Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rock, sand, and metal fly. Fire lights up the dark sky. Shouts and roars of battle resonate off the surrounding landscape as the first bomb explodes.

“Ka-freakin’-boom, baby!”

A second explosion rocks the ground under Soap’s feet, fire and smoke erupt several yards away as the bombs he’d rigged up go off. There are cheers from the other soldiers around him as the third bomb goes off and another plumb of heat and debris goes flying. A sharp and grating screech echoes off the sandy dunes around Soap and his team. Wincing against the metallic scream, Soap fights not to cover his ears and keeps his eyes on the prize. Down the dunes and just far enough off that he and his men won’t get caught in the explosions, dirt and scrap rains down as their enemy finally – fuckin’ finally – falls.

“Whoo! That’s how it’s fuckin’ done”, a member of Soap’s team cheers.

“Hell ya! We ain’t need nothin’ but good ol’ human persistence!”, cheers another.

Grinning, Soap toggles the radio at his shoulder, “Watcher, enemy down.”

“Confirmation of death required”, comes the slightly garbled order from whomever in Command is acting as mission Watch.

“Aye”, Soap says, nodding to himself, “Standby.”

Soap orders his men into defensive positions and the group of soldiers slowly make their way back down the sandy hills to the small crater their fight created. There’s a ring of charr and hot sand at the edge, and Soap can feel it through his clothes and body armor as he carefully picks his way over and down. The steep decline into the crater is more intense than it looked from their vantage point at the top of the dunes. A few times Soap has to dig his heels into the sand to keep from sliding too far too fast. Finally, he reaches the bottom, using a few large pieces of scrap to steady himself. Mindful of the jagged edges, still hot from being blown up, Soap does a hop, skip, and a rather impressive jump up onto the top of the now smoldering pile of metal.

Tubes and valves hiss and drip with the aftermath of the fight. Black pits stare up from an equally blank face of their foe, half blown to hell as it is. Taking a deep breath, Soap turns his focus to the slow and flickering thump beneath his feet. Glancing up, he motions for his men to cover him, and once they’re in position, Soap lets his own gun hang from its strap to his side. Using both hands, he heaves and yanks at the metal plating until it gives way with a shuddering series of thuds. Below, a faint red glow stutters and flickers. It’s going out. Dying.

Still, it’s always better to be sure.

Soap takes his gun back in hand, his and his team’s weapons are all retrofitted to fight this exact foe. He shifts to steady his feet against the hot and oil slick metal beneath his feet. Then Soap fires off three bursts into the glowing twisted core. The metal under him jerks, the light flares briefly, and with a final whine and whirr, the red light goes out.

“Kill confirmed”, Soap says into his radio, “Target terminated.”

---

The team celebrates in the Humvees as they head back to base. It’s a hot morning, even as the sun is just cresting the horizon, rising to meet another day. Soap is covered in sweat and dirt, metal shavings itching where they’re dusted over his skin and sticking out of his body armor. He can’t wait to get back to base and go through decon. Back in the day, before things went crazy and humanity found out there was more in the big wide universe besides just little old Earth, Soap would have had to clean his own gear. Now, things are different. Anytime he and his men go up against their otherworldly enemy, there’s a whole new set of rules for when they get back on base. Decontamination protocols are no joke, especially if you got any fluids or debris on yourself, and even more so if you got close to the spark at the core of the enemy.

All of which Soap managed in this latest mission. He could already feel the wariness setting in. The adrenalin of the fight was great, but the come down on the way home could be a real kick in the nuts. Made all the more tiring knowing he wasn’t going to get to come down from the mission and relax for hours. Decon could take forever sometimes, and the medics always wanted to go over every inch of him and ensure there were no ill effects of radiation or debris left behind and stuck to him. They were thorough, which Soap understood, but damn if it didn’t take too long in his opinion.

Reports would be the next step. Once released by medical, Soap would have to sit down and fill out a report on the entire mission; from the moment their sensors picked up the anomaly in the desert, to finding their foe digging in the dirt, all the way through Soap’s battle decisions and ultimate victory. Brass even wanted the reports to include the decontamination process and medical reviews. It was insane how much info they wanted, and in how intense of detail. Still, as frustrating as it could be, bone weary and longing for his bed as he was after long and hard missions, Soap would dot every I and cross every T he had to. There was more on the line than this particular job. Sure, the intergalactic, interspecies, relations and politics were super important, but what Soap really cared about was keeping everything on the level and spotless so that he could continue fighting for the job he really wanted. He’d spent years working towards this one goal, and with each fight and win against the enemy, Soap could feel himself getting that much closer.

Soap is pulled from his thoughts by the men in his vehicle, and the rest of his team over the comms, as they poke fun at each other and rejoice of their job well done. He laughs and congratulates them, happy and whole to be a part of such an awesome group.

“Another win, eh, Soap”, one of his men grins.

“Aye. Ye lot make me look good”, Soap cheers back, raising his water canteen in salute.

“Say, how many more wins ‘till they take you away from us?”, asks another.

“Ah. I’ll happen when i’ happens”, Soap sighs, grinning despite the longing in his chest, “Tha’ is if they e’er decide t’ take me.”

“Don’t look like such a kicked pup. They’d be lucky as pie to have you.”

“Yeah, best out of all of us, you are, Soap.”

More of his team sing his praise, and Soap ducks his head, telling them all fondly to go fuck themselves and shut up. Laughter and jeers are his men’s response. Soap would hate to leave such good men behind. They’re wonderful soldiers and amazing fighters. But there’s more he wants. Soap’s never been the type to be happy with just skating along. There are bigger foes, bigger friends, and Soap knows he’s destined for more than just this. Not that ‘just this’ isn’t fine. Fine is still less than what he wants though, and he’ll do whatever, fill out however many forms, go on however many missions, to get there.

“A’right, ye assholes know the drill”, Soap calls out as their convoy reaches the base and drives through the gates, “Decontamination, then medical.”

All of his men groan, and Soap laughs, heading their complaints off, “Ah- A donae wanna hear yer shit. Decon, medical, then ye louts can get comfy in yer jammies an’ slippers.”

The Humvees come to a stop on the tarmac and Soap hops out with the rest of his men. He does a headcount as he watches his team get out of the vehicles and head for the decontamination building. Everyone came home from this one. It was a small bogie, though that didn’t mean a small fight. Hopefully it will still look good once he got it all down in his report.

“Sergeant John MacTavish!”

Soap turns at the call of his name from a voice he doesn’t recognize. A man he doesn’t know is standing there on the tarmac in a sophisticated and spotless suit.

“Ay, A’m MacTavish”, Soap nods, quickly shifting into parade reset.

“Good”, the man says, reaching into his suit and pulling out an envelope, “You have new orders. I’m going to need you to come with me, sir.”

Frowning, Soap takes the envelope and digs into it. From the stack of papers he pulls out, the first thing to catch his attention is the insignia at the top center of the first page. Oh shit. He skims the words on the page, then goes back and reads them a little slower, though still not fully absorbing what he’s reading. Oh shit.

“This… Is this real?”, he can’t help but ask, glancing up at the suit.

“Afraid so, sir. And we need to leave right now.”

Afraid? Why would this man be afraid. This was the best day of Soap’s life. This is what he’d been working for.

“Holy shit. A-aye, sir”, Soap nods, giving himself a mental shake, “Ready when ye are.”

He’ll call and apologize to his team later. They’d be filled in by other brass on base anyway, and they all know this is what Soap had been praying for, for years. His team would be happy for him. There wasn’t much of his personal belongings on base, and what he did have would be shipped out to him later. Right now, though, Soap was hopping a helicopter with this suit and heading to a larger base closer to civilization that had an actual air strip and not just a helicopter pad like the small hole in the wall Soap had been stationed at for the last several months. There, Soap would meet an Agent that would then be with him all the way to the United States, and to the super secure base that Soap had only dreamed of being able to see.

Fuckin’ hell, he couldn’t wait.

---

The suit doesn’t talk much, which Soap can appreciate. Normally he’d talk enough for himself and anyone else nearby, but Soap also knows when to keep his trap shut. This is the chance he’s been waiting for, and he’s sure as shit not going to mess it up by running his mouth before this next leg of his life takes off. As the helo flies over the desert, Soap looks out the window and tries to envision what’s to come. The letter of acceptance and his new orders are burning a hole in his armor vest pocket. Fuck, he’s still in full gear, sweaty and dirty from his mission. There are still pieces of debris stuck in his clothes. If it gives him a bad look, the suit doesn’t comment, and Soap figures it could be worse. It’s only a short ride before another base appears in the distance. The closer they get, the more jittery Soap gets. As the pilots bring them into base airspace and start the landing process, the suit leans forward to speak to Soap.

“Agent Laswell is the one that will escort you from here”, the man shouts over the whirring of the helicopter.

“Thanks”, Soap calls back, sticking his hand out to shake the suits.

“Good luck”, the man says, shaking his hand.

The door to the helo slides open and Soap jumps out without another word and jogs a few yards to get out of the blustering wind of the spinning blades. He’s expecting the suit to follow, but when he turns, the helo is already lifting back up into the air. Taking a deep breath, Soap turns back to survey his surroundings. It’s another military base, similar but larger than the one he just left. There’s no one else out on the air pad, beyond a few airmen scuttling around other helicopters nearby. Well, at least he knows the name of the person he’s supposed to be meeting. Soap’s done more with less. He’s just stepping off the tarmac, onto a path that looks like it leads to some administrative buildings, when his radio is chirping and cracking in his ear.

“Shit”, Soap mutters, having sort of forgot he was still wearing it.

He toggles the radios settings, trying to stabilize whatever frequency he’s tapping into. A part of him half expects it to be a member of his team, wondering where the fuck he is, or just them wanting to give a final goodbye. Instead, the radio gives a shrill screech and then a woman’s voice is coming in over the earpiece in his ear.

“John Soap MacTavish?”

“Aye”, Soap answers, “Who’s this?”

“Agent Laswell, here to pick you up”, the woman says, “Head past the admin buildings to airstrip three. I’ll meet you there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The radio clicks like it’s a cell phone ending a call. Well then. Nodding to himself Soap keeps going down the path he’s one, past the many tall military buildings, heading for what he believes is the right direction. He knows he’s good when he hears the hum of plane engines. It’s a bit odd, being on a base he’s not used to. And not a person looks twice at him. It’s as if no one even notices him, kitted up and dirty as he is, as he makes his way along the paths to the airstrips. Shrugging internally, Soap rounds the corner of a building and several yards away is the massive air landing zone. There’s planes and jets, some sitting still, some taxing slowly down the multiple runways, each marked with a number and a letter. Spotting number three, Soap starts to make his way over. He’s just wondering which one, A, B, or C, he’s supposed to be going to when his radio whirs to life once again.

“Soap.”

“Aye, Laswell. Which- “

“Behind you.”

Soap turns and it takes a second for what he’s seeing to compute.

It’s a Mini. As in, a Mini Cooper JCW car. The small four-door vehicle is a dark blue with chrome accents and tinted windows so dark he can’t see anything inside. There are two white racing stripes down the hood and there’s the Union Jack painted over the entire top of the car. It’s too clean, too civilian looking. Soap just stares.

“Throw your shit in the back and get in”, Laswell says over his radio as the back hatch of the car pops open.

That kicks Soap into gear. It takes him longer than he means to get all his weapons and body armor off and in the back of the Mini. Finally, he closes the hatch and quickly goes to the passenger door. He reaches for the rear door, but the front opens on its own for him. When he drops into the front passenger seat, the door closes without him touching it, plunging him into semi darkness as the sunlight from outside is blocked by the dark tint on the windows. Something to the side flickers, like static on a tv, but when Soap turns to look there is a woman sitting in the driver’s seat. Soap could have sworn the seat had been empty before the flash of static. Swallowing thickly, Soap wracks his brain for something to say.

“Nice to meet you, Soap”, the woman says, turning to look at him, “Busy morning for you, by the looks of it.”

Soap is still starring. He knows it’s rude and he knows he should stop. He just can’t seem to. This woman… She looks middle aged. Her skin isn’t necessarily tan, but it’s not pale either. It’s aged, as if she’s spent a lot of time in the sun, but still takes care of her skin. Her brown hair is a bit dull, from age and stress, pulled back in ponytail at the base of her neck. Her clothes are simple. Cargo pants in an army green, white t-shirt, and a zip up jacket that definitely looks government issued. There’s just something…not quite…right… about her though. The lines around her eyes are just a bit too smooth to be real, the fit of her clothes just a little too intentionally rumpled as if she’d been wearing them on a long plane and a long car ride. Her eyes too. Something about her eyes, blue and intense, that screams ‘not exactly what I’m trying to be’. As Soap watches her watch him, the outline of the woman before him flickers and blurs briefly, like the edges of an old tv screen when you first turn it on. If he hadn’t been paying attention or looking for it, Soap would have missed it.

“Laswell”, Soap says carefully, “Was a bit o’ a hectic mornin’.”

“Well, you can tell me all about it on the way to the airport.”

The whole of Laswell somehow reminds Soap of static and white noise as she grins at him, then she turns to face the windshield. As one of her hands comes up to rest on the steering wheel, the other goes to the gear shifter, Soap is impressed with how smooth and natural she makes the motions look. Would it be rude to comment? To tell her how impressed he is. Probably. At least since they’ve only known each other for under ten minutes. It’s then that her words catch up to him.

“Wait, airport?”

---

Laswell tells him they are taking a special plane that’s waiting for them at the nearest civilian airport. It’s not that she doesn’t trust the planes on base, just that she’s very specific about her transports. Soap wouldn’t even think of contradicting or questioning her. He just nods and tries not to fidget like the over excited hyperactive man-child he currently feels like is bubbling just beneath his skin. Interestingly, Laswell does actually want to hear about his morning. She says that it can be in place of his reports. So, Soap tells her every bit of what he would have written in his mission report. She asks questions along the way. Some are about his men, his tactics. Some are about his insight, the reasons he made one choice instead of doing something else. It’s not unlike being interrogated, other than Laswell is certainly kinder and more gentle with how she asks her questions and makes her own comments on his decisions.

If it were a test, Soap thinks he would have passed. Laswell is the type to see and hear all that wasn’t said or shown. She’s keen and clever. Soap likes her a lot. Her whit is sharp, and Soap can imagine her being quite the ball buster when up against people that want to push back on what she says or does. As it is, Soap is more than happy to follow her lead and answer her questions, so they get off on fairly good terms.

The car ride to the airport isn’t super long. Soap is just finishing up his report and answering what feels like the last of Laswell’s questions as the drive up to a side gate that leads right out onto the tarmac. A man is standing guard at the gate station, and the drivers side window rolls down as Laswell pulls up next to the man. Before the guard can say anything, Laswell hands over a badge and ID card. As the man takes it and looks it over, Soap marvels at how impressive it is that Laswell has her arm out of the window and passing items back and forth. The guard hands the badge and ID back, and as the window rolls up Laswell drops the items into her lap. They land without a sound, though there definitely should have been some type of clatter or shifting. The gate opens and the Mini moves forward. As they drive out past the large terminal building and a huge Bowing cargo plane, Soap looks down and finds the badge and ID have vanished. Grinning, he just can’t help himself.

“Tha’ was impressive.”

Laswell glances at him from the corner of her eye. For a heartbeat Soap fears he’s crossed a line or something, but then she’s smiling like they’re sharing an inside joke.

“Thanks.”

Taking a chance, Soap clears his throat and adds, “The badge an’ ID didnae make a noise though, when ye dropped ‘em in yer lap. Shoulda made a little clatter or clink or somethin’.”

Laswell’s head tilts and that distinct feeling of ‘not quite right’ hits again. Another moment passes as they drive by a plane taxying to one of the runways. Soap figures he’s stepped in it now, might as well watch and see what happens. He’s not expecting for Laswell to lift her hand off the gearshift and for the badge and ID to suddenly just be there. If he’d have blinked, he would have missed it. Laswell tips her hand and the two items fall into her lap again. This time, there’s the solid noise of each item hitting each other and the soft sound of her clothes shifting as they do.

“Yeah”, Soap whispers faintly, a lot in awe, “Jus’ like that.”

“Thanks, Soap”, Laswell nods, the ID and badge disappearing once again, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Soap has so many questions. He desperately clamps his lips closed though, not wanting to risk opening his mouth any wider and possibly sticking his foot in. Instead, he turns his focus to the plane that Laswell is obviously making her way to. It’s a large, nondescript, plane. Soap doesn’t know enough to tell what make and model though. It’s all white with a single red strip down the side. The cargo ramp is down, and Laswell doesn’t even pause as she approaches and then drives right up the ramp. There are crates and pallets stacked with boxes and other odds and ends in the hold as well, but Soap doesn’t see any people. There’s a whir of mechanics from somewhere within the dash of the Mini. Laswell flickers in his periphery for just a second. Then the ramp is slowly lifting to close behind them.

“You have questions”, Laswell states.

“Ha. How’d ye guess?”, Soap huffs good naturedly.

Laswell smiles at him and it sort of reminds Soap of how his mom looks at him when he’s being adorably stupid.

“Ah, ya”, he sighs, relaxing back into the seat a bit, “Guess A’ve got a few.”

“Well, ask some of them now”, Laswell hums calmly, “I’m always happy to answer questions, but others don’t always feel the same.”

Soap wonders where he should start. Maybe with questions about her specifically. How long has she been working with the government? How is she able to hold her image so well? How long has she been on Earth? Or maybe about where they’re going. Like, are they actually going to the base; the one Soap has been dreaming of working on for years? Is he really being considered for the program or is this all just a dream?

“Do ye use holo or nano tech?”, is what eventually comes out of his mouth.

He winces and hopes that was an ok thing to ask.

“A combination of both”, Laswell answers without a blink, “If there’s no need to touch anything, or pass anything over, then holo tech does just fine. Nanos are hard to control sometimes, so I only use it when I need to. Call me lazy practical.”

Soap can’t help but laugh a little at that. Yeah, he likes her a lot.

“Aye. Ye hold i’ really well, either way. A’m super impressed.”

“Projecting a human image is difficult. You all have such complex facades, are such complex beings, and that’s not including facial expressions and micro movements. And clothing, good stars.”

“Haha. Aye, A can only imagine. We humans take such little things for granted.”

