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"Hey Bulkhead, why the long face?" Miko sits down a little more comfortably, but still so that she has a good view of her Cybertronian friend.
"My face isn't long, it's wide," the big bot answers dryly, but that doesn't impress Miko at all.
"Come on, Bulk- what's going on?"
Bulkhead sighs through his vents. "It's nothing. It's just that Jackie was supposed to come by today to go over some old Wrecker moves with me. You know, keep me from getting rusty."
"And he stood you up," the girl concludes, putting down the controller she was using to play a car racing game. "I see."
There's no reply, but the giant Wrecker makes a rumbling sound under his chest plate. He's obviously disappointed to have been stood up by the not-so-punctual Wheeljack. It's no surprise, considering that this has happened several times before - Wheeljack is not someone who's good at keeping to a schedule.
Miko feels bad for her best friend. It's not a good feeling to be stood up, and she does know more than Bulkhead about Wheeljack's whereabouts.
"I'll tell you a secret," she says, leaning against the railing that separates the small platform with the sofa and TV from the rest of the base. "But you can't get mad. You gotta promise."
"Why would I get mad?"
"Just promise me."
"All right. I promise." Bulkhead moves closer to the platform and Miko leans forward.
"He's on a date!"
"A what?!"
Both Bulkhead and Miko jump at the sound of Ratchet's indignant voice suddenly booming through the base. The medic has just come out of one of the corridors that run through the base like a labyrinth; apparently he overheard the secret with his shockingly good audials.
"Oh, scrap," Miko mutters, slumping down on the sofa like a kid that's just been caught with its hand in the cookie jar.
"What's a robot in disguise - and someone like Wheeljack to boot - doing on a date?!" Ratchet presses as Miko gives him a weak smile. "And with a human, I assume?"
"Yeah, well..." Miko mumbles evasively. "The thing is..."
"How does someone like Jackie end up with a human? Is it someone we know?" asks Bulkhead, who now stands up and looks at Miko with a very stern expression. "It's not like he hangs out with humans much."
The teenager's face looks tense as she tries to come up with a white lie as quickly as possible - but two bots looking down on her make any flimsy lie crumble. She sighs theatrically and rolls her eyes.
"Remember that weekend two weeks ago?" she finally says.
"The weekend you were grounded?" Bulkhead follows, and Miko grins sheepishly.
"Well, actually I wasn't really grounded," she admits sheepishly. "I went to a concert. And Wheeljack chaperoned me, because otherwise I wouldn't have gotten in..."
The base vibrates with Ratchet's angry exclamation: "He did what?!"
"Miko!" Bulkhead scolds her, too. "We talked about this!"
"Sorry, sorry," she squirms and shrugs helplessly. "But the band was only in town for one night, and I love the singer so much, and I knew I couldn't ask Bulk... So I asked Wheeljack, and he came with me, using his holomatter avatar."
"His-- Hrprphhf-!" Ratchet seems about to blow a fuse. Anger is written all over his face, and the Wrecker next to him is not thrilled about Miko sneaking out on her own either. "I didn't make him a human avatar just for him to misuse it like that!"
"The concert was great, by the way," Miko continues. "We even managed to sneak backstage at the end and meet the band! And, well-" she shrugs again. "Wheeljack and the lead singer got to talking, hit it off, and then one thing led to another..."
"Oh, by the Allspark." Ratchet runs his hand over his face, seemingly struggling not to explode. "That unpredictable, dodgy--"
"Miko, that was not okay!" Bulkhead scolds, making his 'I don't like what you did' face.
"But-! Ough, you guys don't even know how to spell the word 'fun'!" The teenager seems to have had enough of the scolding, and now puts on a scowl of her own. Well, you can only scold teenagers so much before they get stubborn and bite back. She slumps down on the sofa with her arms crossed and stomps her feet on the table so hard that it shakes. "I hope Wheeljack is having a better evening than I am."
* * *
You take one last look in the mirror and realize that you look really good.
Outfit? Awesome. Hairdo? Amazing. Confidence? Through the roof!
"Hey, why are you leaving so early?" Joel asks as he fiddles with his bass and plays the jingle from the cereal commercial on the TV, the one which hangs on the wall in the rented rehearsal room.
"I have a date," you reply, grabbing your keys, cell phone and wallet - and pepper spray. You never know on a first date. "Don't make such a long face."
Joel shrugs in annoyance. "'thought we were rehearsing tonight?"
