Moonracer took the turn wildly, skidding across the dirt road into the thick green grass. She could hear her tires struggle to get a grip, and rolled sluggishly across the mud and peat until she got back onto the asphalt.
"Not your best turn!" Blurr crowed triumphantly, speeding past her. He had a better grasp of what his car could and couldn't do, which Moonracer attributed to more practice, because Blurr was a silverspoon spoiled brat who didn't need to work for a living. Although, to be fair, that descriptor probably applied to Moonracer, too.
"I'll show you a good turn," Moonracer grumbled, thrumming her car back up to speed. She zoomed past the other racers.
"I think you just took out a flowerbed; Daisy's, probably." Blurr's tongue was poking out between his teeth—a testament to his concentration. He wasn't even chattering as much as he usually did.
Moonracer held her breath as she took the next turn. Her car skidded, the tires perpendicular to the road. At the apex of the turn, she jammed down on the gas, completing the drift in an elegant spray of dirt. Flawless.
She sped forwards, past the finish line and into her third and final lap. Blurr was ahead of her, about a hundred feet or so, perfectly beatable if he made just one mistake. Moonracer pressed the gas as low as it would go; her thumbs ached with the tension. They came around the turn again.
"Come on," Moonracer said under her breath. She slid into a drift, a perfect, lazy drift, and evened out along the straight. Her car churned dirt under its wheels and she blasted forwards, neck and neck with Blurr. She glanced over. Blurr's face was taut with attention, his eyebrows narrowed and his forehead creased.
"Still think you can beat me?" Moonracer's car inched forwards as it sped down the track, chewing away the few remaining feet between her and Blurr.
Blurr paused for a second, and a mean grin curled on his face.
"Well, I can't, but Baby Peach might have something to say about that, she's a chatty one, you know, for a baby I mean; not that babies can talk.
Moonracer looked at the bottom of the screen. "Aw, fuck."
The blue shell twisted its way around the track, like a vicious blue warhead, here to shatter all of Moonracer's hopes and dreams. Poor Rosalina didn't stand a chance. Dry Bones sped into first.
"Damnit, Blurr," Moonracer threw a handful of popcorn at him. Blur laughed and jumped away, rolling off the couch and into the hardwood floor.
"Are you two done?" Perceptor said without looking up from his papers. "Can I concentrate now?"
Moonracer threw a handful of popcorn at him too. "Don't you have TAs for this kind of thing?"
"No," Perceptor grabbed the papers and jumped back from the table, "Moonracer, you're going to get grease on everything!"
"Aw man," Moonracer ildy ate an unpopped kernel, "can't have your students knowing that you come home from work and do more work for the sake of their education. What'll they think of you?"
"You vastly overestimate how much freshmen care about learning."
"Freshmen?" Blurr stuck his head over the back of the couch. "I thought you only taught graduate classes now because one of the other teachers complained you were teaching beyond the scope of the course, and you were like," he feigned a posh accent, "knowledge does not begin or end based on the syllabus Mr. Mixmaster. And then the chemistry lab exploded because of something to do with hydrogen and that's why you don't teach undergrads."
"Well, yes, but Beachcomber is out for the week because he's on a weeklong hike in the Rockies with Hound. I'm covering his classes. And converting all of his geology freshmen to biochemistry majors."
"Can he cover your apartment?" Moonracer teased.
"Mean!"
"He lives off campus, so the university hasn't bought up his housing block yet." Perceptor explained. He paused for a second, reread the last sentence, then went back and attacked it with his red pen. "Anyways, he doesn't owe me for two years of couch surfing."
"In my defense," Blurr raised a finger, "you have a very nice couch. Ah, had, maybe. Or, have, yes, because it's still in storage; oh did you ever solve that issue with the mice, or are there still terrifying mice babies in all of your blankets?"
Perceptor pressed a hand against his forehead. "Please refrain from jogging my memory."
"That bad?" Moonracer asked. "You know, you could just move in with that hunky army guy you used to tutor. He probably doesn't have a couch. Or a pathological fear of pinkies."
Perceptor shot her a nasty glare.
"Oh, I remember him," Blurr blurted out, "the tall one: he invited us to go out drinking once and his buddies made fun of you for ordering a Shirley Temple, and then he punched them, and then we got kicked out of the bar so you dragged us to that dinosaur exhibit at the Uni and he pretended to pay attention while the rest of us got trashed on gas station beer. That was fun; we should invite them out again."
"Yeah, the skinny one could do shots like a champ." Moonracer sucked air through her teeth. "What was his name again? Scoop? Speaking of, what was the big guy's name? G-something, right Blurr?"
