything but the hunched over Autobot. She's not sure how to end the night now that she's standing at the precipice, or if she wants it to end.

He plays a recording of a teen boy drawing out an awkward, "Soooo..."

There's not much space, his frame taking as little space as possible, but still quite close. She lays a hand on his greave, peering up at him.

She chuckles, her skirt swishing around her thighs as she sways. "Tonight was perfect. I think you've ruined me for human men."

His engine rumbles quietly, clearly pleased at her approval. He tunes his radio and it spews a line. "That was always the plan."

She laughs again, this time from her gut. She's drunk on the atmosphere, nearly stumbling into him. She braces herself on Bee's stabilizer, her stomach floating and her heart swelling.

She eventually pulls back, checking the time and stuffing her phone back in her purse. "It's late."

He whines mechanically. He doesn't want to admit that she's right.

"I know, Bee. Me too." Her lids lower half way. "But, there's one thing you forgot."

His head tilts. He runs through his mental checklist again, marking off each of the big directives.

Midge's hands clasp behind her back, her mouth quirking up. "Humans have a kind of first date tradition. The guy is supposed to kiss the girl right before she goes inside for the night."

Stunned, he just stares at her for a while. His optics shutter and open again. He doesn't know what to say, what to do.

A kiss. She wants a kiss. The popcorn was supposed to prove how gentle he could be, to her and to himself, but his head suddenly feels so massive. Her face seems so small, minuscule compared to his own. He never felt the disparity in their size as he did in that moment.

His optics trail down to her plump, glossy lips. They're moving.

"So?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with mischief and anticipatory glee. "Can I kiss you?"

When his brain catches up with him, he nods. Vehemently.

"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" spouts a woman in the rain from his radio. It sounds like the end of a movie like The Notebook.

He leans forward, pressing himself as close to the woman as he can while still allowing her to approach him. He folds himself as small as he can, looking unintimidating, he hopes.

His helm lowers, her confident gaze luring him closer.

Up close, she looks even more fragile. Her skin is almost translucent in places—her wrists, her inner elbows, the outermost curve of her hip—so much that her veins peek through the sheer veil.

He places his servos on either side of her, kneeling on the dusty, cement-covered ground. His faceplate steadies near her, almost the size of her entire torso. He'd never kissed an organic. Even with 'bots, it was a little different because of his faceplate.

This is completely new territory. He's excited to tread it with her, but there's a sting of uncertainty in the back of his processor. If she feels that uncertainty as well, it doesn't show.

Her hands start to climb his shoulders, but she only makes it halfway. She can't reach much there. She moves on, unperturbed, caressing his helm. She can't change their differences, only live with them. Appreciate them.

She keeps contact, her hand migrating to his mandible to hold him still. She sets the mood by nuzzling him, her warm skin leaving burning prints on his faceplate.

He can't help but sputter, his speakers spitting out an oft-repeated in teen romance movies. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"And yet you seem to be winging it alright" she whispers, her breath carrying the scent of her cherry lip gloss. She inches forward until they finally meet, a mess of wires and nerves

She's kissed a handful of people before.

But she never kissed someone that made her feel like this. Electrified with a single touch, his metal tingling against her skin. Her heart slams against her rib cage, beating like a horse's feet on dry ground. Her head empties itself, honing her focus. She closes the distance, the gap shortening by the second.

Then her lips touch metal. Lip gloss slips and slides between them, the substance like grease to a flame.

The press of flesh on steel, an eternal ebb and flow, feels divine. He's grateful for his modestly panel at the moment, as his system don't know how to react. The 'wings' on his back flutter, a shiver running through his back strut.

Bee's components seem to vibrate with his restrained energy. Her kiss is like gas to his spark and together they're on fire.

He hopes she doesn't regret this later. The kiss feels almost wasted on his alloy. The hunk of metal he calls a face can't reciprocate the sensual movements of her plush lips. He wants to meet her tongue with a glossa of his own, to have derma that could meet her lips.

But he loses track of his thoughts in favor of cataloguing every feeling.

He almost purrs. The scent of amaretto and linseed oil accentuates her kisses. Her hair brushes his faceplate.

She pulls away, a shining thread of saliva stringing them together. It glistens under his optics' light before snapping back to her lips that shimmer with pink gloss. He jolts back to awareness when they move, her mouth forming the shape of words.

