| He realized a split-second after lifting the lid what the bubbling pot meant: someone was still in the house. "Guys, I think I'm in trouble," Spike whispered into the comm link he'd been given. "They're almost ready, if you'd care for a bowl,"a voice stated from his right. He stood stock still, eyes then head slowly turning to the tall, wiry woman leaning in the doorway. "And yes, you are in trouble. Would you mind explaining why you're in my house, Spike, isn't it?" she asked, plopping into a chair turned backwards to the table and shuffling through the avalanche of papers strewn over most of its surface. "Did you happen to see a pencil? I keep losing the fragging thing," she mumbled, leaning over to look under table and chair then half upside-down at him. Spike, who had followed the woman's movement from door to table until his back was to the stove, carefully pointed at the sought item tucked into a hank of black hair shoved behind her ear. She 'ah-ed', plucked the pencil from its perch and began perusing what looked like a bank statement. He eyed the door he'd entered from the back yard, knowing he'd never be able to cover the mad dash distance before the woman would be on him. But he'd be damned if he wasn't going to try. Spike hazarded a quick glance out the wide window over the sink deceptively adorned with black and white checked curtains to the far tree line, straining to see any trace of the Autobots' surveilance post. The Seeker suddenly exhaled, threw the pencil down and began rummaging through the numerous pockets of her gray BDUs. "I do not know how you humans put up with all this hair. Which two brought you?" she asked him, dumping things onto the table until locating a rubber band in the pile. He eyed the thick lump of a lineman's tool and a small screwdriver set glinting from the array. He noticed her looking at him expectantly, unruly hair scraped back to reveal thin eyebrows arched upward. "What -?" She tisked. "Autobots, under most circumstances, travel in pairs. Which two brought you? You certainly didn't come all the way from Oregon under your own volition." Spike felt stupid. Stupid for thinking that the Decepticon jets would be much less frightening now that the playing field had been leveled, now that they were human. He realized that, whichever one this was questioning him, it was far more intimidating. Sweat crept down his back while he wondered why in the hell he'd been abandoned. "B-bumblebee and ," sputtered out. The woman chuckled. "Recon. So predicatable. SOP. Ahhh, let's see..." Standing, she began adjusting a complicated-looking two-way radio base station behind her mounted under the cabinet and occupying most of the counter. "What's their frequency? I know they can hear us, but let's make things simpler." Spike looked at her wall-eyed. "Look. I know I'm the evil Decepticon here", she mocked, "however, you're a guest - albeit an uninvited one. Unbelievable as it may seem, Seekers do have manners." Unable to draw the desired information from him, she smirked and went over to stand in front of him. Spike shrank back, looking as if he would crawl up onto the stove at any moment. He could smell the coppery sweat on her, realized she wasn't wearing a bra..It didn't help matters that because of the Seeker's height, he was staring directly at her chest. He kept reminding himself that the person standing in front of him wasn't really a woman, no matter how she looked. "You can skulk in the brush all day in the hot sun if you prefer, Bumblebee and , or you can accept my hospitality of shade and energon," she said, leaning closer to Spike. "The fans are on in the hangar, energon's in big red locker to your right. Please excuse the mess; we're in the middle of an engine tear-down." They watched out the window, waiting for movement. Finally, the two crept cautiously from the line of mesquite, mountain cedar, white oak and scrub, carefully making their way toward the hangar. She grabbed his hand and dragged him to the window, nudging him to wave. Spike's ears and vision throbbed in time to his heart running over time on adrenalin. Abruptly, the woman spun him toward the table and into a chair whipped under him at the last second. "I think that chair will be more comfortable than roasting your aft against the oven door," she quiped, grabbing a pair of oven mitts and pulling two large pans from it. He stared at the cornbread being cut into squares and placed onto a plate. The Seeker's eyes suddenly widened and her head whipped toward the door to the hall. Spike followed her line of sight, his eyes watering: a black, human-shaped figure drifted past, the cold from it whisping into the kitchen. Clicks, chirps and stuttering whistles issued lowly from the woman. "I wish that slagging thing would find what it's looking for and leave already," she spat. |