“Indeed. I’ve perfected as much as I have over the years as part of my integration, and work hard to assist with our relationships and cooperation with humanity.”

“Ye’d be a helluva spy”, Soap grins.

The look Laswell gives him, a sharklike grin that’s all teeth and devious cleverness, sends a chill down his spine.

“It’s basically what I was made for.”

“Uh…”

“Though not to be used against your people”, Laswell says, her grin softening back to that kinder smile, “We are allies, Soap.”

“Aye. Thank God for that.”

“Hm.”

There’s a long moment of quiet between them, during which the plane starts up and Soap can feel movement below them. He wonders how it feels to Laswell, being a car inside a plane.

“If you don’t have any more questions at the moment, I’m going to take a rest. You should too. Things may move quickly once we get home.”

“A’m really being considered? This is really happening?”

Soap knows he wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t being put up as a candidate. Still, he needs someone to say it out loud. Someone to make it real.

“You’ve applied to be part of the Partnership Program every six months since it’s conception. Before that, you worked to become a part of NEST. Yet nothing ever worked out, did it.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Ever since the world became aware of other intelligent life on Earth, in the universe, Soap has worked hard to become part of something larger than himself. To become more than-

“It ne’er worked out, but that didnae mean A was goin’ t’ give up. Sometimes, the things we want are worth fightin’ tooth an’ nail for. If that’s what A have to do, to join NEST, to earn a spot in the Partnership, then tha’s what A’ll do.”

Laswell smiles at him, and this time it’s proud and fond. Soap feels like she knows him better than she’s letting on. Knowing she is what she is, he wouldn’t be surprised how much of him she knows. How hard and intensely he’s worked all his life, even before her kind came out to his world. The air feels too intense, Laswell’s gaze on him too knowing, and Soap searches for something to change the subject.

“So, Laswell. No’ really a name A expected.”

His companion huffs a laugh.

“Well, my real name is– “, and her words break off into a series of mechanical and exceptionally inhuman sounds before she’s speaking English again, “But that doesn’t really translate into something your human vocal cords are capable of reproducing.”

“Ha. Tha’s fair. Laswell fits ye well, somehow, anyway.”

“Hm. I thought so too”, Laswell smiles at him.

Before Soap can say anything else, and right before his eyes, Laswell starts to flicker out of existence. There’s a hum from the radio of the car, a mechanical whine, and then the driver’s seat is empty. Soap is the only person in the car, yet he can feel that he’s not alone. Laswell is the car, after all.

“I suggest rest, but you’re welcome to wander around while we’re in the air”, comes Laswell’s voice from within the very metal around Soap.

“Thanks”, Soap nods, reaching for the handle of the passenger door and opening it up, “Think A’m gonna stretch ma legs a second, then settle for a nap.”

“You’re strong and honorable, Soap”, Laswell says just before Soap gets out of the car, “You keep that up, soldier.”

---

The NEST base is everything Soap expected and then some.

He was too wound up to sleep on the plane and ended up talking to a few soldiers that he’d found playing cards on top of a crate of guns thirty minutes into the flight. They were all workers on the base. Supply runners, not boots on the ground soldiers, but they were cool guys and Soap made sure to remind them how important their jobs were. It was a long flight, but Soap couldn’t really relax, not enough to feel any sort of calm or rested by the time the pilot was coming over the speakers and telling them they were landing in thirty minutes. At the ten-minute mark Soap had made his way back to Laswell at the rear of the plane, to find her human image leaning against the drivers side of her car body.

“So cool”, Soap grinned, pleased when she smiled back at him.

He’d hopped in the car and once the plane landed and the cargo ramp lowered, Laswell had backed out fast, then spun tires as she peeled off the tarmac and headed for a large group of enormous buildings off in the distance. Unfortunately, Soap hadn’t been able to see, let alone enjoy, much of being on base because he was whisked to the administrative buildings. Laswell had handed him off to a group of men wearing suits, all of whom had introduced themselves, but Soap had no memory of their names. He’d waved goodbye to Laswell as he was led inside a human sized building, and Laswell had promised they’d be seeing each other again.

From there, Soap spent the next God knows how many hours showering, being poked and prodded by doctors, evaluated by a team of psych techs, going through various physical exercises, and then being shoved onto a training course. A man in army fatigues had shown up at that point, handed Soap a training gun, and had him run a number of drills. After that, Soap was sat down in an interrogation room and the army man had him go through his latest mission all over again. When that was finally done, Soap thought he’d made it through by the skin of his teeth. He was exhausted, half dead on his feet, and aching for a bunk and a few hours of sleep. That wasn’t the end of it though. Soap had barely taken a step out of the interrogation room when another suit was patting him on the shoulder and ordering him to follow. Dutifully, Soap did. This man had him sit at a desk and sign his weight and height in papers. Forms, nondisclosures, security clearances, and more. Then finally, after all of that was finished, Soap was led back outside where the sun was already setting off in the distance, and he was met with a face he’d prayed to see for years. As quickly and perfectly as he could, Soap snaped to attention and saluted.

“Sergeant MacTavish”, the man before him nods, “Welcome to NEST.”

They shake hands and Soap prays his tired trembling isn’t noticeable.

“General Morshower”, Soap nods, “I’s an honor, sir.”

“Likewise, son. Your men say good things about you, and your record’s impressive as hell.”

Soap tries not to preen. Well, maybe he preens a little. He knows he’s good at what he does, it’s what he’s been working toward. It’s just really nice to have the validation.

The General takes Soap from the admin buildings to the barracks. For now, Soap is shacking up in the human’s only section, but if he makes it into the Partnership, then he’ll be given a bunk in the shared barracks. Soap’s a little surprised he gets a room for himself, but he doesn’t comment. It just means he won’t have to put a sock on the door handle to warn a roommate when he’s masturbating. Not that that is the most important thing, but it does cross his mind as he’s let into his new room. Morshower tells him to get some rest, and that shit will get real starting at 07:00 the next day.

It’s only then, after the General has left him and Soap has mostly settled into his room, that he’s really able to take it all in. From the little window in his closet sized room that barely fits the single bed and small dresser, Soap watches giants move in the dark night and low lights at the hangers off in the distance. The florescent lights gleam off their metal plates and even from this distance he imagines he can hear the low hum of their mechanics. All around was the noise of people and machines moving. The steady thrum of activity found on a military base like a comforting blanket around him.

It’s everything he expected and more. Soap couldn’t wait for this next leg of his life’s journey.

Grinning and fit to burst with excitement, Soap falls into bed and he’s asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

---

The next couple of weeks are intense. Soap meets Major William Lennox, Master Sergeant Robert Epps, and their men. He meets Seymour Simmons, whose eccentric personality is exactly as Soap imagined. The man was annoying, yet insightful. Which somehow made him more irritating. Soap meets Sam Witwicky. The Sam Witwicky. Sam is older now than when his own journey first started, and the age has done wonders for the young man’s wisdom. That being said, Sam and Soap get on like lint on dryer socks. They become fast friends.

Soap meets the Autobots.

It was single handedly the most intense, nerve wracking, awesome moment of Soaps life. Optimus Prime was everything Soap had dreamed of. Ironhide and Rachet were as well. Bumblebee was so cool. Soap found himself making jokes with the younger Autobot, the two of them picking on Sam more often than not. The other Autobots were all pretty cool, but Soap didn’t get to interact with them as much after that initial meeting. After all, there was weeding out to do, and most of the bots wouldn’t bother getting to know anyone specifically until the Program had its final candidates and ultimate final picks.

The Partnership Program.

It was what Soap wanted more than anything. To be paired with a team. With an Autobot.

Sam and Bumblebee had actually spearheaded the program; being that they were the first human and Cybertronian pair. Ironhide and Lennox had been the second pair, with Epps and Jazz following behind. The motorcycle triplets each had a soldier, and Sideswipe was working with a group of candidates to find his match. The Partnership. Each human had an Autobot partner, and with them a team of soldiers.

It had been an odd realization for both humans and Cybertronians, but apparently the Autobots were stronger when they shared a unique and intense connection with a particular human. There was a lot of scientific and technical statistics that went along with it, but it boiled down to some juju between the human soul and the spark that resided within the Cybertronians. Since Megatron, his followers, and other threats to Earth were out there, the people of Earth needed more than just regular soldiers to fight. Optimus’ message had spread into space, and more Cybertronians were on their way. The Partnership Program was set to hopefully pair talented and worthy soldiers with Autobots that arrived on Earth. This would then give them an advantage over the Decepticons that were on Earth, and those that found their way to the planet from wherever they were in space.

There were people, both human and Autobot, working day and night to find the right human to pair with the incoming Autobots. It wasn’t just a matter of a bot picking a person and that being that. There had to be a connection, a spark. The human had to fit physically, emotionally, and mentally, as well as be a good soldier. All of the candidates had their statistics screened almost daily; their training times, draws, movements, everything, was monitored and put into databases for the powers that be to comb over. Soap figured it was kind of like plugging info into a spreadsheet, then formulating who would be the best of them based on all of that. Of course, it was much more complicated than that. Especially considering the Autobots Soaps candidate group would be paired with hadn’t even arrived on Earth yet. There were four of them set to arrive in the coming months, their crash landing already planned to be somewhere in the Arctic so there wouldn’t be much fuss beyond Optimus and Ratchet, and a few transports, going to get them.

As the candidates started arriving, Soap tried to make friends while also sizing up the competition. It wasn’t a competition, exactly, but they all were fighting for the same thing. On the third day of guys showing up, an unexpected face pranced into Soap’s line of sight one morning. It was icing on the cake, as far as Soap was concerned. His friend Gaz had been picked for the Program too. Kyle Gaz Gerrick was a little younger than Soap. They’d worked together in the SAS and British military before splitting up a few years ago, after the Cybertronians had become known to the world. Soap and Gaz had kept in touch, hoping to one day be on the same team again. This wasn’t the same thing, necessarily, but they were both happy to be working side by side again. Gaz was the one person Soap didn’t see as competition in the Program candidacy. His friend deserved to be there just as much as Soap himself did.

As the base waited for the four new Autobots to arrive, Lennox and Epps put Soap, Gaz, and the other Program prospects through Hell. There were twenty of them at the start. Five dropped out willingly within the first few days. Soap tried not to think poorly of them; but really, how could they just drop out of the greatest opportunity of a lifetime. Five more were dropped over the next couple of weeks. After two months, Soap was one of nine men still standing in the candidate program. Gaz was still there with him as well. And they’d both made friends with an even younger soldier named Gary Sanderson, who everyone fondly called Roach. It was at this point that they started actively training with the Autobots. They were even able to go on a few missions to defeat some rogue Decepticons that had shown their faces. None of the candidates had any power or command. They were merely boots on the ground meant to assist where needed. Soap though, was never one to sit on the sidelines quietly.

He didn’t insert himself, necessarily. He did what he’s always done. Fight. Be a soldier. It wasn’t even about trying to prove himself as worthy. Soap was just being himself. Doing what he did best. It happened to work out that all of that really impressed the Autobots. He worked really well with Bumblebee. Sam wasn’t a soldier, so he didn’t go on missions. Soap unintentionally kind of became Bee’s Sam during missions. But he wasn’t Bee’s Pair, and their partnership ended once they were back on base. Sam was always able to get back at Bumblebee and Soap for their ribbing, by making fun of them after missions. Ironhide and Lennox were awesome to fight with. Soap felt like he meshed with them insanely well. Ironhide was a shoot first, worry when it’s dead type, and Lennox balanced the Autobot out with his more calm, ‘can’t shoot everything’ attitude. Ratchet was a medic, which unfortunately meant he and Soap didn’t gel well. Soap didn’t like going into medical unless he had to, and Ratchet often commented about it being like pulling loose wires from sparkling’s trying to get Soap to go to his scrapes and burns taken care of after a long mission or extra hard training day.

Gaz got along the most with Ratchet. Soap laughed and poked fun about Gaz needing an older soul, a father figure, to keep him in line. It earned Soap a punch to the gut, but it was well worth it to see the look on his friend’s face. Roach had laughed, running away when Gaz had turned on him. Jazz had come to them later, asking why Roach was hiding in the rafters of the helicopter hanger. It had caused a round of laughter, and now Jazz joined in the bug commentary any time folks were poking fun at poor Roach. Still, the kid took it in stride. He was resilient and cool. Soap liked him a lot. A part of him wanted Roach to make it, just like he wanted Gaz to get a win here. But they were all still fighting for the same thing, working to the same end. And, unfortunately, that sort of still put them at odds. Soap tried hard not to dwell on that.

After four months, word came in that the new Autobots had made planetfall. As expected, Optimus, Ratchet, and Ironhide left to go collect their new arrivals. Ironhide, specifically, seemed ecstatic for the new bots. According to Lennox, this incoming team of Cybertronians were a specialized group that Ironhide was close with long ago. Soap hoped that meant good things for him. Unfortunately, there was a hiccup in the plan. One of the four new Autobots’ trajectory had somehow unintentionally been altered, and they weren’t likely to arrive at the designated time or crash land where they were supposed to. Based on the limited knowledge that Soap was privy to, authorities were working hard to figure out where the wayward bot would land, when it would happen, and how to get them back to base once they finally arrived. As it was, the rest of the Autobots on base didn’t seem worried, so the humans didn’t worry either.

Even with one Autobot MIA, the base is a buzz of excitement and activity for days. Lennox and Epps eventually disappear and one morning the candidates arrive to their training area to find a kind faced, brown haired woman waiting for them. Soap grins. Laswell and Soap have crossed paths a few times. She’s given Soap encouraging words all along the way, but whatever it is she does on base, it keeps her very busy. She looks exactly like she did the last time he saw her.

“Mornin’, Laswell. Lookin’ good”, Soap greets.

“Thank you, Soap”, Laswell smiles back, “And good morning, gentleman. Lennox and Epps are busy with our new arrivals, so I’ll be heading your training for the next few days.”

Soap and the other 9 guys all smiled.

If Lennox and Epps had given them hell, then what Laswell puts them through is some next level insane shit. Every day it feels like she’s running them to the bone. Soap, Gaz, and Roach barely have the energy to haul their butts to the canteen for food at the end of the day before curling up in their beds licking the days wounds. Two more guys are dropped during the week that Laswell is in charge of them.

At the end of day seven, Soap is slouched sitting down, leaning against one of the far-out storage hangers, trying to find some calm in the setting sun from the busy day. He’s enjoying a rare cigarette, something he doesn’t do as often as he used to, when the crunch of tires on dirt draws his attention to the Mini Cooper pulling up next to him. Laswell actually opens the driver’s door and gets out before walking over to him. She makes the motions look so fluid, so human. Soap would grin and complement her, but he’s just so damn tired.

“You’re holding strong, soldier”, she says in way of greeting, “And the guys tell me you’re doing really well with the teams thus far.”

“Hope tha’s reflected in those data banks tha’ seem t’ be the ones tha’ are gonna make the final decision”, Soap mutters.

It comes out more dejected and resigned than he means for it too. He’s tired, and he’s starting to worry. There are seven soldiers left. Only four Autobots are new on base, and there’s no guarantee that all four are looking to join a Partnership. And even if all four are wanting to find a partner, it doesn’t mean that any of the candidates in the current roster will even be picked. That’s why Soap applies every chance he gets. Because there’s always another chance. Even if he’s not picked this time, his info will be in the data banks. He could still be picked sometime down the line.

Even as he thinks it though, there’s something in his chest that aches. Something deep down tells him this is his last, his only, chance of making it into a Partnership. And if he doesn’t make it, if he’s not good enough, then he’s not sure he’ll be able to stay with NEST and not feel some manner of resentment. No, he’d be shipped back to one of the hole in the wall outposts like the one Laswell rescued him from. Sure, he’d still get the chance to fight the rare Decepticon that came through their jurisdiction. It wouldn’t be enough for Soap. But he’d have to live with it, if this didn’t work out. It had to work out.

“Get outta that pretty head of yours, Soap.”

Soap blinks, Laswell’s voice pulling him from his thoughts. He focuses back on her and sees she’s got a hand held out, like she’s waiting for him to hand her something.

“Can I bum a puff?”, Laswell asks, and Soap realizes she’s already asked once before.

“Oh- Uh- Aye?”, Soap frowns and hands over his cigarette.

He’s not sure what he expected, but he watches as Laswell puts the roll to her lips. When she inhales, her chest expands and the end of the cigarette glows. She pulls the cigarette from her lips, blows out, and a small billow of smoke puffs from her lips.

“Whoa”, Soap can’t help but ogle.

Grinning, Laswell passes the cigarette back to him.

“I’ve been working on that.”

“Looks bloody fuckin’ real t’ me”, Soap assures.

There’s quiet between them, both watching the sun sink lower over the horizon for a few minutes. Soap feels like a shoe is about to drop. That tight ache in his chest twinges.

“They’re choosing the final picks for the Program in two days.”

Fuck.

“Fuckin’ Mondays”, Soap tries to joke, but it sounds flat and dispassionate to his own ears.

“Deep breath, Soap. You’re almost there.”

She’s trying for encouraging, but Soap can’t quite manage to feel it. Then a thought pops into his head.

“Wait. We havenae met the new Autobots yet. How they gonna pick withou’ us havin’ met?”

“I don’t know. This will be the first time they’re going off data alone”, Laswell shrugs.

“What fuckin’ sense does tha’ make?”, Soap growls around his cigarette, “Half the Partnership is us fittin’ in with the bots, right? There bein’ a ‘spark’ between us. How can a decision be made if tha’ hasnae happened yet?”

“Suppose their waiting to see if any of you make it based on the specs, then they’ll worry about a possible connection”, Laswell says evenly.

“And ye donae ken why they’re doin’ it tha’ way?”

“It’s above my paygrade”, Laswell says, leveling him with a look that tells him he’s skating thin ice even though they’re friends.

Right. Laswell has her own shit to worry about, her own jobs to do. Her bumming around and being friends with Soap isn’t part of her job. She does it because she wants to. It’s poor friendship on his part to grouse at her like this. Especially about something like this.

“Sorry, Laswell. Didnae mean t’ snap.”

Her hand coming down to pluck the cigarette from his mouth is answer enough. She’s not really mad at him.

“Do ye have any idea who they’re gonna pick?”

He’d rather her just rip the band aid off now, nice and fast. It’s the waiting that’s going to kill him.

“Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you”, she sighs, breathing out another puff of smoke in such a human way, “You know that.”

“Aye. Well, i’s been a fun run either way.”

“Don’t give up on me now, soldier”, Laswell says, passing back the cigarette.

“Ne’er, Laswell”, Soap says firmly, turning to smile up at her as he takes the roll, “A’m jus’ tired. Ye ran us bloody ragged this week.”

Laswell looks rather proud of herself, in Soap’s opinion.

“I’m rooting for you, Soap. And no matter what, you’re a fantastic man and a wonderful soldier. I’m happy to have met you.”

“Aw. Ye gonna make me blush”, Soap grins, cooing in a way he knows make Laswell look like she wants to hit him, “Fancy ye’d pick me as yer Partner?”

“In your dreams, Soap”, she rolls her eyes and flicks him in the temple.

They share a laugh as the sun goes down behind the mountains in the distance. There’s just a hint of orange on the horizon now.

“All right then, soldier. Let me give you a ride back. You’re not done here yet.”

Laswell holds out her hand to help him to his feet.

“Aye. Thank ye, Laswell.”

He takes her hand and it’s solid in his. Her skin is cold, feeling too cool and too firm, but passable enough if someone wasn’t expecting her to be anything but human. Once on his feet, he takes a step towards the Mini and the Laswell next to him disappears. The engine of the Mini starts up and Laswell revs at him. Grinning, Soap shakes his head fondly.

“Bloody show off.”

Chapter Text

Rejected.

Rejected…

He was…rejected.

Fuck.

FUCK!

Everything he worked so hard for. Over the years. Over the last few months. Everything, and he’s been rejected. The word choice only made it hit that much harder. They couldn’t have said denied, or something else.

No, fucking rejected.

Gaz was first choice. He’s being paired with the Captain of the new Autobot squad that had rolled in. Roach wasn’t picked for a Partnership, but he’d been slated to join a squad of human soldiers that would be working under another one of the Autobots. The rest of the candidates were being added to the growing regiment of humans that lived and worked on base, ultimately to be acting boots on the ground and back up for Lennox and Epps’ teams. To be fair, Soap had also been picked to join a squad that would be working directly under one of the new bots. It wasn’t what he’d wanted though. It wasn’t the main thing he’d prayed and dreamed for, for so long. It wasn’t a Partnership.

The group of humans is dismissed from the briefing room where they had received the results of their months, years, worth of hard work. Gaz had been ecstatic and had been led out towards the Autobot hangers by a grinning General Morshower and a beaming Lennox. Epps had herded the rest of them towards the barracks, intent on keeping their spirits up with some cheers and promise of going out bar hopping on Epps’ dime later that evening. Soap couldn’t though. He needed to be alone for a bit. He’d ducked out from under Roach’s arm and waved his friend on. Then he’d steam marched his way to the back of the storage hangers away from the vast majority of the base. He was fuming, pissed off at himself, and itching to break something. The good thing was, there was normally nothing behind his favored storage hanger aside from the odd piece of debris or trash that found its way back here. Nothing for Soap to dig and beat at but himself.

Except, when he rounds the corner, there’s a blacked-out Humvee parked a few yards back, near the fence that separates the storage area from the flat plain sometimes used for extra landing or training space. Soap frowns at the tactical vehicle. Go figure someone would park back here on the day he needs it clear so he can be alone the most. There’s no one in sight though, and Soap’s too far in his own head, too hot and raging to really think it through at the moment. This is his spot to come and calm down. His spot to have a mental breakdown before he gathers himself back up and goes back to pretending like he’s not cored out from not being good enough to make the Partnership.

He makes it ten feet behind the building before the damn breaks. He snarls and screams, knowing the sound of the base and the nearby airfield will keep his noise hidden. Tears running down his face, Soap almost runs into the back corner of the Humvee. He didn’t think it had been that close, though he’d almost forgotten it was there completely. Anger and frustration, all aimed at himself, bubbles over and Soap punches the side of the vehicle. His wrist screams in pain and his knuckles flare with discomfort. The spark of pain ignites what little calm Soap has left, leaving him burning. With a roar, Soap kicks at the front tire, at the rock guard that runs along the bottom edge of the side paneling. He kicks and punches and screams as if he’s fighting all his demons at once. As he does, he pours out all of his anger and heart ache.

Soap unloads every grievance and doubt he’s had. About himself, about the Program. Fuck, about humanity. He lets out every negative emotion he’s held back for the last several years. Words pour from his mouth. And when he runs out of the things he’s mad about and the things he hates about himself, his rant ramps back up. This time focusing on all he’s ever done. The hard work he’d put in from the second he was old enough to realize he wanted to be a soldier. From the moment he’d joined the military and the sheer rightness of the plan he made when he found out about the Autobots. He unleashes all that he’s felt and done in service to the dream of joining NEST and fighting along side the Autobots. The ache in his chest, the longing and need, to join something so much more than just himself. To join a Partnership. To be the human counterpart to a Cybertronian.

And he’d been rejected. It was all yanked out from under him now. Sure, he was still a soldier. Still able to live and work with NEST. To exist alongside Autobots. It’s just…not how he’d thought it’d go. Sad and dejected, Soap slumps with his forearms pressed to the blacked out tinted window of the driver’s side door. Taking a deep breath, Soap lets it out slowly, opening his eyes to gaze at his reflection in the tinted window. His face is dirty and stained with tears. His mohawk disheveled and sticking up in all directions. He looks like crap. Like he’s gone down the deep end. Another breath and Soap leans forward, his forehead thumping against the glass. Breath. Breath…

“A’m no’ gonna let this beat me.”

Swallowing, his throat still dry and tight from his anger, Soap lets out another slow breath.

“This isnae the end”, he says firmly, “A’m still here. Here. Fuck, A made i’ this far. Keep fightin’. Try again. Ye got this, Soap. Ye can do this.”

Soap nods, his skin hot against the cool glass.

“Fuck.”

Heaving a sigh, Soap turns, putting his back to the Humvee, and slumps down until he’s sitting with his back against the front tire. The rubber is warm against his back. The ridges of the thick tread press against his back, but it’s not at all uncomfortable. Leaning his head back, Soap sighs. Closing his eyes, Soap lets the quiet of this little back lot seep back into his mind, calming him down as he leans against this wayward Humvee.

“Adapt. Overcome. Form a plan”, he reminds himself, several long minutes later, “The Program picks candidates more than just once in a lifetime. A’ve got other chances.”

With that in mind, Soap gets to his feet. He braces against the front of the Humvee as he shakes the pins and needles feeling out of his legs. Nodding to the vehicle beneath his hands, Soap takes a final deep breath.

“A’right. Back t’ the grind.”

As he steps away, past the vehicle he’d abused and then rested against, he pats the Humvee’s rear panel, thinking nothing of the warm electric feeling that lingers in his palm.

---

Instead of hanging around the barracks and moping, Soap goes to the training areas. He puts himself through the same routine Laswell did during her week of overseeing the candidates. Sure, Soap had been rejected for the Partnership, downgraded to a simple soldier in whatever team would be assisting the Autobots and their Partners, but he wasn’t going to let it get him down. There was still an energy surging through him with every beat of his heart, an instinct telling him to keep fighting rather than go lay down in the barracks and feel sorry for himself. After all, he was pissed at himself and miserable over being rejected. May as well feel like he’s being productive rather than just lay about. When night falls, Soap heads for the shooting range. Gaz and Roach catch up to him on the walk and do their best to get him to go out with them and a bunch of other soldiers. Epps is fronting the bill and Jazz is already taking bets on who’s going to get too drunk first. Soap begs them off though, calling a rain check, and promises to upstage all the drinking the next time they go out. His friends know he’s still upset, but Soap is thankful when they let it be and assure him they’ll tell him about any drama that happens.

It's probably hours later and Soap is still taking his frustrations out at the shooting range. For a while he’s had the feeling he’s being watched, but whenever he looks around it’s just him on the range and a few soldiers milling about in the vestibule behind the safety glass. Though none of those guys are watching up. Another prickling feeling at the back of his neck, where Soap can feel the eyes on him, and Soap clears the gun in his hand before turning to look around once more. He looks to the left, behind him, forward down range again, then to the right. When he looks left again, Soap almost jumps out of his skin.

“Jesus- bleedin’ fuckin’- Christ! Laswell!”

“I tried making noise when I came in”, Laswell chuckles as she leans her hip on the partition separating Soap’s station from the one on his left.

“No’ enough”, Soap mutters.

“Perhaps you’re too wound up in that pretty head of yours”, Laswell hums, leveling him with an all too knowing look.

Of course she knows he was rejected. And of course she would know he’s upset and stuck in his head over it.

“Aye… Well…”, Soap sighs, his shoulders slumping, “A didnae ken what else t’ do.”

“Could have gone out with the others. Drank away your emotions.”

“Nae. Ne’er been ma thing”, Soap shakes his head, “A’d rather feel like A was… doin’ somethin’. Keep busy, so A didnae have t’ think about how A failed.”

“You didn’t fail, Soap. You’re still going to be a NEST soldier.”

“A ken. I’s jus’…”, the ache in his chest comes back full force, that longing he couldn’t ever explain even if he tried, and Soap reaches up to rub at his chest, “no’ wha’ A’d been dreamin’ of.”

Laswell stares at him for a minute, the silence between them stretching on, and that feeling of being watched persisting. After a few beats, a hand lands on Soaps shoulder. Her hand is cold, even through Soap’s clothes.

“Yer hand’s cold”, he says quietly.

The hand on his shoulder warms, becoming far more human feeling. Soap can’t help but smile, the corner of his lips tipping up. It’s always so impressive how capable of being human Laswell is.

“All right, soldier. Let’s go”, Laswell says firmly, “Share a smoke with me while we walk.”

Soap has no reason to argue, and Laswell is a friend that he feels like understands him, even more so than Gaz or Roach. It may be poor of him to want to be with her over his human friends, one of whom he’s known for years, but Laswell has a way about her that makes him feel more seen than anyone else. Still, Soap is a bratty asshole himself, so he heaves a sigh like it’s a big imposition and complains like a petulant kid while he gathers the guns he’d been working with, clears his station, and turns the guns and unused ammo back into the weapons master on station. Laswell pokes back at his bitching, laughing and taking none of his shit as they leave the shooting range. When they step outside, Soap pulls a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, puts it to his lips, and lights up.

“Where’s the Mini?”, he asks as he blows out a puff of smoke.

“Down that way”, Laswell nods to a road that runs along the back of the buildings, “Working on distance training.”

“Oh, aye. Like how far ye can hold full form?”

“Exactly”, Laswell nods, taking the cigarette when Soap offers it and pulling a drag from the roll, “Holding a human form takes effort and practice. Those that bother to learn how can often only go a few yards from their full body, and the further away the less solid and real the image. I worked on perfecting my human form before worrying about distance.”

“Makes sense”, Soap nods, reclaiming his cigarette, “If ye get good a’ a full nanoform, then ye ken all the pieces an’ parts ye need t’ keep in place the further ye go.”

“Perfectly said”, his companion says, smiling at him, “And here people say you’re just a pretty face.”

They both laugh at that. Soap knows he looks good. His physical form is something he works to keep looking good as well as being in fighting shape. Honestly, it kind of was like Laswell herself, working on her holo and nano form; looking good and able to fight.

“Ye keep sayin’ A’m pretty, Laswell. Gonna make a man think ye feelin’ some kinda way about me”, he grins, leering playfully.

Laswell scoffs, giving his shoulder a shove. It’s solid and firm and sends him stumbling a few feet to the side.

“Haha! No’ so hard, Laswell. Thought ye liked me.”

“It’s debatable minute by minute”, she grins at him.

Soap doesn’t really pay attention to where they’re going, too busy enjoying the company and laughing along with Laswell. It isn’t until they’re at the barracks that Soap lets out a sigh. Sneaky Laswell, leading him to bed like bringing a horse in from pasture for the night. He’s about to make a comment to that affect when the sound of an approaching car draws his attention. The blue and Union Jack Mini pulls up close to the two, and Laswell walks over to lean against her hood.

“Wha’s the farthest ye’ve managed t’ go before?”

“About half a mile. Going underground is more difficult though.”

“At least ye’d be safe in a haunted movie.”

Laswell rolls her eyes at him, sighing as if Soap were the largest annoyance she’d ever known. It makes him smile harder.

“Right. Off to bed with you”, Laswell huffs, waving him away.

“As the lady commands”, Soap grins, bowing low at the waist.

The answer he gets is Laswell’s human image fizzling out with a zip of static. Soap stands back up and half turns to the barracks. For some reason, that ache in his chest becomes heavy once again. He hadn’t realized how well Laswell had distracted him from it until now, with him having to go back inside and face a long night of second-guessing decisions he’d made up to this point. It’s not that he regretted it or doubted himself, it’s just that he’d never really expected to get rejected when he was so close to finally making it.

“Tomorrow’s a new day, Soap”, Laswell’s voice says from the Mini, “Try not to think too much, and get some rest.”

“Easier said than done, Laswell, no’ gonna lie.”

“I know. But do your best.”

Soap sighs again, then gets his feet moving. Laswell watches him all the way to the door, then she’s peeling out and away, off to wherever she rests her tires at night. As Soap makes his way through the corridors of the barracks, Soap still feels like he’s being watched and the weight in his chest still presses heavy on his heart. The sense of eyes on him doesn’t stop until he’s in his room and closing the door behind him. Soap still feels the ache even after he closes his eyes and eventually falls asleep.

---

The next morning, Soap wakes up and starts his day just the way he has the last several months. He walks with Gaz and Roach down to the mess for breakfast, then they meet with the rest of the Program candidates and head for their briefing room. The seven of them will all receive their official orders today. Gaz will likely head to the Autobots side of the base to meet with his Partner, since that oddly didn’t happen yesterday, while Soap and the others all get sorted into their new squads. Soap feels more fresh this morning. Less pissy and more determined. He’s also the only one of the group not hungover.

He's laughing and jeering at Roach and Gaz, the other guys snickering and trying not to draw the attention to themselves as they all enter the main building. It’s a floor up and two hallways down to their meet up spot. They’re all expecting the day to go a certain way. Finding General Morshower, Lennox, soldier they’ve never met, and Laswell standing at the table in their briefing room is not what any of them could have predicted. Soap tries not to stare at Laswell too hard, but he knows his gaze is curious and suspicious as he eyes the woman. He hadn’t seen the Mini out front. It brings to mind their conversation from the previous night. A half a mile, and they weren’t underground.

Soap and his compatriots all snap salutes and then fall to attention when Lennox waves them down. There’s a beat of silence where the tension could be cut with a knife. Then the General takes a breath.

“All right, gentleman. Let’s get this morning started shall we.”

No one moves for a second, then it’s the unknown soldier that clears his throat.

“Blake, Davis, Marks, Matthews, and Sanderson. Take a seat.”

The five men move to do so, Roach glancing back at Gaz and Soap with a curious yet worried expression. Once they’re all seated, Morshower, Lennox, and Laswell round the table and head for the door.

“You two follow us”, the General says as he passes Gaz and Soap.

Blinking, both men turn slowly, then rush to catch up as the three superiors walk out into the hall. Soap is the last out, and Laswell closes the briefing room door behind him. As she moves to follow the group back down the hall, Soap looks over his shoulder and hopes his expression reliably conveys ‘what the fuck’ vibes. Laswell winks at him, and that’s not very helpful. Back outside the building, Laswell’s Mini is parked next to one of the regular tan Humvees that NEST uses. The four men pile into the Humvee, Laswell making the effort to open her driver’s door and get in, then the two vehicles are getting in gear and driving off.

Soap shares a look with Gaz. There’s excitement running through both of them, and a small thread of hope. Gaz was supposed to be meeting his Partner. So why bring Soap along? They wouldn’t be doing this if they were kicking him out, right? If he was riding along with Gaz, the General, and Lennox, then surely…? Maybe…? Soap dared not get his hopes up or get ahead of himself, but the excitement and hope were starting to lift that heavy weight in his chest.

Laswell leads the way, speeding across the base, and heads for the larger hangers that house the Autobots and where a majority of any Autobot and human coordination are done. There’s just as much human activity in this part of the base, but it’s interspersed with the occasional Cybertronian. Mudflap and Skids are the first ones they pass, the twins standing with a group of soldiers and talking loudly and waving their hands wildly. Sideswipe is helping move crates and equipment, and he gives them a nod when they pass. A cloud of dust off the far-left draws Soap’s attention. Dirt Dauber and Bumblebee are driving over the flat sands, though they close in fast as they race towards the hanger that Soap’s little convoy seems to be heading to. The roar of their engines resonates the closer they get. Dauber peels off when they reach pavement, but Bumblebee drifts with screeching tires and a lot of drama to drive next to Laswell.

The now three car convoy goes around one of the longest, though certainly not the largest, hangers and through the open rollup door, Soap can see the enormous bipedal forms of several Autobots. There are large scaffolding platforms around the edges of the hanger and in the middle, where humans can climb up to talk eye level with the Cybertronians. As the tan Humvee comes to a stop, Soap and Gaz wait for Lennox and Morshower to get out before doing so themselves. As Soap walks around the front of the vehicle, Sam gets out of Bumblebee, then the yellow Camero and blue Mini are shifting, transforming. Soap has never seen Laswell in her true form. She’s just as impressive as he expected, her form standing only a few feet shorter than Bee and the way her car parts settle looking a lot like the yellow scout. His first Cybertronian friend transforming only holds Soap’s attention for a second though, before he’s realizing who else is in the hanger with them.

Ironhide and Rachet are standing off the right, looking calm and relaxed. Jazz is resting in car form to the left, but he too transforms as the humans walk closer. Standing at the feet of the mech’s was Epps, moving to lean against Jazz’s foot when the Autobot settles. In the center of it all, is Optimus Prime. Soap and Gaz had met the leader of the Autobots a few times, even worked with him once on a mission, but this is the closest either of them have ever been to the giant mech. The Prime out does, overshadows, and completely trumps any and all expectations Soap could have had. By God, he was impressive.

Completely out of ingrained habit, Gaz and Soap salute.

“Optimus, Gaz”, Lennox pats Gaz’s shoulder, then Soap’s, “and Soap.”