"What, just you and me?" You make a sweeping motion with your arms to emphasize the otherwise empty room. "I don't see the others anywhere. It's just you and me, Joel, and nobody wants to hear a bass and vocal solo."
He gives you the finger. "Fuck you."
Laughing, you close the door to the rehearsal room behind you and are already expected by someone. Jack is already standing on the street with his car, the flashy Lancia Stratos he drove to your concert two weeks ago. One only drives such a car if they're a show-off - or if they're a bit crazy. And after your post-concert chat with Jack, you suspect it's a bit of both.
Jack himself gives you a wry grin as he leans against the car with his arms crossed. His gray hair is slicked back except for a few loose strands, and the scars on his face draw fine lines that only make his grin more handsome. His open jacket is the same color as the car, which, to be honest, makes him look a little bit like a wannabe cool guy.
"Right on time," you greet snappishly, stopping in front of him. "I wasn't expecting that."
"You hurt my feelings," he replies with the hint of a laugh in his voice, pushing himself away from the car, then walking around it and opening the passenger door for you. "Shall we?"
"Punctual and a gentleman?" Your eyebrow rises mockingly. "Not two minutes into this date and you've already surprised me twice."
"What can I say?" He takes your hand to help you into the car. There is a twinkle in his eye that makes you a little suspicious, though. "I'm full of surprises."
The interior of the car is simple but elegant. It's a real race car, the kind you only see at car shows or in action movies. Admiringly, your hand glides over the leather seat beneath you, and you wonder how this guy can afford a car like this. Rich parents, perhaps?
"So, what do you fancy?" Jack gets in and the engine roars almost immediately - you don't remember hearing the jingle of the car keys or him reaching for the ignition.
"I know a great bar," you say, the nervousness and excitement bringing a smile to your face that won't go away anytime soon. Man, when was the last time you were this excited about a date? Must have been years ago! "And I bet I'm better at billiards than you are."
Jack laughs. "Oh, you think so, huh? We'll see about that."
The engine roars and he steps on the gas - it would be a lie to say that the acceleration of the car doesn't turn you on at least a little. To be pushed so hard into the seat, with a force you can't resist...
Jeez, pull yourself together, your inner voice scolds you. You haven't even been in his car for five minutes and you're already ready to throw out every rule you've ever made about what you'll allow on a first date.
"So?" you ask as you drive through downtown, which is remarkably empty for a Saturday night. But that could be because the bar is in a not-so-nice neighborhood - there's less going on here than on the city's entertainment strip. "What exactly is the story with Miko?"
"Miko?" Jack asks, raising his eyebrows questioningly. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, she told me you're not related. So how come you're taking a fifteen year old to a rock concert?
He shrugs. "Let's just say I'm a friend of her guardian."
"A guardian?" you laugh. "Yes, she seems like the kind of person who needs a guardian." Then you add warmly, "She’s a good kid. I was just like her when I was a teenager."
"A loose cannon? Threw yourself headlong into any trouble you could find?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
He makes a sound of appreciation. "Well, whaddaya know - we have something in common then."
Damn, that smug grin on his lips, so tantalizingly scarred, makes you dizzy. There's something about Jack, something wild about him that only those who don't give a shit about the rules have. Good thing that's exactly your type! And sure, he may be a little rough around the edges and have a bit of an edgy personality... but something tells you that he's actually a really nice guy. A heart of gold underneath a tough exterior.
"This looks like a seedy joint," Jack says as you pull up to the bar you've chosen. It's a biker hangout, not one of those polished places where the rich spend their money on fancy cocktails. No, it's a little rougher here, and that's probably the best thing for your date. Besides, the Lancia Stratos sticks out like a sore thumb among all the motorcycles in front of the bar.
"Oh, yeah, it's a dingy place," you reply, getting out as the car comes to a stop. But then you lean back in through the open passenger window. "Afraid for your showboat car?"
"Showboat?" Jack asks, getting out as well. He doesn't take the car keys with him, but your train of thought about that is interrupted by a huge biker appearing behind you. His long white beard and black leather clothes create a great contrast that is really only found in this area - he looks like a BDSM Santa Claus, but with a very stern expression.
"Hey Herb," you greet him warmly, and his angry, dark expression brightens a little. The leather Santa pulls you into his arms and presses you tightly against his chest, making you gasp for air.
"Good to see you," Herb greets warmly, then looks over at Jack, who steps around the car and joins you. "Who's the wimp with the showboat?"
"Wimp?"
You wave him off. "This is my date, Herb. So be nice."
The biker glances at the man in front of him, but then steps aside to let you pass to the bar.
