Emotional chapter. But - BIG SQUEAL INSERT - My best friend eeeeever, sister of my heart, gave me my Christmas early. xD Reading them got the creativity trickling, hence the lack of major action, BUT, I didn't think I'd given much thought to the bond I keep hinting at between Rachel and Sam. It's difficult to think of situations where Rachel and Bumblebee could bond. So I'm completely open to ideas. For now, enjoy the emotional humans.

I wasn't looking forward to this. Not in the least. Maybe that's why the ride was so short. It could also have been because I was breaking about ten different street laws and Bumblebee was honking at me everytime I was going a little too fast or cut a corner too close. My mind was blank - take care of one thing at a time, Rachel. Arrive at the hospital in one piece, check.

Fill Sam in as calmly as I could in the parking garage - check. Pat Bumblebee's hood for being there, check. Start freaking out as soon as I was through the doors - check, check.

Sam grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze as we nearly jogged to the front desk.

"I'm looking for - "

"Rachel Parker?"

I looked up quickly at the familiar voice and rounded so fast on the doctor heading our way, I almost clocked Sam in the chin with the helmet I didn't realize I was still wearing. I ripped it off and impatiently swiped my flattened hair out of my eyes, rushing forward to meet him halfway. "Yes, that's me. Doctor Mason? Where-"

"First, breathe."

I clenched my fist so tight around my keys I felt them cut skin on my palm. I didn't want to breathe. I wanted to know how my pill-addicted mother was doing.

"Your mother is stable. We have her on a drip to keep her hydrated. She should be fine, we got to her in time to prevent any severe liver damage. But you should know that by policy we have to report any intentional drug usage and consequential overdoses to the proper authorities. An officer is with her now."

Sam was at my back then. I leaned back until our shoulders brushed. Stumbled a little. He caught my arm and slid his arm around my shoulders. "Can she see her?"

"The officer is interviewing her now. Her room is on the second floor, room 216 in the mental health ward. We have to keep her for at least three days, let a therapist evaluate her emotional stability. Depending on what we find out, she could be home by the end of the week, or she may need to be checked into a rehabilitation center."

As he explained, he ushered us to follow him to an elevator. Sam gently took my helmet away from me and pursuaded the desk clerk to keep it behind the counter for safe-keeping. I clung to everything Mason said, chewing a thumbnail down to a stub. He told me that the charcoal solution they had to give her after the stomach pumping was meant to coat her liver and protect it, but it also made her throw up what was left of the drugs, and that I should keep my visit short to keep from putting too much tension or pressure on her or whatever. She deserves it, I thought vindictively, then blew out a shaky breath, mentally chastising myself. Whatever stupid, idiotic decisions she made, Mom was still my Mom. The only one I had. And other than her long-distance brother and parents, we were all each other had (She still thought she had Brian, but I wasn't letting myself stray in that direction of thought). I needed to be here, mature and careful, to take care of her. Not criticize her. Not yet, at least.

Sitting outside Mom's hospital room, I wrung Sam's hand none-too-gently between mine, and he took it like a tough little trooper. I glanced at him through the bangs that had fallen back over my face, his face tight and blank. I squeezed my eyes shut in a long blink, then said quietly, "Thank you, Sam. For following me. For being here."

"You didn't run out on me when I bought an intergallactic car," he said in a hushed tone, shooting me a quick smile. "What kind of tumor would I be if I ran out on you for something as human as this? Besides, Mikaela's been calling all day and I'm scared of what I did last night to be made fun of."

I broke into a wide grin. "You really didn't do anything other than be completely, adorably oblivious to your surroundings. We did all the funny stuff." I scrunched my nose, focusing on the hilarity of last night's belated Fourth of July as much as I could. "I think. It all gets blurry after Ironhide started shooting the twins. Again."

He started to smile, then looked down at our hands. Mine were shaking and I didn't realize it. I pulled them away and rubbed my sweaty palms on my shorts, and he hugged me one-armed around the neck instead. "You'll be alright. She'll be alright. You and Mikaela are the toughest people I know, and that's saying something."

"Because we're girls?" I drawled, eyes rolling.

"Well, yeah," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably, like he expected a fist to come his way any second. "Well, it's like, I don't know how I didn't freak the hell out when everything happened so fast, and girls are suppose to be emotional… Technically I've never thought of you as a girl, though."

"Stop before you dig yourself deeper, Witwicky."

We shared a sibling smile. That warmth in my chest was back. "I'm really glad you're here, Sam. You both. You're my guys. Sad how the only men I can count on are gearheads-" used this term for the Autobots for anyone who might be eavesdropping "- and my baby-faced neighbor."