“Welcome Kyle Garrick. Welcome John MacTavish”, Optimus greets, his voice deep and intimidating, yet still somehow soothing and calming.

Optimus looks down at them and the sheer enormity of his being is breathtaking. His gaze moves over Gaz easily, but when he turns his glowing blue optics to Soap, the giant bot stares at him. The intensity is penetrating. It sets Soaps nerves alight. He feels like he’s being looked into, not just at. Like Optimus is staring into his very soul. Soap is fighting the urge to shrink under Optimus’ gaze. Swallowing down his discomfort and feeling of inadequacy, Soap holds his head high and his own gaze steady. It’s a long few seconds, almost a minute, before Optimus finally blinks, metal ridges moving over his optics, and his attention returns to Gaz.

“Sergeant Garrick. You have been chosen to join the Partnership Program. This is a great opportunity and honor. You have passed every test your superiors, our finest fighters, and our smartest tacticians”, here Optimus glances briefly at Laswell, “could have put you through. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir”, Gaz says, somehow keeping his voice steady, “The honor is all mine. I look forward to all that comes.”

The Autobot leader nods, then his optics are once again looking at Soap. Another silence settles, stretching on. Soap once again refuses to cower and keeps himself steady and strong.

“Sergeant MacTavish”, Optimus says his name and there’s something almost like pride in his voice, “I am told you were quite upset to hear you had not been chosen for the Program.”

Fuck. Was he still being rejected? A sharp pain like a knife wound stabs along next to the ache behind his sternum. What was he supposed to do? To say? There are a thousand things he could say, he could beg for. More chances, to be reconsidered. Placations to try and gain favor. He settles on the truth instead.

“Aye, sir. A was. The Partnership’s somethin’ A’ve wanted since A heard i’ was a thing. Ya, A’m still a NEST soldier, bu’ A’ve always ken there was more for me, that A was meant for somethin’ bigger”, Soap takes a breath, keeping eye contact with the Prime, “There’s more t’ me than meets the eye. An’ A’ll keep fightin’ t’ prove it, if A have t’.”

There’s complete silence around him. Lennox is trying to hide a smile, but Morshower looks like he’s holding in a grimace. Like Soap just told Optimus to shove it. Sam is grinning like an idiot. Soap almost expects the young man to come over and hug him. Soap can only tell all this from what he can see out of the corner of his eye, because he’s still staring down Optimus Prime. Finally, the leader of the Autobots lets out a sigh, similar to the soft sound of air through a vent, which it likely was. Then the plates and shapes that form his face move, and Optimus smiles at him.

“You do not have to prove anything, Soap”, Optimus deep voice says almost fondly, “You were not originally picked, because only one of our new arrivals was looking for a Partner. Gaz fit more with the Autobot that wished to join the Program.”

Soap blinks. Well, that made sense. There was never any guarantee that any of the new arrivals would want a human Partner, and said human would be picked based on who matched best with whomever bot did decide to sign up. If only one of the Autobots signed up for the Program, and Gaz was the best match, then it would stand to reason that Soap would have been rejected. It still hurt; to think he hadn’t been good enough to join the Program. But if that was the case, then what was he doing here?

“A’right”, Soap nods slowly, “So then…why am A here?”

“Because, through your pain and anger at being rejected for this round of the Program, you refused to give in. Refused to accept less than what you knew you were capable of”, Optimus says calmly, “And in that, you earned the notice of one of our other newcomers. He has decided to give you a chance.”

Hope replaces that knife like feeling. One of the other bots had noticed him? Who? When? The only Cybertronian he’d talked to since finding out he was rejected was Laswell.

“A chance?”, Soap breathes, daring to hope a little more.

“All Partnerships start slow”, Lennox says, drawing Soap and Gaz’s attention to him, “The three new Cybertronians have spent the last several days downloading all they need from our secure servers and the other Autobots. Still, they’re just getting their Earth legs, so to speak, so even they will need some time to adjust. For them and for you, there’s a trial period. It’s not permanent right out the gate. Especially since you two haven’t been in action with, let alone met, the Autobots you’ll be working with. It’s a chance for both of you, not a sure-fire thing.”

Soap and Gaz nod quickly. A chance is all they need, all Soap needs. It’s more than what he had yesterday.

“Then, meet your new Partners”, Optimus says, taking a few steps back.

As he does, the thunderous growl of an engine rumbles through the air as two new vehicles enter the hanger through a side door. The first to enter is a sleek black SUV, what Soap thinks looks like an armored SUV used by politicians or heads of State. Maybe a Cadilac, or a Jaguar? Perhaps a Land or Range Rover? Either way, it’s large and imposing, yet the clean lines give it a sharp and sophisticated look. The second vehicle has Soap’s breath catching. It’s a huge blacked out Humvee. It’s tall, with large tires, a tactical roof rack, and tactical front and rear guards. There are rock sliders along the bottom sides, and the windows are tinted so dark there’s no hint of anything inside. The vehicle looks a lot like the one that had been parked behind the storage hanger where Soap had his little pitty fest yesterday after finding out he was rejected. In fact, it looks exactly like the black Humvee he’d punched, kicked, and then leaned against.

It’s at this moment that Soap remembers, not a single NEST Humvee is black. All of the ones used on base are tan or army green.

Oh…shit.

“Sergeant Gaz Garrick, meet Price”, Optimus introduces, “Captain of his team, the 141.”

The SUV gives a low whirr of mechanics. There’s the hiss of air venting. Then the metal is shifting, paneling moving and gears grinding, as the SUV transforms. The Autobot moves with a finesse that speak of ages of shifting forms. There’s a grace to it that all the Autobots have when they transform. As the Cybertronian settles, the last of its plating falling into place, they get the first real look at Gaz’s new partner.

Price is exceptionally similar to Ratchet in height and build. They must have similar base chassis. Even the plates that create the helm and facial features are similar to Ratchet. The body paneling was the dark black of the SUV, with hints of chrome and silver tubes and panels covering colored wires and electrical parts beneath. At the center of his chest, in bright chrome metal, was the Autobot symbol. There’s the hint of the Cybertronian looking a little older, a mustache and beard-like set of plates and tubing that is around the mouth like area. Eyebrow-like structures that look a little thicker, bushier, and sit low over the bright blue optics. Still, Price has a kind, wise, face. Yeah, and older father figure is definitely the vibe Price gives off. Perfect for Gaz.

Gaz lets out a slow and careful breath, then he steps forward.

“Honor to meet you, Captain”, Gaz says, voice steady and sure as he reaches out a hand like he’s about to try and shake hands.

“The honor is mine, Sergeant Garrick”, Price responds.

His voice is a deep soothing tenor. Price steps closer, kneeling down on one knee, and his right hand, large clean metal and turning servos, reaches out, balling into a fist with just his pointer finger extended. Gaz closes the little distance between them and presses his hand to the tip of Price’s finger. There’s stillness and silence for a beat, then Gaz grins like a giddy little kid.

“Ah-ha. ‘Gaz’ is fine, sir.”

“Hm”, Price tilts his head, a smile forming on his own face, “Then ‘Price’ is fine as well.”

“Yes, sir”, Gaz nods.

The two smile at each other and Soap can already tell that is going to be a match made in heaven. He’s definitely not upset that Gaz was the one chosen, if Price was the original one that had wanted to join the Partnership. Which brought Soaps thoughts back to the reason he was here. Because he’d impressed another new arrival, an Autobot that had not wanted to join the Partnership in the first place. Swallowing thickly, Soap blinks. Price clears his throat and Soap’s gaze snaps back to the older bot. He’d not realized he’d looked away and been staring at the black Humvee. Now looking back at Price, Soap finds himself being scrutinized once again by a pair of shining blue optics that feel like they can see right through him.

“Sergeant John MacTavish”, Price greets.

“Soap, sir”, Soap nods, trying to get his heartbeat under control, “An honor, sir.”

“Hm. I hear interesting things about you”, the older bot says calmly.

Soap’s gut squirms, “Ah..”

“Laswell and I have known each other for ages. And she’s rather fond of you, I think.”

“Oh. Aye. She’s been a good friend. Loves t’ run us ragged in training.”

“Yes, that sounds just right”, Price chuckles before sobering in a rather intense way, “You’ve also apparently drawn the attention of my Lieutenant.”

His Lieutenant? Well, crap.

Swallowing his anxiety as best he can, Soap’s eyes cut over to the blacked-out Humvee before quickly returning to Price.

“Aye. A do love a bit o’ dramatic flair, sir.”

Soap instantly wishes he could swallow his tongue. Fuck, what was he saying.

“Ha. This will certainly be interesting”, Price hums, his head tilting to the side when he continues, “Just as you said. Eh, Ghost?”

The Humvee’s engine revs slightly, the rumble of it like thunder in the night, then it’s shifting, transforming. All of the Autobots have a grace to them when they transform, but there’s something about the way this one moves, the way his parts shift and slide together, reconfiguring and forming into something else. It’s like watching a hunter stalk its prey. Movements smooth and discerning. Deadly. While there’s a certain level of noise simply due to material and size, this bot is quieter than most as he transforms. It lends even more to the dangerous and lethal power that exudes from the Cybertronian. When the being finally settles, Soap keeps on staring, far too enraptured to notice anything else but himself and the Autobot standing before him.

Good fuckin’ thing this guy was on their side. And good thing the first time they were seeing each other was in day light. Every bit of this Autobot was dark. All of his parts, straight down to the tubes and wires beneath his plates, were varying shades of black and grey. There was a smidge of dark brown here and there, but Soap was fairly sure that was just dirt that had already gotten into places. Soap could just imagine meeting this being at night. Could almost see how the darkness and shadows would wrap around him, concealing this deadly creature. He could envision the terror he’d feel, watching as this tall, bulky, and beautiful being stepped out of the night, the darkness bleeding from around him as he walked forward to dole out death and destruction. This Cybertronian may be an Autobot, but he was the most tactical and deadly looking of the bunch. Even next to Ironhide, this guy looked like he was made to fight, to kill. And, interestingly, Soap couldn’t see the Autobot’s symbol anywhere immediately visible along the Cybertronian’s body.

The Autobots height was a few feet taller than Ironhide, and the build was visibly similar to Optimus, if Optimus had a mini armory on him along with tactical barricade style guards. The parts of the Humvee create massive shoulders, thick arms and legs, an impressive chest, and a slightly tapered waist. It reminds Soap so much of a tall, thick, special ops soldier that’s kitted out to the nines with body armor and weapons. The helm makes Soap think of a soldier wearing a helmet on their head. The lower half of the Autobot’s ‘face’ was covered by shielding much like how Optimus’ armor covered his mouth during battle, the black metal disturbed by seven dark grey lines going up and down the front of the guard. The top half of the ‘face’ was the most interesting. It was definitely more armor covering whatever facial structure was beneath. However, the shape of it wasn’t like when Bumblebees face shields slid down. Instead, it reminded Soap of a skull. It was the lightest part, a softer more mist grey, than any other part of the bot. The skull like face stood out, making the deathly image of the Autobot even more intimidating. Inside, beneath the dark holes of the skull masks eye sockets, the being’s optics shown with a luminous color Soap had never seen before. It was like sunlight through amber. Golden yellow that shimmered and shone with an intensity that just screamed age, wisdom, and experience.

Fuckin’ hell…

“Ghost.”

Soap whispers the name without meaning to. It’s a perfect fit. This Autobot, was perfect. This Autobot, Ghost, was staring down at him. Soap couldn’t figure out if he was being glared at, sized up, or looked down upon like he was the most annoying thing Ghost had ever had to deal with. Well, better to let Ghost know exactly what he was getting himself into. Grinning, Soap takes a step forward.

“Ye think A’ll be interestin’, LT?”

Ghost’s amber optics flicker, the Autobots version of blinking, at him. Someone gasps, another person snickers. Price, close enough for Soap to still hear it, tries to hide a chuckle. Gaz sighs, muttering a ‘really dude’, which makes Soap all the more certain of his choice. Because if Soap had a choice, he’d be choosing Ghost every time. Of that, he was already sure.

“You certainly left an impression”, Ghost says lowly.

God, fuck, his voice. It was like nothing Soap had ever heard. Deep in a way that sent tingles down his spine and rolling through his very bones like something out of a dream, or a nightmare. There was the hint of an accent there too. Something decidedly British that Soap just knew would make him feel some kind of a way, though he wasn’t sure what exact way that would be.

It takes a second for Soap to realize that along with speaking their first words to each other, Ghost has moved to revel a part of his metal paneling. At the side edge of which was a small dent, barely perceptible until the light hit it in just the right way. Ah… Soap suddenly remembers during his little fit yesterday that he’d punched the side of the Humvee. His wrist and knuckles were still smarting. He hoped Ratchet didn’t realize what this meant, otherwise the medic would be frog marching Soap to medical to have a look at his hand.

“Aye. Wasnae really thinkin’ clearly”, Soap says, only a little sheepish, “An’ didnae realize ye were…there.”

He sounded a bit like an idiot, but oh well. Ghost was there for the whole meltdown. And he’d still seen something in Soap that caused him to change his mind about joining the Program. About maybe becoming Partners. Still grinning, Soap holds up his injured hand.

“No’ gonna lie. Glad A left a mark.”

A few laughs roll through the gathered group. Morshower rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh. Gaz leans closer to Price.

“Hope Ghost knows what he’s getting into. This is Soap being mild.”

Price chuckles, “This might be good for him then.”

Ghost glares over at Price, the two sharing a look for several moments. Soap’s sure they’re communicating with a secure internal comm, but he’s not at all worried. It’s most likely about him, but Ghost hasn’t stepped on him yet, or taken back his interest in Soap, so there was that at least.

“Price and Ghost have been sticking to this side of base the most”, Laswell says, breaking the moment and pulling everyone back to the fact that they were all still standing in a circle around the hanger, “How about Gaz and Soap show their perspective Partners around base. Then you can gather your things from the barracks.”

“Get our things?”, Gaz asks, looking confusedly from Laswell, to Lennox, then to Price.

“You’ve been chosen to potentially be Partnered with a Cybertronian”, Optimus says calmly, “You will now reside in a shared room on this side of the base.”

“Shared room?”, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost all say at the same time; Ghosts deeper voice booming a bit around the hanger.

“It’s the best way to figure out if you’re a good match”, Lennox nods.

“And it will promote growth in your Partnership bond”, agrees Optimus, “Training will start tomorrow.”

Soap couldn’t stop smiling. His chest felt the lightest it had in months. It felt like he was about to bounce out of his skin. Unable to help himself, he turns back to Ghost.

“A’right then, LT. Jus’ warnin’ ye, A like t’ cuddle.”

Even with his face blank of human features, nothing but the skull like head and lower mask, Soap gets the distinct feeling Ghost scowls or snarls at him.

“I don’t.”

With that, Ghost turns and walks out of the hanger. Laughing, Soap jogs to keep up, Price following them and Gaz trotting along as well.

“A like i’ nice an’ warm too.”

“I prefer the cold.”

“Soap snores like a fuckin’ freight train too”, Gaz calls out, catching up to walk along next to Soap.

“Off t’ a great start, eh, LT”, Soap laughs, looking up at Ghost, trying not to get caught in the way the sun reflects off his matte black paneling and in the gold amber of his optics.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

Ghost’s voice matters lowly behind his armor mask. His gait lengthens like he’s trying to get away from the humans. Though Soap notes that he doesn’t actually leave them behind even though he easily could. Soap takes it as a good sign.

Chapter Text

Soap and Gaz spend the day with Ghost and Price. Like Soap had thought, Price is perfect for Gaz. Already, not even a full day in, he can tell the two are going to be great together. Their personalities match well, and Gaz seems both appropriately star struck and respectful of his new Autobot Partner. Ghost…well, Soap isn’t sure if the mech hates him already, or if the mild assholishness is just a part of Ghost’s personality. Either way, Soap tries to keep his spirits up and from upsetting his new potential Partner. Ghost had seen something in him, after all, so surely the grumpy Cybertonian couldn’t be too upset with Soap. Unless Ghost was rethinking his choice to join the Program and choose Soap as his possible Partner. The thought sticks to Soap more than he likes. The niggling worry that Ghost will drop him, reject him, churns in Soap’s gut.

The worry is a little easier to ignore when they meet the third member of Price and Ghosts team. When the bot introduces himself, it’s a lot like how Laswell had done the first time Soap met her. He gives his Cybertronian name in a series of screeching metallic sounds, cutting them off with a smirking huff, telling the humans they can just call him Keegan.

Keegan’s bipedal form is smaller and thinner than Ghost. The lower half of his face was covered by a mask just like ghost, and the top of his face had four smaller optics rather than two like other Autobots his size. It was like a soldier wearing a helmet with a panoramic night vision goggle set. It was different, and pretty cool, if Soap was being honest. Granted, there are similarities between Keegan and Ghost that have Soap swallowing down a giggle and a few teasing comments about the smaller bot being ‘Ghost light'. If someone had described what Ghost looked like, and Soap hadn’t met them yet, he would have assumed that Keegan was Ghost. At least, until Ghost stood next to Keegan. Even the shorter mech’s vehicle form was Ghost-like, until Ghost rolled up next to him. Keegan’s black painted metal had a nice shine, where Ghost’s black was a flat matte that lended to Ghost being a stealthy fighter despite his size. Still, Keegan smoothly and gracefully transformed into a handsome Land Rover Defender. It was an older and boxier model, with brush guards, roof rack, light bar, and snorkel. Keegan is cool though, and he and Soap actually get along pretty well.

Soap almost wonders if he should have been Partnered with Keegan. Though, any time he considers it, the ache in his chest gets worse. No, he likes Ghost. He’s certain that they will be a good pair. Eventually. All he has to do is get Ghost to see it too. For all that Price and Optimus made it clear that Ghost had been the one to step forward to take Soap on, Ghost himself didn’t seem all that enthusiastic about having a possible human Partner. When night falls on the first day of being Partnered, Soap and Gaz follow their Autobot counterparts to the enormous hanger that acts as the Autobots barracks.

Each Cybertronian has a room to themselves with a roll up door for the mech to us and next to it is a smaller swinging door for the humans. Overhead lights illuminate the space with a bright white light, the controls for which are at both human and bot height. The room itself is giant by human standards but could be considered cramped depending on the size of the Cybertonian occupying it. At the back of the room is a large metal bed, or berth, that is tall and big enough for the bots’ massive bipedal forms to lay down on. In the space under the berth is the human living space; a simple double mattress on a plain military frame, a small utilitarian desk and chair, and a dresser with several drawers. There’s a full length mirror on a stand and even two metal bars for hanging clothes in place of a closed-in closet.