"Gargemel?"
"You two are so funny," Perceptor said drily, trying and failing to hide his furious blush by holding his papers in front of his face. "True connoisseurs of witticism."
"Says the connoisseur of couches."
Perceptor smiled. "I have enough letters behind my name to definitively say that your couch is awful. Black leather? As if you need to advise that this is a bachelor pad. The unwashed dishes do that for you."
"Hey, Blurr and I have a super cool Will and Grace thing going on and you're here ruining the sexy appeal of my couch by leaving sweaters all over it."
"You do dress like an old man, Perceptor." Blurr nodded. "I talk about you with my psychiatrist and he thinks you're compensating for the fact that you're so young by physically distancing yourself from your students via fashion choices. I told him you just have bad circulation."
"I don't want fashion advice from people who dress like their cars, thank you."
"Mint green is great and you'd feel better about yourself if you'd dye your hair a wild color."
"Ginger is wild enough for me."
"Boooringgg," Moonracer gave him a thumbs down and puffed out her cheeks. "I'm thinking blue, but like cornflower. You're too pale to pull off Blurr's color."
"The dye wouldn't even bind to my hair." Perceptor looked up from his papers and adjusted his glasses. Moonracer prepared to tune him out. "The aromatic amines would fail to properly oxidize the hair shaft, due to the low concentrations of eumelanin in the hair itself. The typical coloring reaction—the binding of the amine to the hair shaft—would certainly produce results, but the coloration simply wouldn't last. That besides, there has been not insignificant research into the carcinogenic properties of artificial hair dyes, and I'd like to avoid dying young if I can help it."
Moonracer grimaced and blinked slowly. "You done?"
"Yes."
"Small words," Blurr said, "please. You can put as many of them together as you want but you have a three syllable limit on any individual word."
"'Individual' has five syllables."
"I don't have a limit." Blurr pressed his hands to his chest.
"Maybe I should go find my dissertation." Perceptor rubbed his chin. "How interested are you in metalloproteinases?"
"You know who would be super interested in metalloproteinwhatevers?" Moonracer piped up. "Gri-"
Her phone went off. Blurr and Perceptor looked at her.
"What is this?" Blurr squinted. It was a rare thing that could reduce him to semi-normal speaking speeds.
"It's catchy!" Moonracer scrambled for her phone. It was where she dumped it upon waking up, which meant it was stuffed in a jar of coffee beans by the stove. She really wasn't a morning person.
"Moonracer, this sounds like an analyzer catching a probe." Perceptor covered his ears with the ends of his sleeves.
"All I hear from you is blah, blah, blah, science!" Moonracer called over her obnoxious ringtone, digging through the coffee.
"All I hear is fork in a disposal noises!" Blurr shouted over a particularly loud screech. "I'm so glad we don't have neighbors!"
"Got it!" Moonracer cried, clutching her phone. It smelled like coffee, but that was never a bad thing. She answered. "Hello?"
"Oh, uh, Moonracer," Moonracer recognized the voice, but couldn't place it, "I didn't think you be home. To answer the phone. So I could leave a message." The last sentence was a quiet grumble. Ah. That was where she knew the voice.
"Arcee?"
"Er, yeah." Arcee said. "This is Officer Acree. Well, it's actually regular Arcee right now; I'm not on duty. Listen, I, ah, wanted to talk to you. Which is why I called you. Am calling you. Ah, now."
"Oh?" Moonracer pulled back the other kitchen chair and sprawled all over Perceptor's papers, earning herself a disgusted glare.
"Yeah."
Moonracer waited thirty seconds, but Arcee didn't continue.
"What did you want to talk about?' She hazarded.
"Oh, uh," Moonracer heard the shuffling of papers over the phone. "Uh, I was wondering if you might be amenable to, uh, shit I can't read my own handwriting," Arcee mumbled, then spoke up. "Ah, to maybe going on a d—hanging out. On Friday. Together."
"Well, I can't hang out with you by myself, now can I?" Holy shit, Arcee was adorable. It wasn't the first thing that came to mind when thinking of a rangy supercop who had once made the papers for single handedly busting a Dark Energon operation after having been shot, but this stuttering, nervous Arcee wasn't the one the Journal had interviewed.
Moonracer settled comfortably back into her chair, one leg hiked up onto the cushion. She idly twirled a strand of hair.
"Who is it?" Blurr whispered. "Is it Strika? Does she want a threesome? If it is: hang up! Block her number!"