"Baby-faced? Come on, you can't tell me you haven't noticed the fuzz." He rubbed his chin and pooched his lips out, trying to look something like the Thinker, I guess.

"Peach fuzz, more like."

The door we were waiting beside finally opened. I jumped up immediately only to be ushered back into my seat by the pugly officer who came out. "Officer Jennings. Got some things I need to ask you, Miss Parker."

I sat down again, bouncing my knee in agitation and answering all of his questions in clipped tones. I was getting sick and fucking tired of everyone telling me I couldn't see my mother but I needed to calm down anyway. He asked whether her drug use was a normal occurance.

"Not that I know of."

"Do you ever notice her coming home and acting a little funny?"

"We don't see too much of each other lately, she works at home, and I work at Burger King and I'm busy with college stuff and entering the Air Force and shit. I haven't really noticed anything different."

"Do you know where she was last night?"

"I wasn't home most of the night, so no."

"Where were YOU last night?"

"At a party. Late fireworks, and stuff."

"Alcohol at this party?"

When the fuck did this become about me?

"Uh, for the one's of age, yeah. Mostly us teens were chasing each other with Roman Candles and being stupid, y'know, like kids usually act."

He gave me a look, apparently not appreciating my tone. But I didn't appreciate his, either. None of your fucking business, can I see my MOTHER now?

"Has this ever happened before?"

My brow furrowed. "Once, when I was little. I'm assuming you know about that already and the hows and whys."

He grunted noncommitally and scribbled something on his notepad. I rubbed the crease between my eyebrows, feeling the headache coming back.

"How old are you, Miss Parker?"

"Nineteen."

He nodded like that answer satisfied some decision he'd made, then slapped the little notepad closed and stashed it in his 'utility belt'. "And you said you have a job, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I need to know you can handle things at home for a while. Miss Parker, I'm going to suggest to the court that your mother be admitted to a three-week rehabilitation program in Henderson. With you on your way to leaving home, I don't think it's a good idea for her to be alone without some kind of proper therapy beforehand."

"Okay," I nodded slowly, agreeing. I inhaled and exhaled slowly. "Can I ask a question?"

He nodded.

"Where did you guys find her?"

"A call was made to 911 around 3 A.M. from 62335, on Highway 93. Woman named Laura Terrance. Sound familiar?"

"One of Mom's friends," I grimaced. One that I had been happy to see go. A stripper with a bad influence who had Mom hooked on painkillers right after we moved here. Thank God Mom couldn't afford a lengthy addiction. "She moved out of Mission two years ago. I didn't think they still talked."

"Apparently, they do."

Obviously, you lard.

"Anyway," he waved off, "You're free to go in and talk to her. Got everything I needed. She's kind of out of it, I'll warn you now."

Thanks, doc.

"Alright. Thank you. Do you… need my number, or something?" Pained me to ask, because I didn't like him. Maybe it was just an aversion to anything in a cop car.

"Like I said, got everything I need. I'll be in touch, Miss Parker."

He walked briskly down the hall, tipping his hat to passing nurses. Like the uniform was such a chick-magnet. Gross. Cops. Gross.

Sam gave my back a careful pat, probably because the scars were still tender and he was making a valiant, endearing effort to be gentle with me. "I'll wait out here. You care if I call Mikaela?"

"No. Saves me the trouble. Thanks, Sammy."

I tip-toed into the room. Her bed was perpendicular to the door, pressed against the right wall. She faced away, lashes fluttering letting me know she was awake and staring out the window. She looked… awful. Pale, sallow, her hair sweaty and stringy, but swept up away from her face in a scrunchie probably donated from one of the nurses. The pale, faded blue of the hospital gown only made her look more ill. Dark circles rimmed her dark blue eyes. Her face had been washed, but not very good - mascara still smudged across her temples. I sat down in the stiffly cushioned chair next to the bed, clearing my throat, unsure what to say first.

"Hi, Mom."

Gee, what an ice-breaker. You can tell I'M a people person.

She coughed, but said nothing. I tried again, hands clasped tightly between my knees. "Doctor Mason said you were gonna be okay. Mom… Why-"

"Don't start," she snapped, but never turned to face me. "Don't even start."

I felt my temper bubble. "Don't start? You could've died-"

"Did you ever stop to think maybe that's what I was going for?"

"Liar. If that was what you wanted to do you would've just swallowed the medicine cabinet, not gone all the way to fucking Boulder City to see that stripper chick."

