red_diode_district | Can't Run Away Forever

Can't Run Away Forever

She takes the bus now, more often than not.

She'd sold her old bike, dragged her dad off for a 'new start'; pretty much vanished off the grid for a while. Mikaela had done as much as she'd been allowed to do, to get away and keep from being found.

Keep from being found by her friends, at least.

A part of her - the bitter part - is sometimes upset that they never did. That they never tried, never suspected. But then again, the way she had broken up with Sam, real and so very angry...

That same bitter part, while upset, isn't surprised she'd been so easily forgotten.

And then Chicago had happened, freedom had come with a price for everyone, and...

Well. Being left alone was more understandable, after that.

So now Mikaela takes the bus, to and from her little backwoods, podunk gas station/convenience store/one-car garage quick-e-mart, the best she can get on just a highschool degree in this economy, expunged record or not. She does register and occasional garage work, and she has a good shot at making manager in the spring. Her dad has his own place, finally, moving in with a woman with little patience and no tolerance for his crap.

She's too good for him, and Mikaela is happy for them.

But being on her own leaves her with too much time to think, and despite no lack of offers, hints, and the same old innuendos, she's had no one since Sam. She's lonely, and alone in a world where no one remembers or cares who she is or what she's given up.

In short, it sucks, and playing at 'normal' isn't at all what it's cracked up to be.

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This was...not the set of reactions he had expected.

From the bitterness(?) covered by the norm, a half-insult(?), and then- well. All that. Optimus' optics would flare in brief surprise, were they visible; as it is, there's a subtle tension within the vehicle. Despite his best attempts to hide it, Mikaela is literally surrounded by his presence; she can't miss the way everything goes absolutely silent and still.

"...I was under the impression that you had wanted no further part in events," he ventures finally. "And, here- wanted to affirm you were...safe."

As opposed to those they had to leave, because the risk for all of them was simply too high. He may yet have to leave, because no doubt his enemies are hunting for him even now, and he cannot endanger another like this.

Especially not Mikaela.

For a long moment, Mikaela goes as still as Optimus. There is a flicker of worry that she may have pissed him off- but at the words, Mikaela laughs.

She stops and laughs until the tears come again, until they turn to sobs and she curls her legs up in his seat, hugging her knees as she struggles to breathe.

"Wow. J-just wow. And here I th-thought my story was p-pretty shit at the time."

She shakes her head, hair falling everywhere as she presses her face into her knees.

"I never wanted to le-leave, Optimus. I didn't have a choice in the matter."

That is...decidedly. Not a normal set of human reactions.

Optimus can only watch at her, feeling oddly helpless; it's clear now that there's been no small amount of deception and lies, but that...it may not be her own. Her phrasing, her unspoken words...

A few more moments and he searches his systems for an ill-used, but- still somewhat working program. Next to her, in the ruined seat, there's a humming sound- and then an image flickers to life, a hologram of a man with a red shirt and piercing blue eyes. Though they're gentle, now, even with the hologram flickering off and on.

It may be a frivolous use of energy, but it's minor enough that he can justify using it. And even if it wasn't...

"Mikaela," he says, projecting his voice in to the display. Trying to give her something to focus on, something at least remotely familiar if he cannot transform here, "Could you not ask us for help?"

Because if his guess is right- she may have needed it, and they may have failed her.

Still hunched over, Mikaela jumps a bit when Optimus' holoform comes to life next to her. She only ever saw it once or twice, before - but it's a friendly enough face, and she knows enough about them to not be any more startled.

She also knows enough to be distantly worried about that flickering, but she's too distraught to think much on it now.

"Of course not," she sniffs, rubbing her dripping face on her work pants before meeting the holoform's gaze with red eyes.

"And I mean I l-literally. Could. Not."

Turning stiffly in her seat, she offers the holoform her left wrist. There is a repeating, segmented pattern - a scar, still raised despite the white of age - looping around it. Even a casual scan would make it obvious at the bone under it, ridged oddly in places, was broken at one time.

