Not Knowing

A/N: I haven't written a TF: Prime fic in a while, I hope I'm not too rusty.

Please read and review, and a merry Christmas to you all!

Transformers: Prime (c) Hasbro & the Hub

Miko and the others had prepared their emergency packs after the Unicron scare. They were filled with basic amenities: food and water, a change of clothes, a flashlight, and a small bundle of cash for each. "In case they were ever required to leave the base", according to their Autobots. The thought of ever needing these packs didn't cross their minds—and why should it? Autobot Outpost Omega One was safety, comfort, and solace all wrapped into one. The one place where their intergalactic companions could reveal their true forms and spend time with them. It was a home. And they never imagined that they would ever leave it.

But then the Autobots were called to Cybertron, the children were kidnapped, held hostage, and Cybertron was given up in exchange for their lives. All too quickly they were back at base, and Ratchet was shoving an emergency pack into each of their arms.

"You will each go with your guardians," the medic told them gruffly, a strange look in his optics. "We will reestablish contact as soon as possible."

Then they had been ushered onto their respective Autobots with hardly a proper good-bye, and each of them disappeared into the GroundBridge.

Miko had lost track of how long she and Bulkhead had been traveling.

The girl sat curled up in the front passenger seat, her knees held against her chest as she gazed out the window at the swiftly passing scenery. Her emergency pack was on the floor in front of her. The Wrecker's interior was quiet.

"How long have we been on the run, Bulk'?"

The truck's engine made a snuffling, choking sound she recognized as the Autobot's abject disgust at having their "strategic retreat" from the base referred to in such a way. Bulkhead never liked thinking himself a coward.

The speakers emitted a sound resembling a clearing of the throat. "I'm…ah…not sure." Bulkhead seemed puzzled by the admittance. "I don't know."

Miko hummed. "Well it's snowing." She nodded toward the window and the white world beyond. She turned back to the dashboard. "Haven't you been keeping track?"

Bulkhead mimicked her hum, and his interior became pleasantly warmer. Miko settled back into her guardian's comfortable leather seat, tightening her hold around her knees.

"Nearly Christmas, isn't it?" she asked innocently, but by the way Bulkhead tensed around her he knew it was anything but. He did not answer.

"Do you know when we'll be able to go back home?" Miko continued. She refused to look at the dash, and the powdery white landscape blurred before her eyes. She convinced herself that it was not tears that marred her vision.

Bulkhead did not slow, but she felt him almost sigh beneath her. "No."

"Will I ever see my parents again?"

"I don't know."

"What about the others? Jack, Raf, Optimus, 'Bee, Arcee, Ratchet, even?!"

"…I don't know."

"Will we ever stop running? Will we be okay? Can you promise me we'll be okay?"

"I don't know, Miko."

Miko knew that she had troubled her friend—these were matters he could not control, but possessing the truth made her feel safer, less unaware and ignorant. She wasn't the same little, innocent human girl he and the Autobots could hide their bitter reality from.

She exhaled softly and tore her annoyingly blurring gaze from the window to her knees. "I guess the time of you knowing everything has passed, huh?"

Bulkhead's next response was swift and shrill. "Miko, if something's wrong—"

"I'm fine, Bulk'," Miko managed to say around her tightening chest. A blatant lie, but as she rested a hand against the dash she felt her best friend's thrumming engine settle slightly. "I'm always fine," she added. "Honorary Wrecker, remember? I've gotta live up to the title somehow."

Bulkhead chuckled, and it didn't sound as strained as his previous ones, much to Miko's relief. "You'd do Jackie proud, kiddo."

Miko smiled. "Thanks, Bulkhead." She straightened, allowing her bare feet to touch the floor. "Now, I think we've both moped long enough. Can you play some Christmas music?"

"Uh…o-okay," Bulkhead responded, nonetheless with blatantly withheld cheer. Miko hadn't asked him to play any sort of music in all the time they had been on their journey.

She did not ask Bulkhead if he thought Wheeljack had gone down with his ship. She did not ask if he could call the others (it would be a futile attempt anyway, no matter how much he might have wanted to grant the request it was still too dangerous) or if the other Autobots were even still alive. Miko did not beg him to keep promises that could never be kept or for him to contact her parents to assure them that she was still alive and well. These questions could never be truly answered, because he simply did not know.

"Is this station okay?"

Miko paused in her wondering to listen to the radio—"So This Is Christmas" was playing. She smirked; closing her eyes against the glaring whiteness of outside and the somber darkness of Bulkhead's interior as she curled up against the comfortable leather seat again. She would make the most out of this moment and its calm.

"It's perfect, Bulk'."