"Are you really in any position to chastise your mother about her 'friends', Rachel?"

I scratched down my wrist roughly to keep from snapping on her. "This is different. My friends don't supply me with a lifetime of pills to try and off myself."

"Thought you said I was lying?"

"Why the fuck are you being so childish?"

Her head whipped around so fast I thought she would break her skinny neck. She snarled, so hatefully I actually leaned back in my chair, "Because you've ruined fucking everything."

Her eyes were distant. That was all. This whole ordeal was making her delirious and grumpy. I clutched the hems of my shorts, swallowing. "Mom-"

"God, we could've been so happy," she half-sobbed half-choked, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and smudging her leftover make-up further, turning to stare at the ceiling. This... was unexpected. Drugs. Remember, just the drugs. "We were going to plan out a family. After he got a better job, and we were better prepared, and-"

"Are you-" I stopped, finding my mental bearings. "Are you trying to blame me for your unprotected sex?"

"Are you kidding, Rachel?"

I did not like the way she said my name, like she was discussing cancer. Dread filled me - maybe that was exactly what she was comparing me to. A life-ruining disease.

"We always had protection. I don't think Brian ever really wanted kids. I was okay with that. I had the man of my dreams. I was happy. So, so… happy…

"Then I got pregnant." Her eyes glazed. "He was so furious. It was my fault - I skipped my birth control a few days in a row. He knew it. And then I had to go crying to my mom."

Her chin wobbled, and she shook her head, lifting a trembling hand to rub her forehead. "If I just hadn't told her… God, I'm such an idiot. It's all my fault. I ruined everything."

"Explain," I demanded quietly, gaze unfocused on nothing. My heart was shredding, faster with every word she said. She wouldn't see it. I'd be goddamned if I gave her one iota of that satisfaction. She didn't say anything, just laughed, a hateful, half-delirious sound. I hazarded a guess. "Because if you hadn't told Gramma, you could've gotten an abortion and no one would've known. Am I right?"

She just laughed harder. Started tearing at her IV. I watched her thrash for several seconds, simply observing the mother I always knew I had, but pretended I didn't, then stood and pressed the nurse's call button on the side of her bed. Turning to walk out, I dimly registered the door was cracked, brushed past the three nurses that rushed in to hold her down. Sam was sitting in the chair directly to my left, fists clenched tight around each other. He looked up slowly when I closed the door behind me, face pale and eyes glittering. I smiled emptily. "Let's go grab something to eat."

Mikaela met us at Sam's. I carried a Taco Bell bag limply in one hand, barely registering I even had food. I wasn't… quite sure what to do. The façade was over. My little two-person family had crumbled. How does that even happen with only two people in a house? A four or five member household, I could see, with so many differing opinions. How do two people not manage to work things out to such a horrible degree?

Sam must've given Mikaela the low-down on what he'd overheard on the drive home. I couldn't leave my bike there. I didn't plan on going back. She made a beeline straight for me and threw her arms around my shoulders in such a tight hug I wheezed. She smelled nice, even through my helmet - warm and sugary. I didn't want to hug her back. I knew it'd put a crack in my armor. I reached my free arm up to give her bicep a squeeze, then pulled back. She let me go. I walked to Jazz, unclipping her collar from it's tie-out. She rushed right for the front door and scratched. I let her in, then followed without looking behind me. I needed quiet. Alone time. It was almost embarrassing, how those two would walk on pins and needles around me for a while.

I called Burger King and quit. There didn't seem to be much of a point. I didn't want to keep the house, and even if I didn't pay the bills, our 'anonymous' donor would. I'd have to change that. The only thing I wanted right that moment was to rush my enlistment. MEPS was only two weeks away. I needed to be ready to pass the first time, and get my ass out of Dodge before Mom was released from rehab. I was infinitely grateful that our high school was one with a mandatory ASVAB for all juniors and that I'd passed with a decent grade. An 89 was more than enough to get into the Air Force, with or without my 'oustanding recommendations'. I had two weeks to lose seven pounds and be at my minimum weight to pass. Easy when I would have so much more free time.

Two hours passed with me just sitting at the kitchen table, watching Jazz chew through the thong on one of my fuzzy pink flipflops. After the first hour she'd given up begging for attention and found something else to entertain herself with, plopping herself over the vent next to the door and basking in the air conditioning.

The house phone rang, shrill in the silence. I jumped hard and swore under my breath, reaching across the table for it. "Hello?"

"Rachel?"

Surprise. My eyes widened. "Uncle Dyl?"