Soap almost makes a quip about it being like those kids bunk beds, the mattress up top and the desk or fort space underneath. But he's fairly sure Ghost wouldn’t appreciate the childish comment, so he keeps it to himself. In the other far corner of the room is a walled in bathroom for the human to use. It’s big enough for a sink, toilet, and shower. Small, by some standards, but it’s not the communal showers like in the barracks Soap had been sleeping in, so it’s already worlds better in his opinion. The majority of the room is empty, meant to be where the Autobot could park and rest in their vehicle form if they so choose. Soap’s rucksack, a few personal items he had, and two other bags of clothes and gear are leaning against the frame of his bed beneath Ghost’s berth. They had indeed gone and gathered Soap’s belongings from the human barracks earlier in the day. It had seemed like a lot to lug across the base, Ghost refusing to transform and give Soap a ride and instead choosing to walk with Soap jogging behind him to keep up. Now that it was night and Soap was looking at his things, his room, and how it fit underneath where Ghost slept, it felt like so little and Soap felt incredibly small.

Ghost hardly gives Soap a glance after he closes the rolling door behind them, then he’s climbing up on to his berth and laying on his back. Seemingly all on its own the lights overhead turn off and Soap realizes that Ghost was able to turn them off through whatever electrical connection he had to the tech on base. Now the only light available is the amber glow coming from Ghost’s optics. As he settles on the berth, the mech’s optics turn off, plunging the room in darkness. Soap still hears the sound of whirring of mechanics and the hum of engines, even soft clicking of gears, and knows that Ghost is awake. Frowning, Soap feels his way along the walls to the bathroom. When he finally finds the switch and turns the light on, he tries not to huff too irritatedly at the large pile of metal laying yards above him. Sighing, Soap gathers his toiletry bag from the rest of his belongings, then goes back into the bathroom to do his nightly routine. When he comes out, he looks up to find that there’s a ladder built into the metal berth. It’s perfect for if Soap ever wanted to climb up onto Ghost’s sleeping space. The thought has Soap rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He’d likely get shoved off and break a leg in the fall if he even tried to go up there and lay with Ghost.

Trying not to feel too downtrodden, Soap lays down in his own bed and tries to keep an open and more optimistic mind for tomorrow.

---

It only takes a few days for it to become abundantly apparent that Soap and Ghost are extremely different personalities. Ghost is surly at the best of times; a tough exterior that refuses to yield even the slightest. It makes getting to know him harder than Soap expected. Try as he might, and continuously having to remind himself that Ghost was the one to choose this, Soap feels like he’s fighting to prove himself all over again all the way from square one. He tries not to be as boisterous or as bouncy as he normally is. He tries to fit what he thinks Ghost saw in him that made the Autobot decide to take this chance. All it does though, it seems, it to piss off Ghost and irritate him all the more. Not sure what else to do, Soap wanders over to Gaz and Price, looking for advice from the mech that is Ghost’s Captain.

“The Lieutenant giving you grief already, MacTavish?”, Price asks kindly.

“Yes”, Soap sighs, too frustrated to bother hiding how dejected he sounds and feels.

Price and Gaz share a look, already so in tune with each other. Sopa tries not to feel envious of them. After a moment, Price turns back to Soap, the metal that makes up his human-like facial structure turned down and twisted into a frown.

“Ghost is a very independent and secretive bot. Always has been. He’s been through more than most, and that’s saying something given all that our kind has been through.”

“Aye, he’s go’ baggage. That makes him grumpy an’ unsociable”, Soap nods, “But i’s like he hates me. Like he dosnae want me around.”

“He’s the one that wanted to give you a chance”, Gaz chimes in, also frowning.

“Exactly! But i’s like he’s regrettin’ it already. He’s no’ giving it a chance”, the fear of being rejected again, and the ache in his chest setting heavy behind his sternum, Soap droops, “A try t’ keep the peace between us. Try t’ be whatever i’ is he saw that day behind the storage hanger. I’s jus’… A donae ken what t’ do.”

“Perhaps, Soap, you should stop trying to be something you are not”, suggests Price, drawing Soap’s confused gaze up to him, “You are trying to compromise and tone down who you are to keep from angering Ghost. But that’s not what drew him to you.”

…Ghost was drawn to him?

“How d’ ye mean?”

“You’re stubborn and strong spirited, from what I hear”, Price smiles, “My suggestion; stop watering yourself down for Ghost. He either can handle it, or he can’t. In which case, he’s not worthy of you.”

“No’ worthy o’ me?”, Soap frowns, even more confused, his Scottish accent getting thinker, “Ain’t A the one supposed t’ be provin’ A’m worthy enough t’ work wi’ him?”

“It’s a Partnership, Soap. You have to be worthy of each other.”

Still frowning, Soap thanks Price for his advice, gives Gaz a tap of his fist to the shoulder, then heads back off to find his surly Humvee.

---

After just two more days, Soap takes Price’s advice. He stops trying to force their personalities to fit and instead just acts like himself. When Ghost puffs up at him, Soap stands his ground. He refuses to yield to Ghost’s needling and growling. The first time he does it, Ghost glares at him and gives some not so thinly veiled threats. Soap doesn’t cower or take the bait. He just grins, says something pithy and teasing, then walks away. The times after that, Ghost seems to have less hot wind in his sails and Soap’s teasing becomes less bitchy and more genuinely kind and excited; just like Soap himself is.

Surprisingly, they compromise rather well when they stand up to each other, rather than Soap just giving in. Yeah, he’s desperate for this to work, aching for Ghost to accept him, but he’s learning fast that Ghost only gives as much as he’s willing to, and trying for more against the Cybertronians will only drives Ghost further away. Soap finds the line, thin and close as it is, then toes it as often as he can, pulling back with a smile and gentle apology when Ghost finally has enough of him. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long each time for Ghost to forgive him and let him back near.

They start to get along better, which translates well when they start doing their training as a pair. Their personalities may not match well, and their potential Partnership on thin ice, but when they’re both on the field, in soldier mode, well…it’s something else. Soap can’t recall the last time he worked so well in the field with someone. Despite their size difference, along with obvious others between them, Soap and Ghost move around each other like they’ve been fighting side by side for years. Ghost isn’t much of a team player, which isn’t surprising given his general disposition. He covers Price, Keegan, and Gaz, but doesn’t show much concern for anyone else, Cybertronian or human, during their training sessions. Soap isn’t sure where he falls in the mix of it all, and tries not to take it too personally that Ghost doesn’t seem to care about him one way or the other, despite the progress they’d been making in their personal time. Still, they fought well together. Enough so that Optimus and Morshower decided they were ready to be put in mission rotations.

Price was Captain of his team, the 141, so his command encompassed Ghost and Keegan, and a third Autobot that had yet to arrive. The team now also including Soap and Gaz. Working with them were squads of human soldiers that had been pulled from the current roster of on base personnel. Soap was happy to see Roach in the mix. Now that they were cleared to work missions, their training as a unit, a team, intensified. Soap did what he always did, his best, to prove that he had every right to be where he was. It was during these days that stretched to weeks of training that Soap found out that Ghost’s masks, the shielding over his face, was a permanent arrangement. The Autobot had not slotted back his face armor in years, centuries, according to Price. Soap found that it was a sticky tricky subject to bring up with Ghost. So, naturally, Soap added it to his arsenal of things to tease and poke at Ghost with.

---

Soap has only just started to feel like he’s got his feet on solid ground with how to deal and work with Ghost when they get orders for their first mission. Laswell, with General Morshower at her side, presents the information to the Autobots and the humans Partnered with them. The mission is to infiltrate a base in Al Mazrah. It’s currently controlled by a hostile group of mercenaries working with a dangerous cartel. Intel suggests that they have various parts of Cybertronian bodies or technology, though no one’s sure where they got such things from. There’s also apparently an enormous stockpile of illegal weapons on site that the joint nation military councils want out of enemy hands. If it were just the weapons, then it wouldn’t include NEST at all. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on the way you looked at it, there was strong evidence of their being non-Earth originating materials, which instantly made it a NEST issue.

Optimus seems interested, though not overly worried, and he suggests that this is a perfect opportunity for the new Partnerships to get their feet wet in a real fight. Soap isn’t about to argue. He’s been holed up on base and out of real action for months. He’s ready to get back out there and in the thick of it and kick some ass. Orders are given and lift off for the mission is set for later that evening. Everyone spends the day going over battle plans, maps, and possible backup operations if things go south. When the sun starts to go down, everyone breaks off to see to their own permission routines. While he’s suiting up, Ghost leaves to talk to Price, leaving Soap to himself. A part of Soap is sad that Ghost doesn’t seem too keen on this mission, but then again, Ghost doesn’t seem to really care about all that much. The Autobot projects an air of apathy that is both impressive in its emotional blockade against anyone getting close, while also being irritating as hell because Soap can never tell what the older being is thinking. As he’s walking out of the barracks, Soap’s radio toggles on by itself and Laswell’s voice is coming through.

“Ghost is heading to the tarmac with Price and Gaz.”

“Of course. Bloody bastard leaves me t’ walk all the way there on ma own.”

“Or, you could ask nice and hitch a ride.”

As she says it, Soap turns to see the Mini heading his way. Grinning he sticks his thumb out like he’s hitch hiking.

“Fancy givin’ a hot lad a ride, Miss?”, he asks when Laswell pulls up next to him.

“Well, when you see one, let him know I’m free on the weekends”, Laswell’s voice chuckles.

“Rude”, Soap laughs, though he’s already walking around to the passenger side and opening the door, “Ye donae think A look good, Laswell.”

“Hm. For a human.”

The Mini is empty except for him, but Soap can still feel the smirk coming from his companion.

“You ready for this?”, Laswell asks after driving through base for a few minutes.

“Aye. More than ready.”

“I know you and Ghost are still trying to figure each other out, but I have faith you two will do great when it matters.”

Soap just nods. A part of him fears that this mission will be the thing that proves he and Ghost just aren’t going to work out. On the other hand, this may be exactly what they need. For Ghost and Soap both to see how much they are really meant to be Partnered. It’s quiet the rest of the ride to the tarmac where personnel are rushing around, and a large chinook cargo helicopter is waiting for them. A truck packed with soldiers pulls up to the back of the chopper just as Laswell rolls to a stop.

“A’right, Laswell”, Soap says, giving the top of the Mini a fond pat once he gets out.

“I’ll be Watcher on the line”, she reminds him, “So try not to die. I don’t want to hear the bitching.”

“Aw, so mean t’ me, Laswell”, there’s no trying to hide the playful pout on his lips, “Try no’ t’ miss me while A’m gone, aye.”

“Go”, Laswells quiet laughter chimes over the loud sounds of the planes, trucks, and people around them, “before your plane leaves without you.”

Grinning Soap turns. As he does, a shadow in the night moves off to the side and Soap feels something in his chest stutter. Bloody fuckin’ hell… Amber orbs high above in the dark look like lanterns of death heading his way. Ghost emerges from the night like a specter of death with his golden eyes glowing and his shadows clinging to him like a cloak. His massive bipedal body moves with a quietness that none of the other Autobots, save maybe Bumblebee, could manage. The matte of Ghost’s black paint blends with the darkness and shadow around him, even with the lights from the base and the landing zone. Soap’s breath catches sharply in his throat. Fuck, Ghost was so impressive and scary. And Soap hadn’t even seen him in real action yet.

Behind Ghost, Price walks forward with a bit more noise and far more noticeable. Next to Price, Gaz is trotting along, but Soap notices with a frown that his friend is not kitted up. Curious, Soap walks over to meet the two Autobots and his fellow human. As they all come to a stop, a truck pulls up next to them as well and General Morshower hops out.

“General”, Soap snaps a salute, “A’righ’ there, Captain. LT.”

“Sergeant”, the General nods, “You’re wheels-up in five. It’s been decided that the mission doesn’t need Price and Keegan to go along. You and Ghost will be leading the way on this.”

“Aye, sir.”

Because really, what could he say. He wasn’t about to complain and he sure as shit knew that he and Ghost, along with their squads of NEST soldiers, could handle this mission themselves. Ghost’s face was expressionless thanks to his masks, but the set of his optics seemed a bit more tense. Morshower nods, then gives a look to Ghost and Price, a nod to Gaz, before walking away and leaving the little group to themselves. Gaz steps up to Soap, punches his shoulder and wishes him good luck. In response, Soap makes a teasing quip that has his friend rolling his eyes dramatically before Gaz too walks off. Right then. Time to get moving. Rolling his shoulders, Soap turns fully to his potential Partner.

“Le’s get ourselves a win on this one, LT. A’ll see ye inside, sir.”

He thinks he hears Ghost mutter something. It could have been English, could have been Cybertronian. Or it could have just been a combination of all the vehicles, helicopters, and planes moving around them. Soap finds a seat in the chinook with the other soldiers joining them on this mission. A few moments later the large and impressive form of a blacked-out Humvee drives up the ramp and parks itself in the center lane. It’s a tight fit, but military choppers like this one are built with the idea of having Humvees and trucks onboard. Still, Ghost takes up a lot of room.

“Hey, Ghost. Think ye’ll give me a ride once we hit Al Mazrah?”

Ghost has up to this point refused to let anyone, even Soap, ride inside his vehicle form. Soap knows now will be no different, he’s just poking fun. The click of the Humvee doors locking is loud even in the cacophony of the helicopter and hustle and bustle around them. Soap just rolls his eyes. Such an asshole. Soap can play at that game. Grinning, he slouches in his seat and sticks his feet out, resting them on Ghost’s rock slider. Despite having no facial features to go off of, Soap still gets the distinct feeling he’s being glared at.

---

The helicopter ride is a few hours. In that time, Soap talks with some of his fellow soldiers while Ghost does a perfect job of acting exactly like a Humvee. Still and silent as the grave. Per the plan, when they’re only a few miles out from their drop point, Laswell’s voice comes over the line to go over the plan one last time.

“Intel confirms a concentration of enemy fighters converging around the base. We’re now certain our original intel is correct. Surveillance indicates soldiers are guarding three specific structures. The Cybertronian parts are most likely in one of those buildings. Ghost and Soap will lead the NEST Special Operations unit to clear the compound. One chinook will insert two teams at separate offset points bordering the target area. Bravo team will sweep and clear buildings one and two. Alpha team will take building three. All shooters have execute authority. We want those Cybertronian parts, and any intel on site. This is a big operation, so the enemy could have any manner of weapons at their disposal. Be safe. And happy hunting.”

The helicopter is lights out as it comes into land. Soap, Ghost, and the rest of Bravo team unload as quietly as they can. Several clicks out is the target compound, and there’s a good bit of rocky and uneven terrain between them. For the briefest of moments, Soap worries about how well Ghost will do. However, when he turns, Ghost is rolling just as quietly and smoothly next to him. Thanks to the night vison goggles, Soap is able to see his would-be Partner, but he knows if he didn’t have the added advantage, Ghost would be almost invisible in the night. A normal Humvee would never be able to roll over the rocks and ridges in their path. Ghost, though, is not a normal vehicle. His suspension extends intentionally, keeping his tires on the ground and his body panels out of the way from possibly hitting bits of ruined structure. As they make their way to the edge of the compound, Soap is glad, proud, of how stealthily Ghost moves along with him and their men.

Bravo team makes it to an old, abandoned structure that is crumbling and falling to pieces. Just as they’re sneaking past it through the bush, a light flares in the distance, accompanied by a thundering boom. It’s only a second later when the sound of gunfire and mortar shells reach Soap’s ears.

“All stations – Razor-1 is bracketed. We’re getting lit!”

“Incoming. Flares! Flares!”

The shouts from the helicopter’s pilots ring in Soap’s ear from the radio and comms earpiece he’s wearing.

Raising his gun, Soap looks through his scope, finding Razor-1 in the night sky. As he watches, a missile flies through the air and nails the chinook in the tail.

“Oh fuck…!”, he breathes.

“Razor-1 is going down! We’re going down!”

Ghost rolls to a fast stop near a pile of boulders, calling the rest of their team to a stop.

“Alpha, what’s your status?”, Ghost voice asks in Soap’s ear, though it’s silent from the Humvee next to him.

Taking a breath, praying, Soap looks through his scope once more. His heart thuds heavy in his chest when he finds Razor-1 on the ground, flames all around it and the tail blown to hell.

“Bravo- Alpha team is immobile”, comes the voice of one of their men trapped in the wreckage of the downed helicopter, “Multiple critical!”

There are screams of men in pain, shouts from Alpha team that they’re taking heavy fire. The weight in Soap’s chest increases and his stomach churns. They need to get to their men. They’re dying needless, especially since Soap and Bravo team could help them.

“Alpha, we’re moving to building 1. Hold tight”, Ghost orders.

Soap’s head whips around to the dark spot that is the Humvee at his side.

“Ghost”, he says as respectfully and steadily as he can, “We need t’ secure that crash site now.”

The front tires angle towards Soap and he knows he’s got Ghost full attention, and likely his ire.

“First, we clear the buildings. That will take heat off Alpha. Then we can secure the crash site.”

It feels like chewing on glass, Soap grinding his teeth so hard. He doesn’t like hearing his men dying down the line. They need to get to their downed men. Still, they also have orders to follow and now can’t be the time that Soap pushes against Ghost.

“Roger that”, he growls, looking away from Ghost and focusing on the path ahead of them.

“Good”, Ghost hums, voice still only in Soaps earpiece, “Let’s move.”

With that, Ghost rolls forward, leading the way down the hill and toward the compound.

The team makes it all the way to the first building at the compound edge without drawing notice. It’s not one of the main buildings they are targeting, but the smaller structure still needs to be cleared. Ghost orders them to breach the building and clear it while he keeps watch and provides necessary coverage from outside. Soap and his men bust into the buildings back door, sweeping through the few rooms, up the stairs, then back down quickly and quietly. Off in the distance, they can hear enemy soldiers shouting about keeping heat on the downed helicopter, and how more soldiers, meaning Soap’s team, will come to help their comrades. It proves Ghost’s intuition was correct. Not that Soap was going to admit that out loud. Gunfire outside alerts Soap just as Ghost’s voice is zinging in his ear.