"You're really quiet," she pants, her auburn brows creasing together in concern. "You can tell me if you didn't like it."

"No." her voice says, a line from the CD playing on repeat. "No. No. No."

He pleads with her internally, hoping she knows that that couldn't be farther from the truth. He loved it, enjoyed it, wants more of it.

With the voice of Lloyd Christmas putting on his classic English accent, he refutes her. "I like it a lot."

"Oh," she says, genuinely shocked. The shock fades into a coy pleasure that curls her lips into a smile. "Then, you wouldn't object to another?"

"O'course not," vows an old Irishman's voice over his speaker, his resolution mirroring Bee's own. For a first kiss, Bee thinks it went wonderful. Midge is right about winging it, he thinks, watching her lean in again.

He wishes she never had to go through that portal, up those stairs where he can't follow.

Chapter Text

Midge lets Bumblebee press in for another kiss, her lips finding his mouth plate sloppily. The familiar tinge of diesel and honey assaults her senses, his scent penetrating her nostrils like it belongs there.

The garage is humid, the heavy air hovering around the woman and her robot as though magnetized. She leans back against the workbench, her elbows folded under her against the surface.

The Autobot kneels over her, easily three times her size, crowding her against the surface. One servo braces against the bare concrete, holding him steady above her. The other floats under her dangling legs, caught between seeking contact and careful distance.

Pistons twitch under his faceplate, guiding it to match her rhythm with unsure, stuttering movements.

A long exhale streams from Midge's nostrils, her closed eyelids fluttering. A year ago, he was afraid of even getting close. He wouldn't move, just let her smooch him to her heart's content. That worked for a little while.

Now, though? He's well-practiced, and even seeks it out. Midge had very few complaints.

There were, of course, times when they cracked metal and teeth together, uncoupled pin jumpers, or pinched skin in hinges, but that wasn't today. Today feels like the culmination of all those sweaty, hot hours of exhausting, titillating work.

It's easily one of their favorite pastimes. Bee claims he still needs practice, that he needs to keep his skills sharp. It's a ruse, one she can see straight through, but she prefers to play along.

A large digit brushes the underside of her thigh, sending a shock up her body. She sighs into the kiss, warmth swirling in her gut. Her tongue glides along his mouth plate and dips below the seam, curious and unafraid. 

Bumblebee sees stars when she tickles the backside of it, her saliva leaving the metal slick. Heated air blows across her cheeks as Bee's cooling fans kick into gear. His HUD shows him the temperature of his engines is rising, but he ignores it.

His helm bobs, his components shifting in ways that almost mimic her jaw moving up and down. She yields to the pressure, opening wide for him. Bee dives closer into her soft, warm mouth, his metal poleyne scraping the concrete as he shuffles closer.

His thumb strokes her thigh, grazing from her knee to the hem of her skirt. Not groping, just touching, appreciating, worshiping.

Each time they do this, he surprises Midge with his control. His gigantic servos sometimes tremble with restrained emotion. His optics sometimes shutter as if to block out the distractions.

She caresses down his chin, into the open space under his jawline. She learned not to reach for his far-away shoulders. Her hand falls to the cables of his neck—dense, solid, but just narrow enough for her fingers to wrap around. She holds the sinews tightly, pulling him into her orbit and suffocating him with her atmosphere.

His fans level up their power, forcing hot air out of his vents. The warm air shuffles the fabric of her skirt, the jersey fabric lifting gently with the breeze. They don't hear the door swing open.

"Holy—Can you not do that in the garage?"

Her father's voice in her ears is like a bucket of ice water, dumped over them with no warning.

Bumblebee almost jumps away from her, his hands pulling back as though burned. His helm whacks one of the overhead beams, but it stays miraculously stable. He lets out a mechanical groan, holding his metal head as he sways.

"Oh my God, dad!" she shouts, hopping off of the work bench and pulling her skirt back down. "Have you heard of knocking?"

If he hadn't seen their activities, he'd have known by her messy hair and kiss-swollen lips.

"I know you're grown, sweetie, but I'll never be comfortable with another man putting his hands on my baby girl," Ron hushes his daughter, standing in the doorway facing opposite them. "Even if that man is a robot."

A laugh leaves her, though not out of humor. She shrugs animatedly, her hands slapping her thighs when she lets them drop. "You don't have to like it, dad. You don't even have to understand it, you just have to put up with it."