"'Con called Soundwave and his creepy little goon bugged me."

The holoform doesn't need to look down; it continues looking at Mikaela's face as Optimus' scanners focus on the area. Its expression doesn't change, but the tense feeling in the cab returns; this time, accompanied by suppress anger.

He should not be surprised.

"He is dead," Optimus assures her, his flickering holo-eyes narrowing the only sign of his anger. How dare Soundwave- a similar treatment as Sam had been given, it seems. With then, though, it had only been for a small period of time. With Mikaela...

"I am only sorry you were not able to partake in his fall."

That phrasing seems a bit off - Optimus is clearly angry, she can feel it all around her, but he doesn't seem surprised.

"This a common thing he did or something?" She blinks, drawing her hand back, balling up her sleeve to wipe more tears. The rest of the news earns Optimus his first genuine grin from Mikaela, even if the expression is decidedly feral.

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer 'con. I hope it was messy - the little bug-drone didn't exactly go down easy."

She flops her wrist pointedly, which gives an answering pop.

"Sam was targeted as well." They didn't know it at the time, but as awful as it was...it was terribly good timing. For the Autobots, at least. At their angriest, when whey were willing to let others believe they had abandoned them...

The hologram nods slightly, a new understanding - and respect - dawning in its owner. Soundwave may have fallen, but that meant nothing for the drone that had taken Mikaela. Which meant that she may very well have dealt with it herself.

And organics don't recover from injury as well as a medic-repaired Cybertronian.

"You are brave. Both to take the burden upon yourself, and to deal with its after-"

Flickerstatichiss as something pops. It may be difficult for a semitruck to wince, but somehow it does, as a torn wire decides then to fully break. And while it's not crippling- it is a painful moment.

"Sam? Seriously?"

She rears back in her seat, genuinely shocked. They'd gone after her because Sam was too well-watched. How did they even manage it? How did they figure out what happened to him and not her?

"What happe-" She winces at the pop, weirdly echoing her own wrist. Sitting up and uncurling from the seat, Mikaela glances around Optimus' interior, making a face at the static running through the holoform.

Right. Tearful revelations later, injured Big Buddha issues now.

"Optimus, that...didn't sound good. How injured are you?"

Injured Big Buddha stubbornly trying to reroute power to the holomatter as a matter of pride before sighing, and then letting it stay off. "I had...planned to rest here for a while," he admits after a few moments, "and to allow my self-repair to do what it could."

That's not really an answer.

"There was a combat," he adds after a few moments more, "and Ratchet is elsewhere. I will have him see to my injuries once we are able to reunite."

It may be something in his tone, but it sounds like it might not be for a while.

It really isn't a very good answer.

"Sounds like they can't really wait."

Mikaela made a face when the holoform vanished, before turning her attention back toward Optimus' dash in lieu of having anything defined to stare at. She took a deep breath, which still rattled a bit, steadying herself from her earlier upset.

"Look. I still don't know what all is going on - and I want to - but if Ratchet is a ways out... You need to get the big stuff repaired at least, and this is not the best place to work in. Or even to hide in."

She gestured out his windows toward the scrap piles, which were bound to have people poking around throughout the day.

"Can you move at all? There is a garage down the street where I work. I can put you on the 'work list' and you can hide out in the back until after close, where I can try to do what I can."

Because there is no question that she will help.

Sorry, Mikaela, he can't quite get it back up right now. Try again later.

"I am...hesitant...to put you in any danger. Especially with what you have already gone through, Mikaela."

Hesitant? Reluctantly realizing he may have no choice but to accept her offer, if only from a logical standpoint. Emotionally is another story, and these last few years have not been kind to his psyche.

Can he risk endangering one of the few allies they have left?

Oh, she will. Gotta make sure you're healthy and everything...

Mikaela huffs, giving the armrest a light smack. Then she coughs a little, surprised at the amount of dust it brings up.