"Nice ride," he grunts at Jack.
"Damn right," Jack replies, nodding to the bike closest to the door of the bar. "Yours?"
Herb nods.
"Nice ride," Jack says, and that's enough to appease the bouncer. He gives a short grumble and you are both allowed in. Your date seems a little surprised that you're such good friends with all these rough looking guys dressed in leather and studs who give you dirty looks as you enter the bar. It smells of cigarette smoke and booze, of old leather and metal. In the corner of the bar cards are being played, drinks are being consumed, and in the background an some rock classic is playing on an old jukebox. All in all, a really smelly, poorly lit dive - just right for a first date.
"Cute place," Jack grins as you stand at the bar and the owner and bartender approaches. The rag in his hands is definitely not clean enough to really clean the glasses for the patrons - but no one dares to complain.
At his questioning look, you point to a whiskey on the shelf.
"And for you?" he asks Jack, who suddenly seems almost meek. His eyes scan the various bottles, all containing alcohol, and he doesn't quite know what to choose.
"I'll take the same," he finally says, and you raise your eyebrows slightly.
"Don't you have to drive later?"
He shrugs. "Just a small drink then."
You snort, but half a glass of whiskey will be alright, even for this designated driver. Besides, you don't want to end the date early - his closeness feels too comfortable. Your entire upper body tingles intensely when Jack's hand finds your lower back, very nonchalantly and as if he's done this a thousand times before.
"How's your dad?" the bartender asks, slamming two moderately clean glasses on the bar and pouring something from the bottle of amber liquid.
"Better," you reply, placing a dollar bill on the table. "He'll be back on his bike soon."
"Good, good." The bartender is distracted when two guys in a corner of the room start arguing over a lost card game, and that's the signal for you two to leave the bar. Jack picks up his glass and follows you, but doesn't take a sip like you do. Instead, he simply stays close, with that grin that just won't leave his face. Is he as excited as you are? Nervous about this being your first date? He doesn't seem like someone who would be rattled by anything.
There are several pool tables in the middle of the room, one of which is empty. You set your glass down on the velvety green and start sorting the balls into the plastic triangle on the table. Jack looks at the other tables, seems to be watching the bikers for a moment, and how they sink the balls into one of the holes with the help of the white ball without a number on it. Then he picks up a pool cue and hands you one as well.
"What do you do for a living?" You ask as you begin to play. "You know what I do, so I'm at a disadvantage."
"Love, I don't think you could ever be at a disadvantage at anything," he replies smugly, but the compliment definitely tugs at your heartstrings. Just blame it on the whiskey turning your cheeks red, yeah, yeah - it's not like you've only had one sip so far. "But to answer your question - I'm in the demolition business, you might say."
"A man for the rough stuff, then?"
He nods. "Yes, sort of." His first shot with the cue is a little rough, as if he had never played the game before. Clumsy, but the ball still goes in the pocket. His technique is definitely not polished, suggesting that this was just a lucky shot.
You smell weakness.
"What do you say we make this game a little more interesting?" you ask, walking around him and brushing your arm against his back as you pass - on purpose, of course. He almost purrs at the gentle touch, and his next shot misses.
"What do you have in mind?"
"A bet?" With a single shot, you sink two balls that disappear into the table with a loud clacking sound, and the eye contact between you almost throws sparks. Either way, the chemistry between you two is right, and that's a good start. "Whoever wins gets to decide what we do next."
"Hmm." Jack makes a thoughtful face, as if he has to weigh the wager. "It almost sounds like you already have something in mind."
"Maybe."
He's right. Every time your bodies touch lightly as you walk around the table, you feel a certain... electricity. A tingling sensation that emanates from him and washes over you when your hand touches his upper arm or his shoulder brushes against yours. It's a warm shiver that gets under your skin and promises you that this evening is going to be very pleasant. Yes, you do have something in mind.
"You seem to know the guys here pretty well," your date says as a small group of bikers greet you as they enter the bar.
"Eh, you get to know them when you work with them," you reply, and with the last shot you finally win the game. The white ball is the last one left, and you grin broadly, completely satisfied with this victory. "Many of these guys were roadies at our shows."
"I see. What do you say? Two out of three?" Jack leans in slightly, leaning on the pool cue, but still only inches from your face. At such close range, there is something strange about him, something's off. You could swear that his hair looks strange, or that his eyes are a little too bright blue, almost... unrealistic.