“Be advised, they know we’re here.”

“At the front door, LT.”

“Come on out and join the fun, Sergeant.”

Soap rolls his eyes, suppressing a grin, then he opens the front door where he’d been waiting for his men to be ready. Ghost is there waiting for him. His large form blocks gun fire as Soap ducks out and presses his shoulder to Ghost’s side panel. The rest of the humans pile close behind Soap, then using Ghost as cover, they all start to slowly move forward to where there’s more ruins and rubble that they can use as cover before spreading out to cover more ground. Soap keeps close to Ghost, leaning around the large form to shoot, and resting his gun on Ghost’s hood when he looks down his scope to snipe enemy soldiers his companion clocks for him in upper levels of nearby buildings.

“Bravo, moving to building 2”, Ghost reports as he and Soap get closer to the second building.

“All stations, crash site is taking rocket fire!”

“Alpha. Taking building 2 now. Hold tight”, Ghost responds back.

“Come on, Ghost”, Soap snaps, patting the Humvees hood, “We gotta ge’ up there.”

“At your side, Soap. Keep it tight.”

Ture to his word, Ghost sticks close to Soap. If it were a normal Humvee being driven by a human, Soap wouldn’t trust the big body and heavy tires so close, all but pressed up, to him. But it was Ghost. Soap trusted the Autobot not to crush him. At least not right now.

They make it to building two and Soap busts in with a squad of men behind him. Ghost rolls around the back side of the building and Soap loses track of him. There are enemy soldiers in every room of this building. Soap and his men shoot, get shot and duck for cover, then keep pressing forward as best they can, downing the enemy as they go.

There’s shouting down a hallway and Soap is about to rush around the corner. Just as he does, a blast of bullets hits the wall. He’s not sure which of his men was at the other end of the hall, but when he turns down it there’s no one there but the bodies of four enemy soldiers, one of whom had been carrying a rocket launcher. Soap moves fast to the staircase down at the other end of the hall. As he makes his way up, Soap just happens to glance out a small window. It’s a bad idea. Coming right at him from a building a few yards away is a rocket.

Fuck. Taking a readying breath, Soap knows there’s no way he could move fast enough to avoid the blast when that thing hits the building. He’s just about to close his eyes when there’s a shuddering sound of metal on metal. Then the outside goes completely black. There’s a flare of intense light and a resonating boom. And Soap realizes it’s Ghost standing there, and that the Cybertronian had just blocked the rocket from hitting the building. Amber optics turn to look at Soap from over Ghosts shoulder and something rather fluttery happens in Soap’s gut.

“Get a move on, Soap”, Ghost grouses, “There’s fire coming from the south side. I’ll guard against more rockets and mortars.”

“Aye, sir”, Soap nods, “Donae let ‘em hit that pretty face though.”

He’s pretty sure he hears Ghost mutter for him to fuck off. Soap ignores it in favor of moving up to the next floor and clearing the bad guys that are shooting at his men down at the crash site. When he gets to the top of the building, Soap glances around. Ghost is there when he looks back to his left, amber gold eyes taking him in quickly.

“Tops clear”, Soap reports without using his radio, knowing that Ghost’s hearing processors will hear him, “Time t’ move t’ the next buildin’, aye.”

Just as Ghost is about to respond, a boom from behind the Autobot sounds. Soap can see the mortar as if in slow motion. It’s like watching an action scene in a movie. Ghost’s optics flicker, noticing Soap’s expression, then he’s turning and raising an arm. The metal plating shifts, forming a shield, and the mortar hits with a clang that Soap can feel all the way in his bones. Without so much as flinching, Ghost flexes his arm, sending the mortar flying back the way it had come from. It explodes midair, lighting up the night around them. Soap blinks up at Ghost, backlit by fire and ash, as the mech looks back at him.

“Time to move. Come on, Johnny.”

Johnny?

Ghost had called him…Johnny.

Well, bloody fuckin’ hell.

With the words, Ghost extends his hand out close. Blinking at it is all Soap can think to do for a beat.

“Uh…”

“Hurry it up, Sergeant. Time to hit the crash site.”

There’s a tone to the mech’s voice that just a too fond for being Ghost, but it pulls Soap from his momentary stupor. Getting himself back in gear, Soap rushes over to the outstretched hand and clambers on as gracefully as he can. Ghost’s fingers curl around him slightly, holding him close to the Autobots chest, before lowering Soap to the ground. It’s a little less graceful, sliding down from Ghosts hand to the ground, but Soap manages with as much dignity as he can. He’s got his gun in hand and his feet moving with only a seconds pause.

“All Bravo”, Ghost’s voice is back in Soap’s ear, “circle up around the downed tow truck.”

Soap spots the vehicle and rushes over to meet the rest of his men that are starting to congregate.

“LT – we’ll move t’ the crash site t’ help the wounded. Ye hold here an’ cover us?”

“Roger that”, Ghost nods, his gaze looking out over the compound, “Hurry it up though, we’ve got trucks incoming.”

“Aye. Bravo team, wi’ me!”

The men give call of acknowledgement. Soap leads them quickly towards the still burning helicopter, Ghost’s large and dark form covering their rear. Thanks to having cleared the area, there’s no one shooting at them as they make their way to the helicopter. Soap shouts out that they’re coming in, and Alpha team responds affirmative as they rush up the ramp and inside. Five dead, one wounded, and the two remaining Alphas are low on ammo.

“We need to move him”, the medic says, leaning over the wounded soldier.

Soap is about to answer when Ghost is coming in over the radio, “No time. They’re here. Guns on the tree line.”

When everyone able lines up at the windows of the helicopter there are indeed trucks incoming. Soap spots men piled in the truck beds and a few 50cals. Fuckin’ great. The shooting starts again. This time, Ghost’s massive body moves and twists to protect the helicopter and the men inside from the harshest of the fire. It’s getting heavy when there’s a loud roar of an engine, the whine of something unearthly, and then a pulse of energy is firing from a cannon on Ghosts arm, nailing one of the 50cals and knocking another back. Soap hadn’t realized that his Partner hadn’t used his larger cannons until now, but they didn’t have the time for him to bitch at Ghost about it. Ghost twists his body to the side, smaller pulses firing from a second gun and Soap realizes that the gunfire from the hallway earlier had been Ghost clearing the way for him.

“LT, we’ve got armored vehicles movin’ in!” Soap shouts.

Ghost glances down at the helicopter, then back out into the night.

“Conserve your ammo. Let them get a bit closer and I’ll handle it.”

Soap doesn’t like Ghost taking on so much fire. Sure, his metal plating should be able to handle it, but that doesn’t mean Soap’s happy about his Partner taking so many hits. He does what Ghost asks though. He tucks himself down low against the walls of the chinook, does a quick headcount of the men still with them, then looks back out the window. There’s a small cloud of dust heading their way. Definitely not friendly vehicles. True to his word though, the second the armored trucks are within range, Ghost’s cannons and guns power up. With the precision of a born warrior and honed sniper, Ghost lets loose shot after shot, taking out the enemy vehicles one by one. Once again, Soap finds himself mesmerized and marveling as he watches Ghost move and fight. He makes it look easy while also showing an impressive amount of skill. The Cybertronian is something else, that was for sure.

Smoke clears from the surrounding area with the last of the armored trucks smoldering from Ghost’s cannon. Letting out a breath, Soap does another head count. They’ve secured the crash site and their men, now they need to continue pressing forward through the enemy compound.

“Watcher”, Ghost says over the radio, “How copy?”

“Loud and clear, Ghost. Send traffic”, comes Laswell’s voice.

“Buildings 1 and 2 clear. We’ve got wounded that need evac.”

“Chopper’s on the way. Keep pushing to building 3.”

“Roger that”, Soap says at the same time Ghost does.

Soap makes sure their wounded are secure, ordering two soldiers to stay with them. When he steps out of the back of the warped metal of the crash, Ghost is waiting, looking down at him.

“Ready t’ press on, LT.”

“Let’s get after it, Sergeant.”

With a small grin, Soap starts jogging towards the back half of the compound. Next to him Ghost walks along with a low stature like he’s trying to keep himself low and stealthy. Soap would laugh, but it’s actually working. Ghost is light-footed despite his size and bulk, and thanks to his dark coloring all over he blends into the night. Even his yellow gold optics help to blend in. If they were the bright blue like most Autobots they would stand out in the dark and fire of the battlefield. The amber does well at not being obvious. Just another thing to find impressive about Ghost.

Building three comes into view, smaller out buildings dotted around it. This is where the enemy has dug in. The second Soap, Ghost, and their men pass a rugged fence line, the shooting starts all over again. There are snipers in the top of the buildings trying to take them out. Ghost points them out and Soap takes aim. As a team, the two of them take out the distance shooters while the rest of their men take cover behind Ghosts’ bulky form. A few rockets come flying their way. Thankfully, instead of taking them against his armor, Ghost just shoots them out of the air. It’s a few long, grueling minutes before there’s enough of a lull that they are able to move forward a bit. Slowly, the humans and Autobot make their way closer. Soap is trying to judge the distance when Ghost is aiming his largest cannon at the top of the nearest building. There’s a rumble of mechanics and engines, pulsing energy in the air, and then a blast bursts from the cannon and hits the top of the building with a fiery and rubble throwing explosion. The men and Soap cheer as the firing stops.

“Let’s clear it”, Ghost orders, moving forward.

No one shoots at them as they reach the buildings. However, as they start clearing the outbuildings and heading for building 3, there are enemy soldiers laying low in the buildings that they have to take care of. It’s not easy, but with Ghost providing cover from outside, Soap and his men work their way through systematically. They make it to building 3. This is where the enemy was holed up the most. The rooms are crawling. Along with the humans, there’s crates of weapons everywhere. It’s like the entire building was meant to be an armory, or a last resort place to dig in and fortify. Though, this band of mercenaries and cartel soldiers aren’t doing that good of a job. Soap and his men are better and clear the building as quickly as they can.

“Place is bulgin’ wi’ illegal weapons”, Soap reports into the radio, “Donae see any parts or intel though.”

“Dig around, Soap”, says Ghost from the window, “There’s gotta be something more.”

Soap slips into a third-floor room near the back side of the building. There are shelves covering three walls and a small window across from the door. Instantly when he walks in, he can tell some of what they were looking for had been here. It’s clear that anyone who hadn’t been killed during their assault, had made a run for it.

“Found evidence o’ mechanical equipment. Wires an’ cables meant for computers, hard drives. Printers or somethin’ maybe. Shit’s all gone, but there’s evidence all o’er this bloody room.”

“Must have been some of that intel. Someone likely made a run for it when we were securing the crash site”, Ghost hums, a golden eye peering in through the window.

Soap frowns. He pokes around to make sure there’s nothing valuable to be taken from the room. Of course, there’s nothing left behind. Sighing, he makes his way out of the building. When he gets outside, he looks up at Ghost towering over him.

"Ye sayin' we shouldnae have helped?", Soap asks, meeting amber optics head on and not blinking or backing down. 

"Choices have consequences."

Ghost says it so calmly, with a shrug of his large shoulders, gold optics behind his metal mask remaining placid and unbothered. He seems so unaffected by everything. Not that Soap expected him to cry and ask for a hug, or whatever the Cybertronian equivalent would be. The man doesn't so much as blink at the expression that Soap knows crosses his own face at Ghosts apathy. A part of him does understand where the mech is coming from. Soldiers can't let their emotions rule them, especially on the battlefield, but it’s hard for Soap to listen to his men shouting for help over the line. Screaming that they’re alive but pinned down. Ghost is an Autobot, but the blase way he seems to not care about their men has Soap frowning in displeasure.

“Bravo team. There’s movement at another building hidden past the tree line”, comes Laswell’s voice, breaking the staring between Soap and Ghost.

“Roger that”, Ghost acknowledges, “Bravo, circle up.”

Still frowning, Soap follows the rest of the men. Laswell feeds them coordinates to follow and Ghost leads the way. Hidden in the dark, a half mile away, is a warehouse of some kind. The roll up door is open and there’s the briefest hint of light inside. Tire tracks that look fresh litter the ground. It looks like someone left out of here in a hurry, in multiple vehicles.

“A’right. Le’s clear it”, Soap orders.

He and his men slip into the dimly lit warehouse. There are crates and boxes, palettes piled high, and a few metal structures filling up the large space. The last resistance of their foe seem to be here. The fight is not long or hard. With the warehouse finally cleared, Ghost shifts into his Humvee form and rolls through the large cargo door. One of their men turns the lights on. What they find is a massive weapons cache. Rocket launchers, guns of all shapes and sizes. Fuck, there’s even a mobile ballistic missile launcher. Unfortunately, that’s not what has them all standing and staring in shock.

No, it’s the wall sitting tucked away at the very back of the warehouse. It looks like whoever had been working here had tried to grab as much as they could before running away. What was left behind though, is a compilation of photos, information, schematics, and plans. All of which involves a Cybertronian. There are plans for containment, schematics for potentially trying to dissect the being’s body and weapons systems. Some of the black and white photos look like the mech is chained down but fighting weakly to try and get free. Shining optics look through the image and Soap feels like he’s looking at a scared prisoner crying out for help. Steamin’ Jesus… It breaks his heart. Behind him, Ghost makes an angry and snarled sound that reverberates with the growl of his engine.

“Ghost. Who-?”

“It’s our teammate.”

“The one tha’s trajectory got fucked?”, Soap frowns, “A thought he hadnae landed yet.”

“So did we”, Ghost growls, his engines venting and revving in rage, “Apparently we were wrong.”

For the first time, Soap seen strong emotion in Ghost. The Autobots teammate, his friend, has been captured. How NEST missed the wayward Cybertronians landing, and when it happened, they had no way of currently knowing. But Soap was certain that this was the next big thing. No one was going to get any rest now, not until this Autobot was found and rescued.

“Ghost, Soap. What did you find?”, comes Laswell’s voice over their radios.

“Watcher”, Soap responds, his throat tight, “Yer no’ gonna believe this.”

Chapter Text

A helicopter comes in to pick their team up. Another lands filled with personnel tasked with gathering and documenting any evidence and weapons they can find. Sideswipe is with them, set to gather and scan as much Autobot related information as he can. Upon a quick further inspection, it is discovered that all of the information and photos relating to the Autobot are either handwritten or hard copy. Looking at it, it reminds Soap of a scene in a movie set in the 40’s or something. Everything is non-digital, and clearly done to keep it from being digitally accessible. It’s smart on the enemy’s part. Keeping the information this way would ensure that the Cybertronians wouldn’t find it through their ability to hack into computer systems. In doing things this way, the bad guys are ensuring that the information regarding their captive cannot be found without physically finding, such as now. Sideswipe gives a worried look at Ghost as they pass each other, and Soap gets the feeling that more was silently said between the two.

Back at base, things are hectic before they even touch down. Price, Keegan, Optimus, and Ratchet are waiting for them when the helicopter lands. Ghost doesn’t even pause. The black Humvee hits the tarmac and then his tires are squealing as he peels away and towards the back of the base. Keegan is shifting and giving chase after only a second. Price sighs, shares a look with Optimus, then transforms and follows. Soap watches their taillights grow smaller and tries not to feel too personally spurned. Ghost was in pain from his teammate being taken hostage. Of course he was. It was a completely rational thing. Only…Ghost had showed hardly a fraction of that concern for Soap and his men.

“Sergeant. Come away to medical”, Ratchet says, pulling Soap out of thoughts.

Normally he’d argue. Say that he was fine and just need to get clean. But Soap is tired and there feels like too many thoughts bouncing around in his head.

“Aye, sir.”

Ratchet transforms into his ambulance form, the back doors opening to allow Soap entry. With a sigh, and one last look in the distance where he can see the three large forms of Ghost, Keegan, and Price, Soap lets out a slow breath and climbs in the back of the ambulance. He sits on the floor, too raw to bother pulling off his gear to sit comfortably in a seat. It’s likely why Ratchet had him get in the back versus sitting up from like people normally do when riding in the medic. Once at the medical center, Soap is carted off to a room, stripped down, and given several different examinations to ensure he’s fine. Which he is, and he tells them, but they all go through the motions anyway. When it’s all finally done, Soap steps out of the medical center and Soap is only a little surprised to find Gaz and Roach waiting for him.

“Hey, man”, Gaz greets, “All good?”

“Aye. Righ’ as rain.”

“We were worried”, Roach says as Soap steps up to his two friends, “The Autobots seemed concerned about how Ghost would react. What with their teammate captive.”

Soap tries to swallow down the instinctive defensiveness he feels bubble up on Ghost’s behalf.

“He was quiet”, Soap admits softly after a moment, “A’m no’ surprised, but A cannae say how A’d be, if i’ were one o’ ye we found pictures o’ like that.”

The image of the captured Autobots eyes in that black and white photo are still seared into the back of Soap’s own eyes. The fear, the sadness, yet still the resilience he could see just in that simple grainy photo.

“We get it”, Gaz nods, “The Autobots are all upset. Everyone’s already trying to figure out what happened, and trying to formulate a plan for getting them back.”

“Any word from Laswell? Morshower?”, Soap asks, turning to lead his friends away from the medical center and heading to the Autobot side of the base.

“Not yet. We’re told to sit tight, but be ready to move ASAP in case they find something soon”, shrugs Roach.

“Basically hurry up an’ wait”, Soap growls.

“Basically”, the other two men nod.

Fuckin’ great. The waiting has always been the hard part. Soap’s not a naturally patient person. What with a comrade missing, captured, Soap feels the need to move rushing through his system. Sure, some of its lingering adrenaline from the mission, but a lot of it is the need to find their missing man. Or bot. Whatever. It’s one of their own that needs help.

The three humans go back to Gaz and Price’s room in the Autobots barracks. They waste time by playing video games on a tv and rather impressive gaming system Gaz had set up in his space under Price’s berth. Soap takes notes and considers if it’s worth it to ask Ghost if he could get a similar set up for his room, or if he should just do it and see how long it takes his Partner to notice. Knowing Ghost, he’d clock it instantly, but not give enough of a shit to really acknowledge it. It’s several hours later when the roll up door to the room opens and Price steps in. The four of them stare at each other for a beat, then Price’s shoulders drop slightly, air venting in a slow sigh.