"Optimus, if you're trailing danger, I'm already kind of sitting in the center of it."

She rolled her eyes, gesturing around to his cab in exasperation.

"But like I said, I didn't have a choice about leaving. I didn't want to leave. But I want to help. I'm not just...gonna leave you here, breaking all to pieces."

Please let her back in she's missed you guys so much.

Yes, he felt that smack. Optimus makes a sound that, in better circumstances, could have been amused. As it is now...

Now, it's almost resigned.

"I am in no position to decline your offer...but I say so again that I do not want to put you in danger. My self repair is capable of restoring me."

Over time, time he doesn't have. It's with no small wryness that he speaks again-

"I cannot say that I am ungrateful."

"Yeah, sure it is. And how long will that take?"

She shakes her head, not even waiting for a direct answer. She gives his dash a pat.

"Didn't think you were, big guy. But you're coming over and I'm going to see what I can do, at the very least."

Confidence and poise turning, Mikaela pops out her phone as she talks, using the camera to fix her blotchy and tear-ruined makeup.

She has a shift she's late to at this point, after all. And she's going to have to prep the garage for him.

"I don't think I've forgotten everything Ratchet taught me in the past few years."

She manages a grin, directing it to the cab at large.

Once he understands what she's doing with her phone, there's a tiny squeak as his rearview mirror tilts towards her in an attempt to help. If she wishes to fix her paint...

"I am glad to hear that, as well," he wryly says, watching her recover. "And Ratchet, I am sure, when he hears of it."

A moment of pause.

"I can meet you at your garage before sunset, if that will be acceptable. And- if I may-"

Look, Mikaela. Your phone just pinged. He may or may not have just attempted to send you a text message, homing in on its frequency. The callback number is, predictably, UNKNOWN.

She glances up, grin turning softer at the offered mirror. She accepts with laugh, 'painting' herself more quickly with the freed up hand.

"I admit, a 'trial by fire' like this wasn't exactly what I was expecting, to make sure I wasn't rusty..."

She looks a little teary-eyed again as she glances at the text. Sam either changed his number or blocked her eventually, she found out after a rare time where her courage failed. She hadn't been able to get a hold of anyone after Chicago, and without a real way to get in contact with any of the 'bots...

She'd been cut off.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's fine. I better be able to text you back with this."

She shakes the phone at him, before rattling off the address of the garage. Then she's fluffing up her hair and gently easing herself out of the cab with a cautious glance around.

She pauses outside, hand on his door.

"...Don't disappear on me, okay?"

It's whispered, and she bites her lip, staring up at his battered frame.

"It will relay back to me." Assuming he understands the technology right. It's not so much a direct link to his comm as one that pings a familiar frequency; perhaps Ratchet can adjust the device, if they meet up again...

Not if. When, he tells himself. They may be in difficult times, but for his peoples' sake, he has to act as though all of them will make it through unscathed.

As Mikaela slips out, the door closes with only so much prompting from her- and this time, the locking of the doors is far quieter than it had been, Optimus making a deliberate attempt to mask the sound. Mikaela is one of the few humans, period, he's comfortable with inside of him- he'd rather not invite more, and then she pauses and so does he.

And then, as he had before- a soft rumble of his engine.

I won't.

The rumble was apparently enough to satisfy her, because Mikaela leaves with a faint smile on her lips.

Then, the only thing left to do is wait.

Getting through a shift knowing what is waiting for her after is torture, of course. But she is high enough up on the retail food chain to stick the new kids on the registers while she preps the garage between waves of customers. It's not the best maintained place in the world - they don't even have a regular, full time mechanic, as Mikaela herself pulled double duty with both cashiering and running the oil changes that trickled in.

But it has a lift, and blinds for the bay windows, and a easily-disabled security camera. It will do.

She gives Optimus a text near closing, once she's shooed everyone else out for the night - and secured a copy of the manager's keys.