Moonracer flapped a hand at him.
"I suppose you can't." Arcee tittered nervously, then coughed. "Uh, sooo, dinner?"
"I do like food." Moonracer nodded. "Where were you thinking?"
"I know that look." Blurr leaned across the table, scattering Perceptor's papers. Perceptor threw his hands in the air and crossed his arms. "That's a flirting look! Who is she? Do I know her? What kind of car does she have?"
"Shut up, Blurr," Moonracer hissed through her teeth, and returned to the phone just in time to catch Arcee's sentence.
"Oh, uh, I dunno. Someplace fancy, maybe? Like Olive Garden?"
Fancy like Olive Garden? Moonracer pulled her cellphone away from her ear and made a face at it. "You are so lucky you're hot." She held the phone back up. "Sure, sounds great! How about seven?"
"Right, seven." Moonracer heard the scribble of a pen. "Good. I guess it's a date, then. Uh, I mean, not a date-date, but like a date like a time—"
"It's a date, Arcee." Moonracer giggled. "I'll see you Tuesday?"
"Yeah. Sounds… good. Bye." Arcee hung up the phone before Moonracer could say goodbye.
"Well?" Blurr looked at her expectantly.
"Gentlemen," Moonracer climbed up on the table and spread her arms out. Perceptor grimaced at her bare feet. "I have a date." She paused for a second and looked down at her sweatpants and hoodie combo. "And I have nothing to wear. You know what this means?"
Blurr hurdled onto the table to join her and picked her up, swing her wildly and narrowly missing Perceptor's head.
"Shopping!"
"Perceptor, there is an old man going faster than you. He's probably going to his own funeral, and even he can hit thirty-five." Moonracer jabbed her finger at the window, pointing to the centenarian in question.
"Well, you can catch a ride with him, then." Perceptor grumbled, leaning forwards and squinting at the street signs. "What does that sign say?"
"Fifth avenue." Blurr bounced forward in the backseat and flung his arms around Moonracer's headrest. "I actually didn't know cars could go this slow and keep moving forwards, maybe you should do a dissertation on that and maybe you should speed up. People keep flashing their highbeams at us."
"It's a Saturday afternoon," Perceptor twisted in his seat to check his left shoulder before shifting lanes. "Wherever they're going, it isn't that urgent. Besides, if you wanted to go fast, you could have just taken your own cars."
Moonracer and Blurr gaped at him like he had just suggested that they ritually sacrifice a baby to some dark god.
"Primus, Perceptor, why don't you just slap me next time." There was a reason they took Perceptor's ugly station wagon out on casual trips—it was hot garbage on four wheels and neither of them cared if some soccer mom rammed a shopping cart into it. In fact, it would probably improve the appearance. Perceptor's car had faux wood panels for Sigma's sake.
"I think I'll just take another lap around the parking lot. You know, I've managed to idle this thing around the entirety of campus once. I'm sure I can do it with a mall parking lot."
"Doesn't Geneva forbid this or something?" Blurr threw himself back into the backseat, an arm thrown dramatically over his face. "Perceptor, I'm suffering. Suffering!"
"No sensibility, either of you," Perceptor said, pulling into an empty spot, surrounded by other, emptier spots. He shut off the engine.
"Wow, Perceptor, you couldn't have parked further away?"
Perceptor paused and put his keys back into the ignition. "Well, there are a few empty spots in the commuter lot a few miles away."
"Okay, okay," Moonracer held her hands up, scrambling out of the passenger's side. "I'm out."
Blurr was already outside, stretching and getting ready to run a few laps around the car. Moonracer tagged him on the shoulder, then hurdled over the hood of the car.
"Hey!" Perceptor shouted, then ducked back into the car and slammed the door shut as Blurr lunged over the roof. He cranked the window down. "Don't dent the roof!"
Moonracer strafed around the trunk, leaving Blurr struggling to detach himself from the antenna. Perceptor crawled out through the passenger side and reached up to help pull Blurr's shirt buttons loose from where they were snagged on the sagging rubber lining of the windows.
"Aw, man," Moonracer crowed, "look how slow you are."
He lunged for her just as Perceptor tugged the last button loose and sprinted across the parking lot. Moonracer shrieked and bolted away.
"Can't catch me!" Moonracer howled, ducking around an ornament shrub.
"Moonracer!" Blurr barreled after her. Blurr was much faster than her (she hadn't been a record holding sprinter in high school, after all), but she wasn't that much of a turtle. Besides, after sitting down all day, it felt nice to get out and move.