"I'm going to destroy you," you whisper to his lips, which are barely a hand's width away from yours. Never have you felt so drawn to someone, as if the whole universe is only in perfect balance when you have this man by your side. The word soul mate scurries into your brain, but you quickly brush it aside - there's no such thing as soul mates or love at first sight.
"You? Destroying me?" he asks, grinning his crooked, self-confident grin. "You know, love, I almost believe you."
"Almost? Then watch and learn, loudmouth," you purr, fishing the pool balls out of the table and putting them back in the plastic triangle. First date or not, there's no mercy for anyone who dares to challenge your pool skills. Even if it's a sexy guy like this.
"Soundly defeated," Jack sighs as you leave the bar and wave goodbye to Herb. "I can't believe it."
"I warned you!" you laugh, prancing a bit on the way to the car - partly due to the three more drinks you had, partly due to the high of beating your companion. It was a crushing victory; he didn't win any of the seven rounds you played. And even though he assures you that he's not letting you win to make an impression, you don't buy it. Nobody's that bad at pool, except maybe someone who's never really played it before.
"Yeah, you did," he agrees, catching you as you reach the car. His back hits the back of the car while his hands catch your forearms to keep you from falling over in all the jumping and drunken giggling. At least that's what he wants to look like, because you can see in his eyes that he just wants to be close to you. His hands have been close to yours all night long: either resting on the pool table right next to yours, or resting gently somewhere on your lower back or hip.
He is always close, no matter where you move.
"So?" He asks as you let yourself fall against him, noticing that he's unusually cold for a guy who's so damn hot. "What does the winner want to do now?"
You look up at him and again your faces are only inches apart; you would only have to stand on tiptoe to kiss him.
"I have an idea," you whisper, and your hands find his chest, finding support on this guy who's definitely hiding something from you. But he doesn't seem dangerous, so why not just roll with it? "Come on, let's drive to the outskirts of town."
His look becomes questioning, but then he shrugs slightly. "Whatever you want, Sweetspark."
A strange nickname, but somehow... sweet. Much about him is strange, but sweet. Tempting he is and damn, his voice is so deep and warm, like the whiskey you still taste on your tongue - you could listen to it forever. Read me your shopping list and I'll still melt.
It's a short drive to the outskirts of town, but out here in the Nevada desert it's quiet and lonely, protected from prying eyes. Perfect for looking up at the stars on this pleasant fall night, without any light pollution. It's not too warm, but not too cold to freeze your butt off. Absolutely perfect weather for stargazing together.
You are leaning on the hood of his car, parked off the road behind some rocks, and your arms are stretched up to the sky. The night around you is quiet and harmonious, with only a few sounds of small animals or cars scurrying by on the road. The hood under your body is warm and the engine purrs so softly that you can barely hear it - but it is definitely still running. This soft purr is a vibration in your body, almost as if the car itself is enjoying having you on its hood.
"You're beautiful." Jack is lying on the hood next to you, on his side, and so close to you that if you turned your head you could kiss him.
"And you're very direct."
"Isn't that what you do on dates? Pay compliments?" he replies, and his hand plays with the hem of your shirt, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter even more. You'd like to jump him, to be honest, and climb him like a tree. But - stay cool. Act aloof. He doesn't need to know how down bad you are for him.
"It's not a dealbreaker if not." Your hand descends from the sky and lands on the car’s hood, from where it ghosts up to his neck and finds its way to his jaw. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him close his eyes briefly at the touch. Your heart leaps.
"But maybe I like complimenting you." His hand leaves the hem of your shirt and settles on your hip. Keep your cool, damn it.
"I don’t mind compliments- if they're meant sincerely," you say, and his grin fades a little at your next words. "Honesty is by far the most important thing to me."
"Is that so? Hmm." His voice sounds a little distant as he thinks for a moment, and you swear you can hear the car's engine stuttering quietly.
Then suddenly Jack straightens up and, much to your disappointment, breaks your tender touch. A questioning sound escapes from your chest, mixed with frustration at the realization that you must have said something wrong. Now Jack is standing in front of you, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. His eyes are serious and hesitant, but he gathers his courage and clears his throat slightly.
"Okay, look, I really like you," he begins. "I'm serious. I thought you were nice at first, but after tonight, I have to say I'm a little surprised at how well we get along."
"Thank you?" you reply, confused. "Um..."
"And if this is supposed to work, I think we should do this right," he continues. "So let me be honest with you. I wasn't exaggerating when I said I was full of surprises."
And then, with a flicker, he disappears. Just gone. Startled, you jump up from the hood of the car and let out a surprised gasp. You turn around, searching, as if that will make him appear again.