“Best get back to your own room, Soap. You’re needed more there.”

“Ye’, sir”, Soap nods, getting up from where he was slouched on Gaz’s bed.

He says good night to his two friends, salutes Price, then heads for his own room. Ghost is there, in Humvee form, his rear end facing the door. The only light on is a small lamp next to Soap’s bed, a lamp he didn’t remember being there before. A small part of him wonders if Ghost actually got him a little light for his human space. Shaking his head, Soap slips into the room and moves to sit on his bed. The room is silent and Soap’s not sure what to do. Price had said he was needed here. But why, what for? Ghost is just sitting there and given what’s happened, Soap didn’t think there was anything he could say to make it better. Rather than say anything, he makes himself comfy on his bed and picks up a book he’d been reading. He’s not sure how, but something tells him that Ghost is awake and aware, just choosing to sit in broody silence.

---

Soap wakes up to his alarm going off the following morning. He snorts awake and flings an arm out to grab his alarm and shut the damn thing off. It’s clear he’d fallen asleep reading, the book resting on the bed next to him and his clothes still on. Ghost, it seems, had moved during the night. The Humvee is now facing the doors, and he’s far closer to Soap’s bed. It’s almost like Ghost is blocking Soap in under the berth. Or protecting him from any potential threat by making safe the small space Soap occupies.

“Mornin’, Ghost”, Soap mutters, getting himself up and elongating his body in a full length standing stretch with his arms over his head and tipping up on his toes, “Ye get any rest?”

Ghost doesn’t answer, but Soap didn’t really expect him to. Humming just to fill the silence, Soap heads for the bathroom to start his morning. Once he is clean, he walks out of the bathroom naked and over to his dresser. The military had done a good job of getting him over being naked in front of other people. There was little to no privacy when in the military, especially stationed at small outposts like he’d been in the past. When he had first moved into Ghost’s room, there had been a brief bout of anxiousness about walking about naked in front of the Autobot. Ghost had shown know interest or offense one way or the other though, the first time Soap had been half awake and walked out completely bare from a shower. The Cybertronian hadn’t said anything, so neither did Soap. Since then, he’d completely gotten over any small hangups he did have with Ghost seeing his naked human body.

“I am not used to working with organics.”

“Jesus fuck – “

Soap jumps at Ghosts sudden comment in the otherwise quiet room. He almost falls as he’s in the process of pulling on his pants. Righting himself, Soap glances up at the Autobot he hopes will one day accept him as his Partner.

“Imagine there weren’ meany out in space.”

“There wasn’t. And my kind are harder to kill than yours”, Ghost’s voice acknowledges from the Humvee, pausing for a moment as if he’s expecting Soap to comment before continuing, “And I am a soldier. I was made and trained to be practical on the battlefield.”

Ah. This was about leaving their men in the helicopter yesterday while clearing the area. Ghost must be wondering if they could have gotten more intel if they had pushed to the warehouse sooner, leaving their pinned down men to their deaths. Then again, perhaps Ghost wasn’t heartless, simply too practical in a way that came off callous. After all, he’d been right about clearing the area first. It had taken heat off of Alpha team and made it easier to get to them and take a breather without having to deal with incoming gun fire.

“That does not mean I don’t care for our men.”

Soap blinks, his shirt halfway on. Turning, he looks at the side mirror of the Humvee facing him.

“I do care, Johnny.”

There it was again. Johnny. Soap’s never let anyone call him anything like that before. It’s John when he’s with family. His mother and sisters always just use his first name or call him Soap like the rest of his friends. In the military he’s Soap or MacTavish. But Johnny. That’s different. Special. Fuck.

“A care too, Ghost”, is all he can think to say through the emotion tingling along his spine and making his cheeks feel warm, “An’ A get why ye cannae act on it too much in the field. We’re soldiers. We gotta do the job, complete the mission.”

“We do”, Ghost says, his voice low and smooth in the dim light from Soap’s lamp and the bathroom light, “But we’re all brothers in arms. And I still care what happens to the soldiers on my team.”

“Aye”, Soap smiles, taking a breath and a sense of renewed duty filling his lungs and making the ache within a little lighter, “An’ we donae leave soldiers behind.”

The side mirror he’s been talking to tilts a little, like Ghost is using it to get a better look at him.

“We’ll find 'im, LT. We’ll get 'im back.”

There’s a moment of quiet. When Ghost speaks next, there’s a warm hint of amusement in his tone, and something else that Soap can’t quite identify.

“Best finish getting dressed then, Johnny. Can’t go walking around base like that.”

Soap glances down at himself. He’s got his pants on, hanging low on his hips with the zipper and button still undone. He’s not wearing any shoes or socks. And he’d been halfway to pulling on a shirt, so the material is bunched up on his forearms and elbows. The way his arms are, it makes his biceps and chest bulge, the muscles in his back flexed. Flushing, Soap realizes he looks like something out of a sexy military photo shoot, if he’d just tilt his hips out a bit and lean his head back to show off his throat. Still a little red faced, and something in his gut telling him this is a bad idea, Soap does the actions anyway. He presses his hips forward, showing off his abbs and accentuating the bulge barely hidden by the front of his pants. Soap rolls his shoulders to further accentuate his arms and chest. Then he tilts his head back but keeps his eyes down on Ghost, looking at the Humvee in a salaciously challenging way.

“Why not? Ye donae think A look good like this, LT?”

There’s a beat where Soap gets the distinct, and rather fulfilling, impression that he’s surprised Ghost. Another beat later and he realizes that he’s basically flirting with not only someone that’s technically his superior, but who is also a sentient alien robot. The wind has been sucked from Soap’s sails almost instantly, his brash courage dwindling in the utter silence left in the wake of his words and actions. Just when he’s sure he’s about to get tossed out on his ass and finally fully rejected by Ghost, the Humvee’s engine rumbles in a slow and deep roll. It’s then he realizes that Ghost is chuckling at him, at his teasing.

“Whatever helps you in your bunk at night, Johnny. See you in morning briefing.”

Before Soap can even think of a response, the roll up door open just enough for Ghost to slip out, then closes the second the Humvee is through. Leaving Soap standing there half-dressed and blushing. Whatever helps him in his bunk at night? Not what helps him sleep, but what helps him when he’s in his bunk. Soap’s blush turns into an all-out flaming face. Well, shit.

The thing is, being in the military also got him pretty desensitized to having people close by when Soap was dealing with some more…personal matters. Early on his military career, when the barracks was just rows and rows of bunkbeds in a large room, Soap tried to only take himself in hand when there was no one else within several yards. As he got older, jerking off became less of an issue, as long as he didn’t care about the rare person staring. They were all human, they all had needs, and when trapped in small quarters with hardly any privacy or alone time, Soap and his fellow soldiers got over jerking off when others were around. After a while, the novelty of doing it with people around, or watching someone else do it, wore off and it just became another thing about living the lives they did. Over the years, exhaustion and lack of time really took out some of the need to jerk off every day. Soap was still a hole and healthy human man though, so while he didn’t do it often, Soap still took his cock in hand from time to time, just to relieve stress and find some bit of pleasure in the rush and chaos of his life.

Jerking off had definitely slowed when he’d arrived at the NEST base. Soap was either too tired or didn’t have the time, even more so now than ever before, so he’d hardly thought about it, let alone actually done it all that much in the last several months. He’d still masturbated a few times since coming on base though, including after he’d moved into Ghost’s room. It’s only been, like, a handful of times, and only a few when Ghost was actually in the room. The first had been when he’d been taking a shower the other morning. But most had been late at night. For the most recent, he’d woken up from a dream aching and needing. So, he’d taken himself in hand and tried to be as quiet and inconspicuous as possible, so as not to wake Ghost or alert the Autobot to anything going on below him.

Soap had been certain his happy self-time had gone unnoticed by his possible Partner. Now though, he wasn’t so sure. And he wasn’t so sure how to feel about it. Ghost hadn’t said anything at the time, and he didn’t seem pissed off about it now. Fuck, he’d even teased Soap about it just now.

“Fuck.”

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, determined not to dwell on it, Soap finishes getting dressed. As he’s walking to meet the rest of the Autobots and their Partners for morning briefing, he tries not to think about Ghost listening to him jerk off. What was that even like for the mech? Did he instantly understand what had been happening, or had Ghost needed to look it up? Had Ghost found it disgusting, or…maybe he’d been interested? Soap wasn’t sure what was worse. His face feels warm when he walks into the large hanger that acts as the Cybertronian meeting place, the same hanger he’d first met Ghost and Price in. Ghost is standing with Bumblebee, talking quietly to him.

“You and Ghost getting on all right?”

Soap jumps again, gaze jerking over to find Sam grinning at him. Instantly, something about Sam’s face seems teasing and giddily, deviously, playful.

“Fuck off, Sam.”

The other human snickers and follows Soap over to the folding table where there’s coffee and breakfast nibs set out for the humans.

“I’m just asking out of kindhearted worry for my friend”, Sam grins.

“A believe tha’ about as much as A believe Dirt Dauber didnae fuck with Sideswipes berth last week.”

Still grinning, Sam nods, “Yeah, ok. But seriously, you and Ghost ok? He came in and just pulled Bee aside to talk about ‘dumb humans’.”

Of course he did. Because Soap is an idiot. Though, he’s not sure he and Ghost on the same page about exactly what kind of idiot Soap is.

“Aye, Sam. All good. Promise. We’re both jus’ worried about getting’ his teammate back.”

“You’re his teammate too, Soap”, Sam reminds him, “He’s gotta worry about you too.”

Soap didn’t want to think about that. Not right now.

“Any word on our possible bad guys? Have we gotten any intel?”

“That’s exactly what this morning’s meeting is about”, Laswell says, her human holoform appearing a few feet from where Sam and Soap are standing.

“Steamin’ fuckin’ hell, Laswell”, Soap grouses, trying not to spill his coffee, “Ye gotta scare the piss outa us this early in the mornin’?”

“It’s her love language”, Ghost says, his large body striding over to stand just behind Soap.

Laswell rolls her eyes at them, walking further into the hanger. Sam looks up at Ghost, down at Soap, and grins. Rolling his own eyes, Soap shakes his head and joins the growing circle of humans and Autobots.

“It’s been about 10 hours”, Lennox says by way of starting the meeting, “What’ve we got so far?”

Laswell clears her throat, and the first day of hunting for their teammate begins.

---

There is unfortunately not a lot that Soap himself can do when it comes to gathering and compiling intel they have or need when it comes to finding the bad guys that have the missing Autobot. He’s a soldier, not a spy. NEST and the Autobots have their own people far more specialized and capable than Soap. As frustrating as it is, there’s not a lot he can do except wait for something to come to fruition from all the intel gathering and espionage. Ghost has a bit more he can do, what with his capabilities lending to organizing intel. But neither of them have much to do but wait for a mission to come up. Soap can tell it’s grating on his Partner, so he tries to think of ways he can help Ghost pass the time. He finds a rather entertaining mix of playfully being a nuisance and being a supportive brother in arms.

Gaz and Roach help Soap hang cute little patio lights along the bottom of Ghost’s berth that acts as Soap’s bedroom ceiling. The light is warmer and just a little more dim than the bedside lamp. While it had started as a way to tease and annoy Ghost, Soap finds he actually likes have the string lights on more than his lamp or the overhead lights. Ghost, predictably, is annoyed with him initially, optics rolling and deep voice grumbling about dumb human things that are against regulations, but he also doesn’t trash the lights or tell Soap to get rid of them. To help contrast, Soap also spends time with Ghost at the shooting and training ranges; both of them working on their weapons handling and tactical formation movements.

After four days, Optimus, Ironhide, and Sideswipe leave the base on a mission. Two more days and Bumblebee, Dirt Dauber, and the triplets are sent off on a separate mission. Even Laswell leaves the NEST base. At the beginning of the next week, all of those sent off still away on their missions, Price and Gaz are sent on a mission as well. It’s the pairs first one together, and Soap knows they’ll do just fine. The two were made for each other, of that Soap is certain. Ghost is more restless with everyone starting to spread out and leave the base. The mech says it’s mostly because he wants to get out there as well, that he’s itching for some action. However, Soap would bet that some small part of Ghost is worried. He’s worried about everyone going out into danger, and the possibility that they may lose more people. It’s a worry that every soldier knows well, but also knows they can’t dwell on. For this reason, Soap doesn’t take the uptick in Ghost being a dick too personally.

It's only a few days, but they’re both obviously itching by the time more intel is coming in that they can act on.

Leads from the compound raid in Al Mazrah have finally produced some results. One of them potentially leads to a cartel in Las Almas. Mexican Special Forces confirmed that mercenaries from Al Mazrah are moving something sizable towards the US. The cargo could be the captured Autobot, or it could be more intel on where the Cybertronian is being kept and for what reason. There’s no telling how many cartel members there are, or how many mercenaries they’ve hired as additional muscle. NEST needs to intercept the cargo and find out what it is or capture any cartel members and bring them in for interrogation. Soap and Ghost are being sent to link up with the Mexican Special Forces, and with their help complete the mission.

The entire plane ride, Soap tries to occupy his mind and hands with things that don’t include physically poking and prodding at Ghost. The Humvee sits mostly in silence, other than the initial mission briefing they go over with Laswell after taking off. Just like the last time, Soap ends up slouching in his seat and propping his feet up on whatever part of Ghost happens to be closest to him. When they reach Las Almas Mexico it’s midafternoon, and Soap’s stir craziness from the last week is set to blow and he’s bouncing in his boots as the plane ramp lowers to let them out. Ghost slowly rolls behind him as they head for two men that are waiting for them on the tarmac.

“Alejandro”, Soap calls out to the taller of the two men.

Said man looks just like the picture Laswell had sent him and Ghost in their contact files for the mission.

“Sergeant MacTavish”, Alejandro greets, his voice and face kind in a way that Soap instantly feels like they’re going to be friends.

“Call me Soap.”

Alejandro nods, and then his eyes are going to Soap’s side where Ghost has rolled to a stop.

“Lieutenant. Laswell says they call you Ghost.”

Grinning, Soap glances over at Ghost, then back to Alejandro, “Actually, I believe he prefers to be – “

“That’ll do”, Ghost’s voice growls from the Humvee.

Soap pouts at his companion and the mirror next to him tilts away, letting him know Ghost is starting to get done with his shit.

“Welcome to the city of souls”, Alejandro says, looking between the two of them with an all to knowing gaze.

Soap smiles back, not quite sure what that particular look is for. Then he’s turning his gaze to the other man standing with Alejandro. He’s shorter than Soap, with dark hair cut in a basic fade with longer strands up top. The man’s eyes are a deep brown and his skin a pretty tan. Each of his ears are pierced with small rust colored hoops that are tight to the lobe.

“This is my second in command”, Alejandro introduces, “Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra.”

As much as Soap wants to speak, to say hello or something equally socially acceptable, all he can do is stand and stare. It’s the eyes, he thinks. Or maybe the too perfect skin, or the way Rodolfo stands. Whatever it is, Soap knows that this man is not human. He’s good, almost as perfect as Laswell, but Soap’s gut tells him he’s right. Rodolfo is a Cybertronian.

“Call me Rudy”, Rodolfo, Rudy, says, extending his hand to Soap.

It breaks poor Soap from his stupor, and he quickly reaches out to shake Rudy’s hand. The mans skin feels human enough, but there’s something about it that’s just a bit too…off. Too smooth maybe, or too cool. Either way, Soap fights the urge to complement Rudy on his form, unsure as he still is on whether it’s rude or not to mention.

“A pleasure”, he says instead.

When he pulls his hand away from Rudy’s, there’s something left over on Soap’s hand. It looks like rust. Rusty Rudy, Soap thinks before he can catch it, biting his lip to keep from accidentally saying it out loud. He glances up to find Rudy watching him. When they make eye contact, Rudy winks, and Soap knows that Rudy is somehow aware that Soap knows what he is. Soap grins back. He likes Rudy instantly.

“Any word on our cartel targets?”, Ghost asks, getting back to business, something in his voice oddly tight and tense.

“In a cartel safe-house, ten clicks from here”, Alejandro answers, he and Rudy turning and leading Ghost and Soap off the tarmac.

They head for a separate road just a few yards away. Waiting there for them is a line of vehicles with a rusted junker at the lead. It may have once been a jeep. Or perhaps it was a truck of some kind. It’s hard to tell. Most of the vehicle is rust that looks like it’s being held in the vehicle shape by spite alone. Under the red brown copper of the rust is a faded green paint. It was probably very bright and festive in its prime. Despite the rusted-out body, the tires are new looking oversized off road tires, and the windshield and windows are all sturdy and strong looking. Without any obvious outside influence, the front driver and passenger door open, along with the rear driver passenger door.

“Hop on in”, Rudy says, walking around the front of the rust bucket to get in the driver’s seat.

Alejandro climbs into the passenger seat. Soap is about to get in the back seat, but pauses and turns to Ghost, still in Humvee form, sitting a few feet away. For some reason, Soap gets the distinct feeling that Ghost is upset about something and thinking dark thoughts. About what, he has no idea.

“Ye gonna give me a ride instead, LT?”

He tries to keep his tone teasing, but he can’t help the little smidge of hope that sneaks its way in. Even after all this time, short as it has actually been, Soap still hasn’t ridden inside Ghost.

“No. I’ll follow”, Ghost says, his focus clearly shifting to Rudy, “Open a comms channel.”

Rudy gives a jaunty little salute in answer. With one last look at Ghost, Soap hops in the back seat of Rudy’s rusted vehicle. Inside the panels and metal fixtures are just as rusty, but the seats are comfortable leather with thick padding. Up in the front, the body of the vehicle is just as janky as the rest, but the dashboard and all of the controls look just a smidge too clean and well taken care of to fully match the rest of the vehicle. Someone could write it off as the owner of the car just wanting to keep what few things nice that are, but Soap knows better. Though, it does give him a glimpse into what Rudy values about himself. His ability to be in control and stay connected, as well as comfort for both him and those with him.

Yeah, Soap likes Rudy. It’s hardly the first time he’s ridden in the vehicle form of a Cybertronian, but it feels odd with Ghost rolling behind them, smoothly joining the convoy right behind Rudy. Without thinking too hard on why, Soap angles himself to side more sideways so that he can keep Ghost in his periphery and watch as Rudy drives. As the convoy starts moving, with Rudy in the lead, the speakers in the rusty vehicle crackle to life.