She rounded a streetlamp and stumbled to a stop. "Uh, shit. Watch yourself Blurr!"
Blurr ran into her and caught himself on her shoulder before he fell. "Ah. Perceptor! Sharps!"
"What do you want me to do about it?" Perceptor huffed and puffed, jogging steadily up to them. He rested his hands on his knees for a bit, heaving for air, then squatted next to the used needle. "Dark energon, I'd say, judging by the viscosity and our location, although it could be a particularly low cut of methadone. Less likely, but still a possibility." He snapped a picture of the syringe, entered the GPS location and time, then retrieved a sharps bin and a pair of tongs from his backpack, and picked up the syringe."Excellent. I'll toss this in the mass spec on Monday."
"Remind me why you're picking up used needles?" Moonracer squinted and frowned, giving Perceptor a wide berth.
"Commissioner Magnus has the university involved in some tracing program for dark energon. If we can definitively associate a certain variety of dark energon with a particular area of the town, then we can trace trafficking routes. From that, we can discover users, buyers, sellers, dealers, etcetera. Magnus is looking to track down that gang. So about deceiving. I'm using it as an excuse to do correlation studies between the new mass spec and the drug analyzers down in health sciences." He pursed his lips. "Thus far, I am unimpressed."
"What does impress you, Perceptor?"
"Oh, everything," he was entirely genuine when he said it, too. Moonracer had never met someone so fascinated by literally everything on earth. He was almost as much of a scatterbrain as Blurr, which was probably why they became friends in the first place. "Except the new mass spec. Standard deviations should not be that large."
"Whatever you say." They began walking toward the mall. Well, Moonracer and Perceptor were walking. Blurr was doing suicides between them and the entrance. Too much extra energy, but hey, he was having fun.
"Okay, itinerary." Moonracer said, counting on her fingers. "I'm thinking we go from the bottom up: shoes, panties and bra, dress, hair. And maybe we'll eat."
"Oh," Blurr caught up to them and threw his arms over their shoulders. "Add one of those fancy lotion places to the list. My parents are coming over and I need to buy tiny soaps for the bathroom, on account of mom loves, loves, loves fancy soap."
"I'll duck into the bookstore while you two shop?" Perceptor said hopefully.
"Aw, Perceptor," Moonracer tugged on his arm, "I need your sensible fashion advice or I'm going to end up going to dinner in fishnets and one of Blurr's track tee shirts."
Perceptor gave her a despairing look.
"Please?" She grinned. "I'll buy you that gross vanilla tea you like?"
"Well…"
"Pleaseeee?"
"Fine, fine. But I'm still going to the bookstore."
"Awesome!" Moonracer fist pumped. "Anyways, I thought you read everything online now? Progress and the way of the future and all that."
"Looking forward to the future doesn't mean we abandon the past. Besides, I want a physical copy of Cell so I can throw darts at it."
"It's that bad?" Blurr said.
"There's an article on phospholipids and I feel like the authors are trying to personally insult me."
"I'll take your word for it." They walked into the mall, sighing deeply once they entered the climate controlled comfort of air conditioning. It wasn't too hot out, being nearly December, but Nevada was never not in need of some cooling. Moonracer fanned herself with the collar of her shirt.
"Alright, gentlemen. You ready?"
"Yes!"
"...Extatic."
"Okay, these," Moonracer held up a pair of white three inch stilettos. "but in a six."
"I think I see a pair up there." Perceptor squinted at the top shelf, easily five feet above his head.
"Huh."
"My thoughts exactly."
"Is Blurr still getting coffee?" Moonracer heaved a stool over and clambered on top of it.
"I think he's started conversing with the barista. He might be a while."
"Great. Hey, Perceptor, hop up here. I think we can reach it if I lift you."
Perceptor stepped up onto the stool, balancing around Moonracer. "This is a terrible idea."
"Probably." Moonracer agreed. She grabbed Perceptor around the waist and hoisted him upwards. He was skinny, and unlike Blurr, that skinniness wasn't mostly made of muscle. She wobbled unsteadily.
"Size six?" Perceptor's voiced held a tinge of fear, like a reasonable man.
"Yep." Moonracer grunted, shifting her shoulder against Perceptor's hip. "You get it?"
"Er, almost—ah!"
Perceptor pulled the box down. He also pulled down a few other boxes, half of the shelving unit, and Moonracer. Moonracer propped herself up on her elbows and tugged the heel on.
"Perfect fit." Moonracer pulled Perceptor off of her and hauled him upright. "Uh. let's pick these up."