He takes his classic stance, the one he had when she was in that hospital bed, or when he found her cigarettes when she was 14, or when he found out she was looking at porn on the family computer at night. "As long as you two live under my roof—"

"Yeah, yeah, we know." Midge rolls her eyes, holding her elbow with a bent arm. "Nothing inappropriate behind closed doors. Does our whole relationship fall under the umbrella of "inappropriate" now, too?"

"That's not fair," her dad mutters lowly, hands rising to his hips. His short-sleeved collared shirt is light and airy, his khakis screaming "father on vacation." Her parents had plans to make a trip out of taking Sam to university and getting him settled.

"Isn't it?" She storms past him, her shoulder bumping his as she moves into the kitchen swiftly. She's mortified and looking for a way out. "You act like I'm gonna find an accountant from Burbank and move in down the street. What do you think this is for me?"

"Margaret, you know I love you." His hands settle on her shoulders, prompting Midge to step back and let them fall. He clenches them, but doesn't make another attempt. "I just don't think it's good for you to rebound like this. You're looking for the opposite of what you and DJ had, and I mean the total opposite, but—"

"Rebound? It has been ten years, dad." Shaking her head, she turns from him, one foot on the first stair. "Whatever." 

Her shoes against the hardwood floor punctuate her finish. She stops a few stairs up, turning as though she had something to say, but ultimately chooses not to.

He stands frozen in the doorway, rubbing his neck as if his shame could be wiped off.

She leaves him in her dust, stomping up the stairs irritatedly. She loves her dad, but he always goes about these things the wrong way. Controlling, admonishing, domineering.

The difference now is that she doesn't need to take it anymore. When she makes it to her room, the door thuds closed with finality. She'll apologize to Bee later.

The argument made her feel like packing. Soon, Sam, Midge, and Bee would all be 3,000 miles from here and she couldn't be happier.

"Keep. Keep. Sell. Keep." She looks over her shoulder and winces at the numerous sorted canvases. The keep pile is much larger than the sell pile. The hard part will be removing the fabric from the stretcher bars. There's at least twenty paintings there and if she's lucky, they'll fly off the table at Art Basel Trenton in a few weeks.

Her new place? A 700-square-foot studio with no walls, high ceilings, a garage, and a cargo lift. Perfect for a girl with a giant robot boyfriend. Sam had to be on campus when his classes started, while Midge has time. She plans to take a few extra days getting everything together, but that doesn't mean she's slacking.

She had already sent over most of her furniture, leaving her room mostly bare. Her paintings were some of the few items she insisted on moving herself, along with some other sentimental items.

Standing up after sitting for so long, her knees crack and crinkle. She makes her way to the kitchen in search of caffeine. She checks the fridge only to find her cold brew coffee has barely a sip left.

"Ugh! Sam," she mutters angrily, knowing her little brother had left her the basically empty bottle. She takes the container, squeezing all the air out of it to save space before she tosses it into the trash.

She'll just have to make coffee. She tosses some ground beans in the filter and sets it to brew a half pot. While she waits for the amber liquid to drip, her eyes settle on the door to the garage. 

She isn't happy with how things ended earlier. She hadn't wanted to leave but she couldn't stand there and listen to her father go off again.

She wonders if, in the hours since their fight, Bumblebee had found something else to do. She imagines him on the other side, sulking or tracing patterns in the dust. They were having a nice time before Ron shattered the mood. Nearing the entrance, her fingers curl around her mug, weighing the choice.

She steps through the door, ducking her head to watch her bare feet on the splintering wooden stair. She holds her mug in one hand, but it has only sugar and milk, still waiting for the coffee to be added.

Bumblebee is facing away, laying on his front with his helm propped up on his servo. She had given him her old laptop when her dad gifted her a new for Christmas. Like the one she gave him last year, Bee became obsessed with recording things from conversations and burning them onto CDs.

The telltale sound of a whirring CD drives gives him away. She knows immediately that he's burning CDs as he is oft to do.

She peeks around his rerebrace, noting the cable trailing from his gauntlet to the laptop. The screen flickers too fast to follow. He lets out a mechanical groan, his damaged vocalizer humming as if a shell of what it once was.

