Title: Scones, Chai Tea, Laughing Whispers
Summary: Mornings after prove to be interesting. Always.
Human! Chromia, Human!BlackarachniaxHuman!Optimus paring, co-starring other Human! Transformers. One-shot.
Warnings: This is a fic with humanization and an AU one to beat. And several hetero pairings. Avoid if this annoys you.
Dedication: To CampionSayn, the author of the story 'Milk, Cold Coffee, Quiet Converse', which inspired me to write this lovely follow-up sequel of sorts.
As lovely as I could make it. I don't think I did her story justice. I'm too dang wordy. That's the problem with me. All words, no emotion. WHY?!
Disclaimer: Transformers:Animated belongs to Hasbro.
The prequel 'Milk, Cold Coffee, Quiet Converse' belongs to CampionSayn, as do some of the ideas. Everything else is mine.
-:-... I didn't fall in love, of course
it's never up to you
but she was walking back and forth
and I was passing through
-Leonard Cohen
Ding. Swoosh.
"Ah! Morning, Chromia!"
"Hnnn."
"'Mia! Sorry, excuse her bad manners. She's…..ah….."
"….I have a killer hangover, dammit."
"Ah….that. Sorry."
"Oh, no, it's perfectly okay. I've been there once. Here, painkillers. There's only two, but they should be enough."
"Thanks, newbie."
"Um….my name's Optimus. Optimus Prime."
"Don't worry, Primey, I haven't forgotten. I just don't think straight when my brain is attempting to escape through my eye sockets."
"…Okay, 'Mia. Thanks for the painkillers, Optimus."
"No problem….Moonie? Sorry, I don't see you around much."
"Moonracer. I work in forensics, mostly. I'm just gonna go and drag her to her office now."
My roommate leads me away to my office, yanking me by the arm, as Optimus disappears into the elevator she and I just left. We bump into Sentinel, that asshole of a deputy chief, and he tosses at me a bundle of paper, and I just know it's gonna be another crappy day.
Oh well, least I have Moonracer's tea to look forward to.
It's not like I can't down a drop of a good cappuccino. But drinking coffee day after day, night after night, hot, cold, sweetened, black, cinnamon, vanilla, with whip, over ice….it gets to a person. And you're anything like me, you're begging for something different every once in a while.
In this case: masala chai.
Mmmm, spiced black tea with milk. The thought makes me smile a little as I plop my ass into my worn, dark blue swerve chair, resting my head against my already plump little pile of paperwork.
Moonracer, amazingly able to find space in my hurricane aftermath of an office, sets down her portable burner on a little table near the door and turns it on.
While the coil warms, she goes to the water canteen outside and fills up her personal shatter-proof teapot. With a cheery hum and a swish of her white, full, lacy knee-length skirts-that are extremely out of place in the leather jackets and dark jeans of the Police Department of Precinct 13-she sets the pot on the burner. She then holds out a tiny hand to me, waiting for the small tin of chai resting in a pocket inside of my gunmetal gray jacket.
"Here. Oi, at least the throbbing went away."
"Chromia, you really shouldn't get drunk. Ever. I don't mind you and your alcohol, and since this is a first-time 'offense', I won't convince our landlord to kick you out…" Tucking a lock of her curly seafoam hair behind her right ear, Moonracer stirs the contents of the pot with a long coffee stirrer she probably robbed from the coffee table outside.
She doesn't mean it. The kick-me-out thing. She just does it to keep me from drinking. Dammit, that girl sometimes. I love her, but I'm not a binge drinker.
"Don't worry, sweetie, Ironhide only gets promoted to SWAT team Captain once in this lifetime. There's no chance in hell I'll get that drunk again."
My roommate says nothing, instead closing the pot and setting the coffee stirrer on the lid. I smell the spices of the chai already, and I feel any traces of fatigue vanish. My headache is still here, but the painkillers Optimus was nice enough to sacrifice to me begin working. Still too sore to lift my head, though, my eyes wander around my office.
My office that looks like my closet. Normally it isn't so trashy, however much I hate to tidy up, but...
…..eh, I really don't care.
My office isn't very big, just big enough to fit my desk, a two-person sofa, one tall cabinet, and two small tables: one near the door, the other between my desk and the sofa.
Dust-covered books sit in the cabinet shelves, clothes sprawl out on the sofa like lazy football fans-slouched with their legs open, a beer in hand-and on the little tables, the lower shelf, and my desk: paperwork. Lots of it. All different colors and subjects. The world's dreariest rainbow is in my room. Certificates, awards, copies of medals of honor, and the occasional drawing or framed picture grace the empty spots on my walls and on my ceiling.
The only picture not pinned or the wall or ceiling, or being hung by fishing line off of something, is a little pewter frame of Ironhide and I, planted on my desk and facing me always. Him holding my waist and kissing me while I flashed my graduate certificate-and a middle finger-to the camera with a huge smile. Our graduation from basic training. Such good times.
Moonracer-not her actual name, but a name she claims she uses when playing World of Warcraft or Star Wars-pulls out a mint green cardigan from her seemingly bottomless messenger bag, and quickly slips her skinny arms into the sleeves.