"Come on, Blurr!" Moonracer struggled to clip her bra.
"Nope, nuhuh, no way, no how, Moonracer!" Blurr shouted from outside the dressing room. "We're best friends, grew up together, you don't like boys, I don't like girls, seen you naked before, held each other's hair over toilets, ectera, ectera, ectera but I'm not coming in there to help you put your bra on. There are too many weird snaps and straps and I don't understand them; they don't make sense!"
"I'm suffering here, Blurr." Moonracer untangled herself. The bra snapped over the dressing room door. "Sorry!"
"It's fine." Blurr shot it back to her.
"Anyways, opinions on the color? I'm thinking I'd look better in something a bit darker, maybe navy."
"Are you planning on getting undressed in the middle of dinner? I mean I'm pretty sure that's illegal and then Arcee will arrest you and I'm pretty getting arrested by your date is the worst way dinner can end."
"Alright, Mr. Logical. What happens if I spill cheap Italian food on myself and have to whip my dress off before it burns me?" She paused. "In this scenario, they serve pasta at above boiling temperatures."
"Why would Olive Garden give you three hundred degree pasta?" Came Perceptor's voice. He was nose deep in some book on red blood cells and was only barely paying attention to the conversation. "Fahrenheit."
"Oh, gee, thanks for mentioning it," Moonracer held the pale green satin up next to her skin, eying it critically, "I totally thought Olive Garden used the Kelvin scale. Gotta get that pasta next to absolute zero. Anyways, so yeah. Grab me the same size, but that lacy navy one we saw."
"Matching underwear, too?"
"Surprise me. Let's mix things up a bit."
"I thought you were supposed to try on clothes before you ate." Perceptor said in between bites of vegetable lo mein.
"Well, if I don't want to eat on my date, yeah, but that sounds miserable. My desire to be squished in my clothes is like zero. Besides, I'm hungry."
"If Arcee can't accept her as a size sixteen instead of a size fourteen then she does not deserve to date her. Simple!" Blurr gestured wildly with his fork, nearly hitting Perceptor with a stray fry. It went sailing through the air and landed neatly in someone's open cup.
As one, they ducked, hiding their faces.
"That wasn't the point I was trying to make," Perceptor said quietly, and his eyes went soft, "but I have glanced at fashion magazines before. Not the advice I'd take. Very unsound."
"It's cool, Perceptor." Moonracer held up her hand. "Cosmo's total bull anyways."
"Cosmos is a perfectly fine person. Wonderful astronomer. A touch distracted, but who isn't?"
Moonracer reached across the table and shoved him, good naturedly, and stole a fry from Blurr on the way back. He poked her hand with his fork and nabbed a nacho in recompense. "Ha ha. Master of comedy, Perceptor."
"I try my best."
"Alright!" Blurr said, victoriously stuffing the last of his burger into his mouth, "let's go!"
Perceptor and Moonracer looked at him, then at their full trays.
"Er, after you're finished."
Moonracer was admiring herself in the mirror when Perceptor scrambled under the dressing room door.
"Hide me," he hissed, then crawled up on the low bench to keep his feet out of sight.
"What?" Moonracer shouted, then clapped a hand over her mouth and whispered, "what?"
"Shh," he pressed his index finger over his mouth, "I'm not here."
"Oh, hey!" Blurr shouted from outside. Moonracer could see his arms waving wildly over the top of the dressing room door. "Gargamel!"
Moonracer looked at Perceptor. "Seriously?"
Perceptor shot her a pleading look. Moonracer rolled her eyes. "You are so lucky I already had this on."
"It looks very good on you." Perceptor said, pressing his back into the wall. "You were right about the darker colors."
"Aw, thanks. Do you think the hem is too short?" Moonracer sat next to him. "It rides up a little when I sit."
"Hmm. You could wear pantyhose if it really bothered you, but I think it looks fine."
Moonracer nodded. "Not a bad idea. I have this floral print pair that looks pretty good. And it'd go with this lacy crap on my dress. Well, jumper, but whatever."
"What's the difference?"
"Jumpers have shorts." Moonracer tugged at her hem to demonstrate. "See?"
"Very practical."
"Blurr, yeah?" A gruff voice said from outside. Perceptor shrank further in on himself. "We went drinking once! You were the one who downed like three things of five-hour-energy on a dare and then you punched Slag. That was pretty great. His face was bruised to fuck and back for a week."
"Right! You're Gargamel, or G-something; I can't really remember your name but we were actually just talking about you, Moonracer, Perceptor, and myself that is, isn't that a funny co-incidence!"