Like a howling dog that sounds a little too human, there was an almost language-like quality to his grunts. The cadence and the vehemence, the lilting of different syllables, it all made up a sort of language. The rhythm seems to form sentences and, when paired with context clues, words. The lower pitches sound almost like consonants.

Had it really taken her until now to notice? Had he used his voice more often, maybe she would've known, but then it also might prevent it from healing. She silences the ruminating thoughts, forcing herself in the present moment.

Her thoughts and her eyes are fixed on the 'bot in front of her.

The sound started high, lowering over the course of four syllables. The meaning is obvious from his clenched fist and lowered optical ridges. "Man, fuck Vista."

Midge smiles, her heart swelling affectionately at the sight. She found his mannerisms endearing and candid, the kind that lull her into a sense of safety and freedom.

"Having fun out here?" she asks, her free hand reaching for his upper arm.

He waggles a hand sideways at her in a so-so motion. Maybe it's only because she's here, but he looked happy enough now.

She raises the mug to her lips, but lowers it when she remembers what's inside. She isn't quite ready to broach the subject, stalling with a question.

"Are you already packed?"

To respond, he transforms. His trunk pops open with a 'beep beep' like someone had clicked his key fob twice. She bends over, taking in the variety of items. Blankets of all shapes and sizes are stuffed inside, along with a few CD cases.

Her mouth scrunches, puzzlement falling over her face. "That's a lot of blankets. I thought you said you don't get cold?"

"Is nae fer me," responds a Scotsman's voice over Bee's radio, the quality degraded from age. The radio buzzes, switching to another channel where a commercialized transatlantic accent tells her "Those East Coast winters are nothing to scoff at."

"Oh, so they're for me? What a gentleman." Midge giggles, nosing the side of his helm sweetly. She pulls away, slowly standing on her own two feet again. The silence stretches, her expression turning sour, almost guilty. "Hey, so, I wanted to apologize for earlier. My dad was off the handle. I didn't help either. Sorry."

His bright optics take her in reverently, then they shutter as he nuzzles her face. She lets another laugh bubble up, her arm rising to cradle his mandible. There are no words exchanged between them, but his meaning is obvious: "I forgive you."

She sniffs, her eyes feeling just the barest bit moist. Things are so different with Bumblebee. Existing with him is like breathing, even though their anatomy doesn't always agree.

She leans into him, rubbing her nose and cheek against his face plate as if she was soaking him up. His metal is chilled from being in the dark garage with the cool cement flooring and brick walls.

"Okay," she says to the 'bot, finally allowing herself to let go of the shame. Pressing a chaste kiss into his proffered jaw, she smiles then steps away. "Well, I'm gonna go back to packing. See you tonight, Bee."

He beeps in affirmation, his half-shuttered eyes and soft ridges smiling for him without the smile. His rounded, angelic expression stays behind her eyes even as she disappears back into the kitchen.

The morning air in the house is still, even as the family inside bustle around. Her parents were helping Sam pack everything in the car, then drive him 3,000 or so miles to Princeton. Midge and Bee would hopefully be moving out not too long after.

With the tension between her and Ron, she decided to stay home. She knows being stuck in a car with her father wouldn't breed an amicable atmosphere. Passing the fridge, she notices an open bag of sliced bread on the ground. She picks it up, placing it on the counter while she makes her way past the sink to the coffee maker.

Midge sets her mug on the counter, her hand instinctively reaching for the carafe. She grabs only air.

"Huh," she mumbles, her head twisting to stare at the barren countertop.

Half of the kitchen is gone. There's no blender, no stand mixer, no toaster, no microwave. She can't help but wonder if they were robbed. She looks around her but there's no trace of any missing appliances. The hair on the back of her neck stands up. She's not sure what it is, but something is definitely wrong.

"What the..." Midge trails off, her gaze caught by the movement outside the window. "Oh my God!" she screamed, her jaw dropping open as Sam sailed off the roof. She watches him land, rolling on the grass as dirt kicks up around him.

She backs up from the counter, intending to step outside. The moment she removes her hand from the mug, it cracks and shatters into a mess of milk and ceramic shards. Their waffle iron is closed on the mug, but it's warped.

There are eyes on it's top and teeth on it's side, a large glossa falling out of it's widening jaw. It's shaped somewhat like a Venus fly trap, but with iron instead of plant cells.