“Bring us up to speed”, Ghosts voice sounds a little further away than normal when it comes through the pricy looking speakers that are covered in a superficial dusting of rust.

As the group drives through the streets of Las Almas, Alejandro tells them about the city, the cartel that’s taken over, and the leader of said cartel that’s causing all sorts of problems for them. With the gang in control, and the police and military in their pockets, the only real fighters left are Alejandro and his men. They call themselves Los Vaqueros, the Cowboys. Soap finds it poetic and dramatic. He loves it. The cartel is run by El Sin Nombre, a nameless and faceless individual that runs things from the shadows.

Alejandro and Rudy recently found evidence that the cartel and El Sin Nombre were working with someone, and this ended up linking them to intel from Al Mazrah. Laswell was a friend of Rudy’s, furthering Soap’s certainty that the man wasn’t human, and together she and Los Vaqueros had realized they were chasing the same person. The main one behind it was El Sin Nombre. At least, that was the current best hunch. With the mercenaries involved, along with the fact that everything centered around a prisoner Autobot, there was clearly an added participant. Whether El Sin Nombre was working with or for this third party, they weren’t sure. Hopefully this mission would be successful, and they’d be able to get some answers.

They reach their destination just as the sun is going down. It’s a beautiful mansion with a few smaller buildings around it, miles outside of Las Almas. Rudy and Ghost park at the top of a ridge to the north where they can use a scope to look down at the cartel house.

“One of El Sin Nombre’s Lieutenants lives here”, Alejandro says as they survey the area, “Sources tell me that VIP’s will be here tonight.”

“What’s the meet about?”, Ghost asks, his voice clear in the air around them.

Soap won’t admit that he feels better standing next to Ghost as he is, with the mechs voice clearer than it had been through Rudy’s speakers.

“Unclear”, Alejandro answers Ghost’s question, “But their talking in a way that makes us think it has to do with your missing amigo.”

“Is Sin Nombre here?”, Soap questions, turning away from the buildings in the distance to circle up with Rudy, Alejandro, and Ghost.

“No guarantees, but this is the best shot”, Rudy says, leaning against his rusted hood with his arms crossed over his chest.

Just like with Laswell, Soap desperately wants to compliment him on how natural and casual he looks. There’s a crunch of gravel behind him and Soap almost startles when something hard presses against his back. He’s surprised into silence when he looks over his shoulder to find that Ghost has driven up to right behind him, front guard gently pressing against his back. This is the closest they’ve been since meeting. Swallowing thickly, Soap leans back against the Humvee. The metal is warm through his clothes.

“We need El Sin Nombre alive”, the deep rumble of Ghost’s calm voice sends shivers up Soap’s spine, “They’re going to know more about where our teammate is being held than a cartel Lieutenant.”

“Then we need to get inside, grab the Lieutenant, and get them to tell us where his boss is”, Rudy agrees.

“How do we get in?”

Ghost poses the question and the four of them are quiet as they each contemplate their options. After a minute, Soap looks over at the house.

“What if we give ‘em somethin’.”

“Give them something?”, Alejandro frowns at him.

“If we offer ‘em intel. It’ll shake ‘em that were here. An’ if we tell ‘em we know about their operation, an’ offer intel in exchange.”

Rudy’s frown matches Alejandros, “In person?”

“Aye. It’ll get me inside. Then A can find the boss.”

“You?”, the growl of Ghost’s voice goes tense once again.

“You go in there, and they’ll kill you, hermano”, Alejandro says, his eyes worried, but he knows this is their best shot.

The cartel would know Alejandro and Rudy, never mind that Rudy could be restricted by distance. And of course, Ghost can’t go in. It really only leaves Soap.

“A’ll take ma chances”, Soap keeps his voice strong and sure, knowing he’s doing the right thing, “We came here t’ find intel on our missin’ friend. This is our best chance t’ do that. Le’s do it. A’ll offer intel for a meet with Sin Nombre. An’ if he’s there, we pounce.”

“Hell yeah”, Alejandro nods, clapping a hand on Soap’s shoulder, “You’ve got balls, you son of a bitch. You make it in, you’ll need eyes and ears. I’ll go too.”

“I’ll be overwatch”, the engine at Soap’s back hums with Ghost’s voice.

With a nod, Rudy stands from his lean, “I’ll be waiting as a quick get away if need be. I can blend in better than others.”

Everyone gives Ghost’s blacked out Humvee a look, and air vents in a derisive huff.

“Donae pout, LT. Ye look bonny t’ me.”

The second the words are out of his mouth, Soap wants to swallow his tongue. Fuck, way to lay it all out there like that. Alejandro and Rudy smirk at him like they know some special secret. Ghost makes a whirring noise like he’s getting himself back together.

“Alright”, the metal at Soap’s back carefully shifts away as Ghost backs up, “Let’s get after it. We don’t want to lose the night.”

---

Making it into the cartel house wasn’t all that hard, in the end. Soap walked up wearing not a scrap of gear and his hands up. He’d introduced himself to the two masked men out front, and told them he knew they were working with someone that had hands on a Cybertronian. He was there to trade information. There was some talking between guards one and two, then they’d gotten on their headsets to alert those inside that Soap was out front making problems. After a few tense seconds, a bag was thrown over his head, his hands bound, and he was dragged inside.

Once inside, Soap felt himself being handed off twice before the bag was being removed from his head. Blinking at the bright lights, Soap finds himself in an elevator that’s heading down. He also comes face to face with another man in a suite and mask. The eyes, though, were familiar. It was Alejandro.

“Christ, hermano. How’d ye get in so fast?”

“Violently”, the man says, a smirk in his voice, “But listen. You give them good intel in there, Soap. No lies. Tell them everything they want to know, or you die here.”

“Everythin’?”

Alejandro nods, “Working with Mexican Special Forces, Los Vaqueros. Rudy.”

“Rudy?”, Soap’s gut clenches, “Alejandro – “

Before he can continue, the doors to the elevator are opening. Soap meets a bald man with a beard, wearing a horrid print shirt, named Diego. They ask him his name and why he’s here and Soap tells them. His name is Soap, which Diego makes fun of, and he’s here to speak with El Sin Nombre. Diego laughs at him, threatens him, and says that the only way he meets the boss is if the information Soap has is worth it.

Diego leads him through halls made of stone. They’re underground. At least, that’s what Soap assumes. He’s lead to a room with three other men, all in military fatigues, tied to chairs in the middle of the room. Two of them are blindfolded, and the other looks like he’s about to be sick or piss himself. Or both. Cartel members with guns are lingering at the edges of the room, while a woman paces around the tied-up men like a lioness stalking prey. Soap is grabbed by a man with a gun and shoved into a chair of his own. As he rights himself, he sees that the two blindfolded men are already dead, blood seeping from the sides of their heads.

The not so charming woman is named Valeria, she’s a cartel enforcer, and she’s not at all happy Soap is there. Clearly, she has some sort of authority here. Soap squares his shoulders and prepares for the battle ahead. Valeria takes a gun in her hand and starts asking questions. She starts with the military man that isn’t blindfolded. Apparently, there was an attack at one of their bases near the river, the attackers looking for info on El Sin Nombre’s other holdings and other places outside of Las Almas and Mexico. Valeria wants to know who was responsible. It’s news to Soap, but he files it away. If El Sin Nombre had holdings outside of Las Almas, that was probably something worth Los Vaqueros looking into. A rivel cartel is blamed. The soldier claims that El Sin Nombre’s enemies were trying to get inside his operation, get a piece of the huge pay day he was about to receive.

Pay day? Soap wonders what that is about. From what Alejandro and Rudy said, the Sin Nombre cartel was already doing well for itself in Las Almas. What would warrant a larger payday, big enough that a rival cartel would risk making a move into El Sin Nombre’s territory. Soap only had more questions now. Not that he could consider them right now, as Valeria turns to him. She asks who he is and why he’s here. Just like Alejandro said to, Soap tells her the truth. He’s with NEST, currently working jointly with the Mexican Special Forces, and trying to track down information about a Cybertronian that had been taken captive. He doesn’t mention Rudy. Something tells him that it’s not a thing he should give the cartel. If they don’t know and aren’t smart enough to figure it out, then Soap’s not about to out his new friend. As Soap talks and answers her questions, Valeria’s eyebrows climb lower over her eyes in a vicious glare. He ends his exposition with another demand to meet with El Sin Nombre.

“Well then”, she grumbles, “That’s interesting intel.”

She doesn’t sound pleased, though Soap figures he’s doing something right when she pulls a knife and cuts the ties binding his hands. With a dramatic flourish Valeria sheaths her knife, then motions for Soap to follow her.

“Come on. We’re going upstairs.”

It’s an odd turn of events, and Soap slowly gets to his feet and follows Valeria and Diego from the room. Behind him, hears a gun go off as the remaining soldier is shot. Valeria leads them back to the elevator. As she, Diego, and Soap get on, the two bad guys talk quietly in Spanish.

“Los Vaqueros, working with NEST?”, Diego whispers, sounding worried, “They’re getting too close.”

“They know nothing”, Valeria hushes him with a flippant wave of her hand, “Nothing that will get them anywhere, at least.”

Soap’s not great at Spanish, but he knows enough to get the idea of what they are saying. It’s clear now that there are answers here. El Sin Nombre knows something about the missing Autobot, if nothing else. He’s quickly pulled from his thoughts when Valeria turns back to him. The look in her eyes, it reminds Soap of a venomous snake coiled in his path, ready to strike.

“I will speak with El Sin Nombre. He will decide your fate.”

The elevator takes them up to the penthouse of the mansion. Guards are waiting and take a hold of Soap. One of them pushes him to the wall, patting him down as if he’d managed to get a weapon at some point. It only takes a fraction of a second to figure out that the guard is Alejandro. Valeria disappears down a hall, supposedly going to speak with El Sin Nombre to see if Soap is worth the leader of the cartel talking to. Diego goes to ofrendas, and the guard that is currently frisking Soap waves the other guards off with a comment about Soap being harmless. Huffing a laugh, Soap keeps still and quiet until the guards are gone and it’s just him and Alejandro in the hall.

“Nice to see you’re still alive”, his friend greets.

“Ye too, mate”, Soap nods, turning to face Alejandro, “El Sin Nombre is in the penthouse. Third floor. One o’ his enforcers, Valeria, is going up there t’ meet with him.”

“Valeria… You sure?”

“Aye.”

“We’ll need a key, or a key card”, Alejandro says.

“Aye. Diego has one.”

“Right. Take this”, a knife his handed to Soap, and then Alejandro is holding out a balaclava, “The mask will help you blend in, and there’s a comms line.”

“Sweet.”

Soap tucks the knife into his belt and pulls on the balaclava. There’s a brief crackle as a sewn in earpiece settles against his head.

“Radio check?”

He hears Alejandro’s voice in front of him and through the earpiece.

“Check.”

“Good. Let’s head out.”

Soap follows Alejandro down the hall. As they walk, more chatter comes through the earpiece.

“Ghost, we’re in”, Alejandro says softly.

“Nice job”, comes Ghost’s deep voice over the comms, and Soap won’t admit to how much better he feels with the mech’s voice in his ear.

“Hey, LT. D’ye miss me?”

“Like a grindin’ gear.”

Soap chuckles softly to himself. He and Alejandro quickly relay the current situation to Ghost and Rudy over the comms. They need to get up to the penthouse and get hands on El Sin Nombre. Ghost reports that he can see a way up to the penthouse from the balcony. They need Diego’s keycard and the man is on the second floor now. Either way, Soap’s going to have to do some climbing. It’s going to be hard without being discovered though, with all the guards. After a brief debate, they decide that they need to take out the guards, get the keycard from Diego, and Soap and Alejandro will grab El Sin Nombre. Rudy is waiting hidden in the trees, ready to provide them with a speedy get away.

They try to be sneaky at first, using knives as much as they can. Soap and Alejandro split up. Alejandro looks for Diego, while Soap heads for a mini armory in the garage that he heard two guards discussing. Soap piles himself up with weapons, grabs some extras for Alejandro, then gets moving. He has to take down more guards, but thankfully he grabbed a gun with a silencer while he was in the armory. Diego is still on the second floor, so Alejandro will meet Soap on the upper balcony. When Soap climbs a wall to get up to the balcony of the second floor, Ghost is in his ear again.

“Got eyes on you, Johnny. Lookin’ good.”

“Aw, thanks, LT. Glad ye think A look good.”

Ghost doesn’t answer, but Soap is fairly sure he hears the mech mutter something about stupid humans. As Soap crouches on the balcony, guards appear, and he has to take out more bad guys. One almost gets the jump on him, but Alejandro is there to save the day.

“Thanks, mate.”

“No problema”, Alejandro nods, holding up a keycard and it’s then Soap sees blood splashed over Alejandros clothes, “Got our way in.”

“Now we just need to get to the penthouse.”

It was easier said than done. They work together to take down more bad guys, Ghost feeding them information of enemies up ahead around corners when he can. When they finally reach their destination, Alejandro pulls a snake-cam from his pocket and slides it under the door. Soap looks into the camera and finds Valeria at a table in the other room. She’s talking to someone on the phone, and as she does, Soap learns the truth.

“Valeria is El Sin Nombre”, he whispers, “An’ whoever she’s talking t’, they’re talkin’ about movin’ somethin’ big.”

“Your missing friend?”

“A’d bet on it.”

Alejandro patches in Rudy and Ghost, telling them that Valeria is the target and that he and Soap are moving in. The second they breach the door, Valeria runs. There’s several long minutes of a lot of shouting and shooting. Soap is only just able to tail their target as she rushes for the back of the mansion. Alejandro busts through a door on the ground floor just as Soap skids around a corner. Valeria is yards a head, about to make it to a truck hidden at the back of the house. Before she reaches it though, the roar of an engine is all they get in warning. Then the rusted form of Rudy’s vehicle is barreling through the underbrush and slamming into the truck. Valeria skids to a halt and Alejandro grabs her in the brief moment of stillness. As Soap comes up to them, the three humans watch as the bent and mangled green and rust form backs up. Soap is about to worry about Rudy, until the rust starts to disintegrate into small sand like particles, then the rust begins to reshape itself back into shape.

“Holly fuck…”, Soap mutters, watching in awe as the copper colored particles settle back into the original shape of Rudy’s vehicle, then the man himself is appearing with the soft hissing sound of sand-like rust coalescing in the driver’s seat.

“Come on, lets go”, Rudy snaps, his voice coming from the mouth of the body sitting in the driver’s seat and the speakers in the dashboard.

Soap and Alejandro rush to get in as the back and passenger doors open for them. Alejandro throws Valeria in the back seat, then gets in behind her, and Soap jumps into the front passenger seat. Before everyone’s even settled, Rudy is peeling away from the building just as cartel members with guns appear from the house and start shooting at them. They drive through the brush for a way, then come out onto a dirt road. Further along, Ghost’s large blacked out form pulls out from under a grove of trees and joins them.

Thankfully, they make it back to Los Vaqueros base without any incident. The ride is filled with tense silence. Soap gets the distinct impression that there’s history between the other three people in the car. He minds his own business until they get back to base. Some of Alejandros men take Valeria, following orders to put her in a secure spot that she won’t be able to slither out of. As she’s being led away, Valeria keeps glaring at Alejandro until she’s being pulled out of eye line. It’s Ghost that actually brings up what Soap was thinking.

“Everything alright here?”

“I know her”, Alejandro admits with a sigh, “She’s ex-military. We served together. She’s a snake. We can’t make a deal with her, it won’t end well.”

“She knows something about our missing teammate”, Ghost says, “We need her. For now.”

Alejandro is frustrated and huffs off. Still, Soap knows he agrees with them. They need Valeria. She clearly knows something important regarding their missing Autobot. Ghost rolls away, saying he’s going to fill in the others back at NEST. When it’s just the two of them, Soap turns to Rudy and grins.

“Yer hella impressive.”

Rudy, who is leaning casually against the grill of his car form, gives a devious smile back.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Aye, Rusty Rudy.”

The man rolls his eyes and walks over to tap his fist against Soap’s shoulder.

“How far from yer body can ye go?”, Soap asks, curious if Rudy can get the same range as Laswell.

“About half a mile. It’s hard to keep form underground”, Rudy answers quietly after a second.

Similar to Laswell. So impressive.

“It’s taken years to get the nanotech to hold as well as it does”, Rudy tells him, “I’ve put more effort into having a solid shape versus relying on holotech to just look real.”

“Makes sense, for yer situation”, Soap nods.

Laswell had the luxury of being around people who know she’s an Autobot, so she can be a little lax with having a fully solid shape. Rudy on the other hand, has spent his time ensuring that he’s solid and real enough that no one knows he’s not human. Soap would bet that the only people who would realize, are people like him, or other Cybertronians that had specialized abilities to pick up on the very subtle frequency that their kind put out. Rudy was hiding in plain sight, and doing a fantastic job of it.

“Ghost has been kind enough to feed me some pointers since your arrival. I’m getting even better thanks to you two.”

That draws Soap up short, and he stops to frown at his friend.

“Ghost?”

Rudy gives Soap a wink over his shoulder and continues on his way, leaving Soap to stand there like an idiot. Ghost had been giving Rudy advise on holding his human form? How? Why? Ghost didn’t have a human form. At least not one that Soap was aware of. As far as he’d seen and heard, the mech had no interest or desire in having a holo form that made him look human. Never mind the fact that Ghost hadn’t been on Earth long enough to have such a developed ability to use holo and nano tech to that end. Laswell and Rudy had been on Earth a very long time. Like Bumblebee and Dirt Dauber, they have had decades, if not longer, to perfect their ability to replicate humans. Hell, Optimus, Rachet, and Ironhide have been on Earth for years, and their human forms still looked a little too inhuman to blend in well. And in any case, Soap figured that Ghost didn’t like humans enough to put forth the effort of having a human form.

He's still thinking about it, the implications and possibilities, when he catches up to Rudy and Alejandro. They’ve got Valeria seated just inside a shipping container that’s been turned into a makeshift prison cell. Ghost walks over, his large bipedal form making way around the base with surprising ease and quiet, coming to kneel next to the container.

“Alright, Valeria”, Alejandro growls, “Time to talk.”