"Uh, yeah."
"Anyways, speaking of, what was your name again, I'm Blurr, but you already know that." Moonracer could see through the slats on the door that Blurr stuck out his hand for the man to shake, which he did. He seemed a touch stunned, but Blurr did that to people.
"Grimlock?" He said it like he was unsure. Perceptor buried his face in his hands.
"Ugh."
"That bad?" Moonracer patted his back. It always shocked her how boney Perceptor was, but that was probably because he forgot to eat unless someone reminded him. Talk about your distractible scientists.
"He asked me to dinner last time I saw him." Perceptor hissed, taking off his glasses and scrubbing them clean with his shirttail. "Dinner, Moonracer! Oh, he played it off as some celebratory end of semester thing, but I wasn't born yesterday."
"Arcee asked me to dinner. It's not like it's a proposal."
"Dinner and a museum! He wanted me to explain carbon dating to him. He hates science! He failed biology twice before Skyfire made him go to me for tutoring! Doing something you hate because you want to be around someone you like is not unserious. Moonracer," he sighed deeply, "I have never been able to commit to anything other than science in my entire life. And I have four degrees in four separate fields."
"Vector Sigma," Moonracer said, slinging an arm over Perceptor's shoulder, "and I thought I had relationship drama. You sure you just didn't convince him to love a new subject?"
Perceptor frowned deeply and didn't answer her. Outside, Blurr and Grimlock started conversation about football, which Moonracer knew he didn't really care for, but Blurr had been a jack of all sports in high school, and had played on whatever teams didn't have conflicting seasons.
"Alright," she said to Perceptor, "I'm going out because I want Blurr's opinion. I guess you can stay in here."
"Wonderful. That is exactly what I want to do."
Moonracer roller her eyes and stepped out of the dressing room.
"Alright, Blurr, how do I—oh," she feigned surprise, "Grimlock! What a total co-incidence seeing you here."
"Moonracer, right?" Grimlock was tall, tall enough to make Blurr look like he could grow a few inches, and about two Blurrs wide. In other words: big. He was all hard muscle, too. Not just Mr. Universe stuff, but actually, working muscle—probably from hauling around oversized guns all day, or whatever it was army people did. His imposing figure aside, he had a pretty average face, with slightly crooked teeth, dark brown eyes, and a short crew cut. He looked a bit older than them, which struck Moonracer a touch odd for someone who Perceptor tutored, but she supposed nontraditional students were pretty common.
"Yeah!" Moonracer stuck out her hand and enthusiastically shook Grimlock's. "Nice to see you again. Anyways," she turned to Blurr, "how do I look?"
"Hmm." Blurr twirled a finger and Moonracer obligingly gave a twist. "Good!" he gave her a thumbs up. "Fun but classy! Real Olive Garden material."
"It's even got pockets. Grimlock," she turned to him, "what do you think?"
He shrugged violently. From the increasingly deepening line in-between his eyebrows, he really didn't want to be here.
Moonracer ignored his sour attitude. Some people just didn't like shopping—and those people were wrong.
"Really cute, huh?"
"I guess. Don't really care about fashion. Clothes and shit."
He didn't care about fashion. Absolutely disgusting; no way was Moonracer letting such a detestable example of humanity anywhere near poor Perceptor. He could stay safe and sound in the ladies' dressing room until Grimlock left. Moonracer pursed her mouth. Actually, knowing Perceptor and his thrift store sweater habits, maybe Grimlock wouldn't be too bad for him.
Moonracer stifled a sigh and forced a smile. "Thanks! Sooo, what're you doing here? Did you guys get, like shore leave, or whatever?"
"Back from deployment, yeah. Slag's buying some… jewelry thing for his girlfriend."
"Oh? How cute! How about you?" Moonracer batted her eyes. She heard Blurr hide a snort, and elbowed him in the ribs.
"Am I buying jewelry for Slag's girlfriend?" Grimlock squinted.
"Haha, no silly," Moonracer batted her hand. "Your own girlfriend."
Grimlock's face went flat, his jaw tense. It was almost impressive how expressionless he was. Moonracer knew the feeling, and the expression—it was the one she made almost entirely through high school, the one she saw one day, mirrored in Blurr, wiping his nose behind the bleachers, and then in Perceptor, sitting alone in the library with cracked glasses. Aw. She couldn't be unkind to this one.
"Or boyfriend, whatever."
"No." Grimlock grunted, but his face lightened slightly, heavy brow unfurrowing.