Noticing it hadn't grasped Midge, it steps forward, clawed toes curling around the countertop. She steps back, measured but not slow. She makes it to the fridge before she turns the other way.

She tears out of the kitchen, running barefoot onto the paved patio. "Dad! Sam!" She hears gunshots all around. Artillery rains from above as she ducks her head, trailing after her brother. It feels familiar, being shot at by a miniature version of a Decepticon. This time, there are just more of them.

The two men slide to the ground behind the central concrete fountain. Midge follows, rolling between them while gunfire nips at her heels. She'd been here before, hiding from robots and praying for something to save them. Their dad was a new feature.

Ron's arm wraps around her shoulders, pulling her against his torso. He bends over, keeping their heads as low as possible. Their temples press together. A bullet hits the fountain's pool, water sloshing onto the sunny pavers that soak it up like thirsty roots.

"Daddy," she breathes, her eyes searching him for anything, a wound, a scrape. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay, sweetie." Another round of shells comes down and Ron shields their faces, flinching under the bombardment. He turns to his son, asking "What is that?"

"The whole kitchen!" Sam shouts back.

Midge closes her eyes, the dust clinging to her lips as she breathes heavily. She feels Sam's presence, his hand resting on her back. He leans forward, his abdomen seeming to squeeze the scream from his lungs.

"BUMBLEBEE!!"

Sam's voice pierces the caterwaul of the assault. The reaction is almost instant.

The wall of the garage bursts into splinters and boards, the cadmium Camaro flying through the debris mid-transformation. By the time he lands on one knee before them, he's fully configured for battle, blasters out and optics alert.

He fires back at the attackers, peppering the back yard with shots. Soil soars into the air with every impact, showering the trio in dirt. He charges up one final blast, shooting it at Sam's room.

The top of the home is demolished, pieces of plywood and plaster falling like confetti. As the last threat is eliminated, Judy runs out of the house like her hair is on fire. So focused on her feet, she doesn't realize what she's headed for until her noggin knocks into a hanging planter.

Ron, sensing the danger has passed, rises to stand with the help of his arms. He hurries to his wife's side. Midge lets out a relieved breath, slumping her shoulders in the aftermath. The house, though smoking, will be dealt with, her parents seem fine, and the siblings have all their limbs. She counted.

"Bumblebee!" Sam shouts with as much frustration as he does desperation. The curly-haired boy points at the building Bee came from. "Get back in the garage."

Bumblebee, for his part, seems surprised. He throws his servos out, as if to say, "What did I do?"

"I'm about to have a nervous break down. Just go in the garage quietly, please."

"Whatever!"

Bee's buzzing seems to say as he waves them off. As he turns, he gets on his hands and knees, retreating back to the garage through the hole he made.

Torn between the smoking house and the busted garage, Midge waffles, looking back and forth between them and feeling the pull. After a five-second deliberation, she darts off toward the garage while her family tackles the home.

As she enters, her feet, dewy from the morning grass, stick to the dust on the concrete, leaving damp, petite footprints up to the massive mech.

She's about to call out, dipping under a stray piece of wood from the demolished wall, but stops. 

She finds him on all fours as before, leaning back on his haunches with a servo raised. He smacks his helm once, twice, three times with his palm.

"Bee..." she says, her heart dropping. The 'bot turns to her, optics guilty. "Come on, don't do that."

It hurts to see the mech in such a mood. He's blaming himself, but it's obvious to anyone that his heart was in the right place. He had only been fighting the enemy, in his eyes, not destroying a home. There's a learning curve to teaching any alien to blend in with human society, so of course he makes mistakes.

Bee lowers himself further, his gauntlets folding in front of his optics. He leans them on the ground, looking like a teenager crying into their pillow.

"Hey," she coos softly, stroking his rotator cuff. "I know it was an accident. It's okay." Her head rests on his, her calm breathing leaving foggy patches on his metal.

As they speak in a not-so-traditional sense. She tries to ignore her father putting up a tarp over the knocked down wall and pretends not to feel his disapproving stare.

She cuddles his helm, leaning into his frame while she tries her hardest to take away his suffering.

Moments later, the tarp rustles. It pulls away to reveal her brother, his hand holding it up and away as he walks inside. She pulls back from Bee, knowing the two of them have a lot to talk about.