Jesus, I hadn't heard from him in years. Uncle Dyl, short for Dylan, durr, was a friend of my father's that would every once in a while check up on us. And by every once in a while, I mean I hadn't heard from him in four years at that point. Before that, there was a three year gap. It just kept getting bigger.

"Hey, it is you! I almost didn't recognize your voice. How've you guys been?"

I lit a cigarette, smiling a little. There was a Christmas card from him every year if not a phone call, loaded with at least a hundred bucks for me. I never got anything for my birthday, but Mom had joked once that he could even forget his own, he was so focused on his work and cars.

"Better. It's been… better. How's the car collection coming? Still picking up scrap from junk yards?"

"You wouldn't say that if you could see Boo now."

"Can't believe you still call it Boo," I laughed, thinking back to the old rusted hunk that used to be a fine-ass Plymouth that he bought on his one visit to Mission to see us.

"You named it! It has sentimental value."

"I was nine and said 'Boo!' because it was so ugly."

"Semantics."

It got quiet for a moment, me listening to his muffled conversation with someone else. He was probably in his office. Hotchkiss Gould Investments was thrivingly successful, last I heard. I wondered what possessed him to call on a business day. I had a feeling.

"Sounds busy."

"Wouldn't have it any other way. So, Rachel. I'm looking for someone who might give Boo the love and attention she needs. Anyone you know come to mind?"

I heard the satisfied grin in his voice. Dylan was never told 'no'. He was an arrogant prick, but at least he still managed to keep in touch and sound halfway-affectionate. I glanced at the kitchen window and smiled secretively. "Sorry, Uncle Dyl. I've got a thing for Camaros now."

"Camaros? That's not very original. Everyone's getting them." I heard him clap in the background. Must've been on his bluetooth. "I'm a genius. I know what. How about I fly you up, have you pick out a clunker, and pimp it out for you?"

I laughed, aghast. "You did NOT just say 'pimp it out', old man."

Fifteen minutes of banter later, I felt lighter. He reminded me of Tony Stark from the comics. Rich, full of himself, but with a humor I had to laugh at. I was finishing a second cigarette when I felt more than heard the uncomfortable pause at the other end of the line.

"So. Why'd you call, Dyl?"

I knew why already. He kept tabs on us, saying he owed my father for something. He'd been a big help during Brian's trial. We could never have afforded lawyers like those. See? He had his noble moments. He could admit when one of his 'boys' was in the wrong.

"How's your mother doing?" he asked quietly, the background noise that had been going for the past twenty minutes quieting. I guessed he'd gone into a private office, or something.

"She's going to rehab."

"Ah."

"You knew that already."

"I did."

It was quiet for a full minute, my good humor fading. But at least I felt more levelheaded. Less dead.

"Thanks for checking, Uncle Dylan. I appreciate it." I sincerely did. He wasn't anywhere near as reliable as Sam or even Bumblebee - he covetted his riches too much. But he'd called. That was more than my own father ever did.

"If you need anything - "

"Taken care of. I'm enlisting."

"Oh really?" I thought his voice sounded strained, the cheer false, but it could've been his own lesser opinions on the military. "What branch?"

"Air Force."

"Ah. Well, that's… great, Rach. They'll take care of you."

I had the strange feeling he wanted to say more, but he sighed into the receiver instead. "Well, if that's what you want. About that car-"

"I've got it covered."

"Come on now, Rachel, that motorcycle-"

"I got a new one," I smiled, fibbing only a little. "Won it in a raffle. Still a Ninja, of course."

"Naturally."

"I'll let you go. I've got stuff to plan out."

"Remember-"

"Call if I need anything. I know. Thanks, Uncle Dyl."

"You're a tough girl, Rachel. I believe in you."

Empty, common sentiments, but the words were nice to hear. I hung up feeling better. Only by a small margin, but still better. I showered. Ate a Hot Pocket. Cuddled with Jazz and watched an old horror flick. Then remembered that I'd left Sam and Mikaela just standing outside earlier. Guilt nibbled. I sent Mikaela a hurried text apologizing and thanking her. She texted back almost immediately, suggesting a girls' night. That sounded almost like heaven.

Almost. I glanced toward the kitchen and hummed. I sent her a text asking if tomorrow night was good for her, and for once in the past twelve hours, knew exactly what I wanted to do.

I'm glad I double-check before I update. Almost the whole damn thing was in italics for some reason. Stupid thing. Anybody catch the cameo? :D I'm assuming everyone reading is nerdy like moi and grabbed a friend to go see every Transformers movie in theaters as soon as they came out. That's just me.