"So you came for emotional support? How sweet!" Judging by Grimlock's face, he didn't find anything about it sweet. What a grump. "Anyways, Blurr waved you over?"
"Yeah. I, uh," Was that a stutter? Oh, he was in deep. "Thought I saw Perceptor, uh, Doctor Perceptor. I was gonna tell him I passed. Graduated, actually. Fuckin' finally."
"Oh congratulations!" Moonracer clapped her hands together. "But, er, I thought you only needed a high school diploma to get enlisted?"
"Yeah." Grimlock laughed. "How the hell do you think I could've gotten in if they wanted college? But," he fell back into that serious look of his, "can't get very far if you're enlisted. Need to be an officer. Better chance of that with a BS after your name. Most officers are full of it anyway."
Well, at least he had a sense of humor.
"Aw. I bet Perceptor will be really happy to hear you passed. Did you want us to tell him when we see him?" Moonracer surreptitiously kicked the door behind her.
Grimlock rubbed the back of his head. "Kinda wanted to tell him myself. Wanted to talk to him."
"Oh, what about?" Moonracer knew she was pushing, but who was going to get these noncommittal morons together if not her?
"Stuff." Primus.
"What kind of stuff—"
The dressing room door opened. Perceptor frowned at her and readjusted his glasses.
He coughed. "Ah, Moonracer, it seems that needle you pointed out to me wasn't a needle at all. I'm afraid I won't be able to use it in my study. Hello Grimlock."
"Doc!" Grimlock visibly brightened and took a nervous, hulking step towards Perceptor. "Uh, Doctor, sorry."
"You can call me Perceptor, Grimlock. After all, I don't call you Corporeal." Perceptor's patently false grin faltered. "Er, unless, that is, you wanted me to."
"No, no," Grimlock held out his hands, "my name is fine."
Perceptor smiled genuinely this time. "You graduated?"
"Yeah. Didn't ever think I'd do that. Didn't think I'd need to."
"I'm glad." Perceptor stepped closer and awkwardly clasped Grimlock's hand, giving it sort of a confused half shake. Grimlock flushed slightly and coughed.
"Uhhh, you said somethin' about a study?"
Perceptor looked confused for a half second before he remembered his lie. "Oh, yes! I'm doing a tracking study on Dark Energon; the varieties and locations and such."
"Be nice to heard about it. I like listening to you explain' stuff."
Moonracer gave Perceptor a thumbs up from behind Grimlock.
"Uh, well, certainly. Where to begin…" Perceptor had a habit of pacing while he spoke, so in no time at all he and Grimlock had wandered off across the clothing store. Moonracer held up her hand. Blurr obligingly gave her a high-five.
"Forget racing; I'm a born matchmaker."
"Now all you have to do is use your charms on Arcee. Piece of cake, or piece of pie, maybe."
"Har har." Moonracer shifted her weight. "I'm gonna get changed out of this thing and check out."
She did so, switching back to her comfy sweats. A thriftier person would perhaps not bother to buy a new outfit for dinner, but Moonracer was born into money and a touch spiteful towards her parents. She brandished her credit card like a weapon.
"Ready?" She grabbed Blurr and took the long way to the exit to pick up Perceptor, who nervously waved goodbye to Grimlock.
"I'll see you next week then?"
"Yeah." Grimlock's face was ruddy.
He walked a little faster than Moonracer and Blurr, probably so they couldn't poke him in the side until he caved and spilled the details of his date.
Unfortunately for him, he wasn't very fast.
"Perceptorrrr!" Moonracer crowed, slinging an arm over his shoulder. She crushed him into her chest and just barely refrained from giving him a noogie.
"Moonracer!" Perceptor despaired, struggling to get free, "Let go!"
"Whaddya think, Blurr?" She turned to him and grinned. They were headed to the little beauty salon to pick up soap and hair dye now, which meant they were almost finished shopping, which meant Blurr was on the twitchier side of normal.
"Good! Except for if it goes wrong, which could happen but probably won't unless it does, in which case it's bad, but it's probably going to be good. What about your date, Moonracer? Do you think it'll go good? Last time you said Arcee passed out, so I don't think it can be any worse really, or at least it'd take concentrated effort to make it go worse, and since you want it to work and she wants to work, unless she doesn't, it'll probably work."
"Awesome!" Moonracer dragged Perceptor into the soap store and let him up. He looked remarkable ruffled. "Aw, c'mon Perceptor."
"C'mon Perceptor what?" Perceptor mimicked. "Look, I appreciate your help, but please keep your nose out of my relationships. I remember what happened the last time you tried to help."