"Jack?" you ask loudly, but there's no sign of your date. What the hell? Where did he go?
"Actually, it's Wheeljack, love." His voice suddenly comes from the car and you narrow your eyes - the driver's seat is empty. "Or Jackie. If you want anything to do with me after all this."
To your horror, the car moves of its own accord, metal reforming with the sound of steel refusing to break under enormous pressure, and then there it is, at least 20 feet tall, a giant - something. A giant robot car.
"Aaahh..." You step back, arms held protectively to your chest, unsure of the proper response to such a thing. Run? Scream? Cry? All three things at once?
"I'm not human," the robot says with a shrug. "Sorry to disappoint. Probably a dealbreaker for you."
"Ahhh..."
He clicks his tongue, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. That alone raises the question of why a robot car has a tongue, but his voice is still that of Jack, who teased you tonight about how you blush when he pays you a compliment. That you're easily embarrassed and he finds it very charming. You laughed at that, but it's true, his words are like oil, lighting a fire in you that hasn't quite gone out yet.
"I-- Give me a second," you ask, covering your face with your hands to suppress the intrusive panic in your brain. "You're a-- you're a car?"
He shrugs. "Sometimes, yes."
"And a robot?"
"Yup."
"And a human?"
"No, that's just an avatar I can control from my real body."
You need to sit down. It's the only thing that seems to make sense at the moment. Sitting down and coping with the fact that your date, this guy you're so attracted to, is a giant robot. Maybe your mom was right, maybe you should have done literally anything else but become a rockstar. Then your date wouldn’t be a huge metal dude, right?
"Built by humans or from outer space?"
"The latter. Another planet. Pretty far away."
An alien robot. An alien car robot. Seriously, this just goes to show you how bad your luck is when it comes to something like love - there's always a catch!
"Okay." You take a deep breath, remove your hands from your face, and look up at the robot, who is giving you a very awkward, crooked smile. "I appreciate your honesty."
"But?"
"But..." Good heavens, how are you supposed to put into words the feelings that are raging in your chest right now? "You have to admit, it's-- it's a lot to take in."
He grunts amusedly, obviously relieved that you're taking it all so calmly. At least you didn't run away screaming. "Probably, yeah. Like I said: Sorry."
"Does Miko know that you're--?"
"Yup."
"Oh man." The weirdest and worst part is that the whole thing doesn't shock you as much as you'd expect. Sure, it's not every day that you go on a date with a 20-foot robot from outer space, but really... it doesn't change much, does it? At least it doesn't change the fact that you spent the entire evening laughing at Jack's dirty jokes, listened to him talking about his best friend Bulkhead and having a minor heart attack every time he touched you. It doesn't change the fact that you still love his voice and the way he looks at you: With that quiet admiration in his eyes, like he can't believe that something as beautiful as you exists.
And hey - if a real robot from outer space, one who's probably seen a lot, thinks you're hot, that's got to be a hell of a compliment, right?
"It's going to take me a while to process this," you finally say. "Give me a week or two and I'll probably figure it all out. Probably. Maybe."
Wheeljack kneels down to be a little more on your level. He seems surprised. "So you want to see me again?"
"Idiot," you grumble, giving him a reproving look. "Of course I do, we got along great today! I had a lot of fun!"
"Heh." he grunts. "So you're full of surprises too."
He only gets a warning growl, because he's not out of the woods yet - after all, he lied to you from the beginning. That needs to be made up for!
"This date is over for today," you say, waving him down. "Come here."
Wheeljack raises an eyebrow in question, but does as he's told; he leans his massive metal torso toward you with a care that makes your cheeks blush again. Such a huge creature, so careful not to frighten you. Your hand rests on his faceplate, which is surprisingly warm for a robot. Swallowing hard, you gather your courage and lean forward to plant a soft kiss on his lips.
A kiss that promises two things: There will be a second date. And: If you lie to me again, you'll be recycled into scrap metal.
"This is what humans do when a date has been nice," you mutter as you pull away from him. "A good night kiss."
"I like that," Wheeljack replies, following your lead and planting a gentle kiss on your cheek as you look away in embarrassment, wondering what the hell you're doing here. Are you dating a giant robot now?! "Come on, I'll drive you home."
"Hard to believe I was inside you," you grumble as the robot collapses into himself and the Lancia Stratos reappears, white with red and green highlights. Hard to believe you're getting involved with... this.
And it's hard to believe you still think this guy's super hot.
.