Most of the day, for Optimus, is waiting as well- waiting, and when given an opportunity (he deliberately put himself in a position shielded against cameras), taking steps to dislodge himself. Slowly, as quietly as he can make it, and as night fully falls only then actually making some real progress.

When Mikaela texts him, he pulls up the map he'd looked at earlier- then responds with a general ETA. He's about a minute earlier than that, holomatter stubbornly back on as he follows her directions inside.

She rushes closing up the store as best as she can. The place is left a little messier than usual - but this is way more important that retail work. Disabling the garage cameras is easy enough - they only kick on when the motion sensors for the lights goes off, so Mikaela isn't worried and just turns them off entirely.

It's a temporary solution, of course. Who knows how long it will take her to even manage the most basic of repairs? But until then, she draws the blinds in the garage, opens the back bay door, and motions the already-arrived Optimus inside.

Now that he's not half buried under scrap, she can see more of him - and it's not a pretty sight.

"Damn. Optimus. Damn, what happened?"

Not really, no. There's what looks like actually bullet holes in him, possibly by bullets that aren't even human-made. And as soon as he's inside, the hologram flickers off, Optimus hesitating a few moments more before starting to transform.

And if he looked unpretty before, this looks outright painful.

The Prime ends up in a crouch, vents cycling harshly as a bit of fluid leaks from a half-healed torn line. The problem with self-repair is that sometimes...it doesn't always work the way one would want, or simply not well enough.

But he seems stable, if nothing else, and surely that counts for something.

Leaning back, reaching for the leak, he looks down at his hand for a moment before back at Mikaela, clearly still uncomfortable with the whole situation. "We were attacked," he says simply, it being as good an explanation as any.

"Holy crap."

Mikaela's hands go up over her mouth in shock - and it's not solely because of Optimus' copious injuries. Just mostly.

The awed feeling of being up close to one of the guys again, when they transform - especially the big ones - especially Optimus - is something she'd thought she'd never see again.

God, she's missed this.

...Even if she never wants to see one of Optimus' transformations end up looking like that again, either.

"Yeah. Uh. I can see that."

She's at a loss for a long moment, not even sure where to start - before she gathers her wits along with a pile of tools, and clambers over to his side.

"Sit down already. What's most critical right now?" She eyes that leak, trying to trace the source and identify the type of fluid.

He can sit. Sitting is good. Optimus's vents cycle one final time as he eases himself down, not-quite-hunched over but close. This is about as safe as he'll be; there's no point in him stressing, because if he's chosen poorly...

He'll know soon enough. (He can't not keep the thought in his processor, however small and poisonous it remains. He wants to be able to feel safe, but when enemies are coming from those he thought were friends...)

"Clearing out the debris," he says after some moments of thought. "There are...pieces, that I could not remove on my own."

Mikaela winces, Optimus' damage, obvious exhaustion, and the implied scope of his words painting a dire picture.

At least it gives her a place to start.

"Right."

She sorts through the tools and sets most of them aside in favor of shoving pliers, wire cutters, and a hammer into her belt, along with attaching a canvas bag for collecting precious bits of broken Cybertronian metal. Dragging over the shop vac, just in case, she stares up, eyeing Optimus's frame for a good place to start climbing.

"Alright I'm heading up."

Placing a careful hand on his shin, she began to pull herself up, gripping onto armor ridges and slipping over massive joints with the ease of quickly-recalled experience.

Edited 2014-09-01 01:50 (UTC)

Dim blue optics watch her prepare, and when she seems ready, he moves his other hand to assist her climb. He's not certain where she's going to start, but he can at least ensure a slip won't result in a painful fall.

Just a short one.

Long experience allows him to stay still even as pain prickles at him; especially with the knowledge that it will soon be relieved. But he does remain relatively quiet, signs of pain restricted to twitches of his facial expression - which, at times, is deliberately pointed away from his impromptu medic.

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