"Perfect timing. Get in there and make nice," Midge orders, stepping around her brother and into the outside air. She blows a strand of hair from her face, taking in her partially demolished childhood home. With a sigh, her shoulders slump.

Thank God she won't be living here much longer.

She tugs her folded Razor from her pocket, pressing the buttons by wrote to bring up her messages. She taps out a quick message to Lennox. After the kind of day they've had, she and Bumblebee could do with a visit to Diego Garcia.

"Hey, Lenny. Got time for an appointment at the auto shop this week?"

She sends off the message with a beep, smiling at the thought of the brunette soldier. He's a good man.

Every so often, she and Bumblebee take a trip out to Diego Garcia. Lennox says it keeps morale up for both the soldiers and the 'bots. Seeing everyone is fun for them, too. Bumblebee is always missing the Optimus and the others. Though Midge isn't privy to their orders, she at least gets to see them. That's more than she can ask for, really.

"Soon. I'll get back to you. Got a meeting."

They speak in code, of course, since the Autobots are still a secret to everyone that isn't in the know. Hopefully they would find time, as it'd been an awfully long period since their last meeting. 

There's not much purpose to a drawn-out or teary goodbye, in Midge's mind. She'll be in Princeton next week, then Trenton the following. Patting his back, she turns away. Much to do, after all.

But just as she's leaving, she hears Sam's voice filtering out from between the wood and the tarp.

Bumblebee hasn't said anything for the entire drive. City streets turn into a blur outside the Camaro's windows.

Usually he'd have thrown out a quirky clip or played something on the radio by now, but it was silent instead. He seemed almost preoccupied, probably because of what she overhead from outside the garage earlier.

Around his wheel, Midge flexes her fingers. It's so unlike him to be this quiet that she can't help but worry. One hand drifts to the center of his wheel, her thumb tracing the chrome ridges of the Autobot logo.

"Whatever's going on with you, you gotta get over it. I know you miss him and it sucks that he left, but... You still got me. We still got us."

Smiling warmly, she traces the stitches on the leather of the wheel, familiar and comforting, but there's no response. No seat belt squeezing, no vibrating, no warmth.

"Trenton or bust, remember?" She says, the studio apartment of their dreams appearing in her mind's eye. She was still excited for them and she wanted him to know. "The art scene there is real big there."

Below her, the Camaro rumbles sadly, still not able to shake his funk.

Midge's face falls. He's too moody to even talk to her, probably because Sam hadn't brought Bee to campus with him. Sam blamed it on the no-car-for-freshmen rule, but it stung. He feels like he was left behind, which he was.

Well, too bad. She'll remind him how much fun they can get up to—without Sam.

She presses on the gas, turning down a narrow road without a word of warning to Bee—Caldwell and 140th. The ugly, unkempt road was long and empty, sprigs of green sprouting from between the cracks.

She knows exactly what happens on this street. She'd participated more than once, winning every time, and she's sure Bee would get a kick out of it.

If she can just get him to realize that life doesn't end at goodbye, then she'd have reached her goal for the night.

Midge giggles as she comes to a stop in front of a red traffic light. A shining silver Mitsubishi Eclipse sits in the lane next to them, idling. Midge rolls her window down, tipping her chin at the other driver. He does the the same, his graying goatee swaying with the movement.

She revs Bee's gas, making his engine roar. Again, the other driver seemed to copy her. She either taunted the other driver very well, or it was a hell of a coincidence.

"You challenging me?" the stranger says, lowering his aviator sunglasses to peek at her through his open window. He raises an eyebrow at her carefree face, chewing lightly on the end of his cigarette.

"What's it look like?" she scoffs back.

Bumblebee beeps lowly, a shuffle of his gears accompanying it. As silent as he's been, he was paying close attention to the ordeal. A race may be just what he needs.

Staying locked on the stranger, Midge speaks lowly to the 'bot. "I'm the one taking you on a ride this time. It'll take your mind off things, trust me."

"Alright," growls the goatee, putting both hands on the wheel. "You're on, pedal princess."

Midge settles back into the seat, eyes on the road as her right hand moves down to the shifter. Her fingers on the wheel flex again for a different reason. Bumblebee trembles as he revs his engine

When the light turns green, she slams down her foot on the gas.

Bee's tires squeal, leaving black marks on the pavement. They leave behind a cloud of smoke. The Camaro peels down the road with a flash of laughter, both mechanical and human.