"Uh, yeah? Me too, and as far as I can remember, it was a net positive for you, sooo."
"That isn't the point, Moonracer," Perceptor ran a hand through his hair.
"Then what is?" Moonracer ducked into the hair dye aisle and picked up her favorite shade of seafoam.
"The point is I'd like to be able to resolve my own problems."
"You know you don't need to do that, right? No man is an island and all that. We're your friends, Perceptor, and we're here to help you."
"So you've told me." Perceptor smiled wryly. "Look, could we speak about this later? I'm not done with the subject, but I don't think I'll be able to properly articulate my reasoning without a bit of planning."
"Primus, you make it sound like a parent-teacher conference. But yeah, sure." Moonracer stuck out her hand and Perceptor shook it. "We'll talk. Holy shit, look at that bar of soap."
Moonracer brushed past Perceptor and snatched the soap off the shelf. It was completely worthy of a holy shit, given that it was a bright blue racecar, or, at least, what people who didn't race thought racecars looked like. Perfect.
"Blurr!"
All things considered, they got out of the mall in record time. It was pitch black outside.
"I can't believe you spent so long throwing soap at each other." Perceptor fussed, holding his keys above his head. "Do either of you see my car?"
"I'm gonna guess it's the only car still here. Look, right next to the lamp post…" Moonracer trailed off and stopped dead, grabbing Blurr's arm.
"What?" Blurr squinted at the car and blanched, then grabbed Perceptor. "Do you—?"
"Yeah." Moonracer bit her lip. Perceptor leaned back and struggled to make out what they were looking at. "I see."
"I can't make anything out. What is it?"
"Why are you driving at night, Perceptor? Can you even see me?" Moonracer said. Blurr dragged both of them back a few steps. "There's somebody standing next to your car."
The figure was silhouetted by the light. It was probably a bit taller than Moonracer, but beyond that, she couldn't make anything out.
"Should we call security? Actually, does it look like they're trying to break in? I have about a thousand dollars worth of textbooks in the trunk and I'd rather they didn't get stolen." Perceptor's voice had taken on that strained quality of someone trying their very best not to panic. Blurr had backed them back up to the mall entrance, clever, clever man that he was.
"We could go over there." Moonracer suggested. "I've got pepper spray."
Blurr looked at her, his face tight. "Okay, so what happens if he has a gun?"
Moonracer pressed her fingers to her cheek. "Shit. I hadn't thought about that. So what do we do?"
"Wait," Perceptor whispered, "are they moving?"
Moonracer squinted. Yes, Perceptor was right. The figure was walking away from the car, across the parking lot towards the interstate.
"I say we wait like five minutes and check it out." Moonracer said decisively. "Maybe they were just lost and we're all making a big deal out of nothing."
As one, they deflated.
"Vector Sigma," Blurr hissed, "we're terrible at this. I mean, really terrible! We should do drills, like fire drills, but 'creep' drills."
"Thank goodness we took your car," Moonracer elbowed Perceptor in the side.
"Our stranger probably would have stolen something that looks like it's from this century, yes." Perceptor readjusted his glasses.
Moonracer took the lead and started walking back towards Perceptor's car. Blurr and Perceptor followed her, tight on her tail. Out of the corner of her eye, something moved.
"Sigma!" She shouted, sending Blurr scrabbling for the mall entrance and Perceptor diving for cover behind an ornamental shrub. A bird hopped out of a tree. As one, they exhaled.
"Moonracer!"
"Look, I gave myself a heart attack too." Moonracer pressed a hand over her chest and readjusted her shopping bags. "Holy shit. This is too stressful. Let's go home and marathon through the Fast and the Furious."
"Sounds like a plan."
They crossed the parking lot without any further incident. Perceptor unlocked his car and flashed the headlights a few times. Blurr looked out into the darkness.
"I think we're clear, guys. And paranoid. Doctor Rung is going to have a field day with this."
"How about you both get in the car before something else terrifying happens?" Perceptor reached over and unlocked the passenger door. "Moonracer?"
"Ah, actually, you guys should come look at this. This backpack wasn't here before, right?"
Perceptor shut off his car and stepped out to look. Blurr frowned.
"Wasn't that the place the needle was earlier?"
They looked at each other. Blurr found a stick and jabbed the backpack, poking the zipper open. Moonracer flipped on her phone light.
"Oh, my."
"So, is this enough Dark Energon for your research thing, Perceptor?"
"More than enough. We should probably call the police."
Title (both of them) is from Ellie Goulding's Only You.