My lithe roommate/student looks like a porcelain doll, like a love interest from a crappy manga. Her petite frame, skinny limbs, round eyes, long, curly seafoam hair, tiny waist, and sunny grin conceal the intelligent forensics investigator, the quicksilver sharpshooter I'm gearing her up to be.
A white rose with thorns.
My smile widens at this thought, even as she shakes a little from the cold.
"I wonder what happened to the heater here? It's not usually this cold in Detroit."
"I'm not sure", I mumble tiredly. "Maybe it got frozen." Personally I didn't feel anything. Except my hangover finally going away. That means a bottle of…..something…..for Optimus when my next paycheck comes in. He looks tame, a real small-town boy in the big city of Detroit. Social drinker, or abstinent. Maybe a good beer or ale. There's a miniature of vodka in my other jacket pocket. Maybe he'll accept that?
"Morning, ladies!"
I finally have the energy to lift my head. My girl Blackarachnia, my best friend and partner-in-crime, informant to the Police Department of Precinct 13, has entered the building. And it appears she's brought breakfast.
"Well, 'Nia, you're awfully cheery this morning!", Moonie chirps, pouring the finished tea into white porcelain teacups she brought in her bag.
"And you…you have china teacups for….", she takes a long sniff of the air, "….chai tea. What's the occasion? Something to do with Ironhide, Chromia? Or, you, Moonracer, you passed that midterm? Or…please don't tell me you got another boyfriend, Moonie."
Had Blackarachnia been anyone else but my best friend, she'd be on the wrong end of my gun right now. It's not Moonracer's fault she keeps attracting all the assholes. And it's not Blackarachnia's fault she doesn't always sleep, and sometimes says stuff she regrets later. Sentinel is not only a fascist, but a lazy heel of a supervisor. And always slapping her ass. Must make note to chew his hand off for that someday.
The forensics investigator is strong of heart, and takes only a tiny bit of offense at 'Nia's statement. She quietly pours three cups of tea, handing one to the informant. I want the subject to change, so I concentrate on the large white pastry boxes, cradled by a pink plastic bag, resting nicely on a stack of manila folders.
"You're here with what I'm assuming is breakfast. Please say yes. Moonie and I just paid rent to our landlord."
Making space on that little table, Moonie turns down the heat on her heater and takes out honey and milk she carries everyday in her lunchbox. She hands one of the porcelain cups to me, and I inhale the scents of star anise, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, cardamom, and cumin. While I can drink this straight up, this brew goes up to 11 and does wonders for my mood when I add in honey and milk. Mmmm.
"Well, now that you mention it…..yes." Looking much more chipper this morning than usual, 'Nia pulls out one of the boxes from its plastic cocoon and opens it.
The sight of freshly baked scones is an unexpected but welcome surprise to my hung-over morning.
"I passed by the bakery on my way here, and I thought 'with the little extra pocket money I got, why not get some actual breakfast for my girls?' Although I didn't expect you to be here today, or at least until later, Moonie."
Her lithe hand picks up a blackberry scone.
"Well", Moonie responds hesitantly, picking up a strawberry scone, "Chromia was recovering from her hangover from last night. Someone had to drive the car, and, well, you know….."
"Ah. Tsk tsk, 'Mia", my girl scolds, brushing back her black-and-blonde-streaked hair from her face, "You got drunk. Very bad for someone on the force. What was your reason?"
I quickly reach in and swipe a blueberry scone.
I love Blackarachnia for that, her willingness to listen first, at the very least, instead of jumping to conclusions like half the folks on this force. I feared three years might have made her into someone I didn't recognize….or even like…but she proved me wrong.
"Ironhide got promoted. Captain of a SWAT team. Very dangerous stuff."
I swallow a bite of my scone, and wash it down with my extremely delicious sweet milky chai.
"Very, very sexy."
"Mmhmm. So that reason alone is enough reason for you to get completely trashed, hmm?"
"The drinks at Maccadam's are good. Always. Even in those little shot glasses they're irresistible."
"Then how is it I'm even having a sane conversation with you right now?"
"Optimus Prime. The newbie. He had some painkillers and he gave them to me this morning."
"…..Optimus, hmmm?"
I don't miss the glint in her eye when she mentions Optimus. Or how far her smile stretches, even as she brings her cup of tea to her dark purple lips.
"What's with that look?"
She innocently stares back at me, pausing to take a bite out of her scone. "What look?"
Oh hell.
Her coming in happier than usual. Her mention of the word 'boyfriend' at all, since she's never made it too obvious that she knew Moonracer's romantic history. Her bringing in freshly baked scones, instead of the usual cheap doughnuts or cookies from the nearby supermarket. Her freshly painted nails. That smile.
"Who is he?", I blurt out, though I feel no remorse.
She looks taken aback, tucking her black-and-blonde-streaked bangs out of her eyes. I smile as warmly as I can to her. She is my best friend, after all.
"He?"
I relay my list of nonverbal cues to her. Moonie lets out an adorable squeak when she hears about the smile.
"Is he someone we know?! You gotta tell us!"
"Really? I can't have friends other than you two?"
"Well…..", Moonie says, "….some guy friends don't always stay friends, you know."
"So what does that say about you and Perceptor?"
If she were anyone else, she'd be on the wrong end of my frickin' rifle for mentioning that guy.
Perceptor is a Brit, an alumni of Cambridge, who is head of Precinct 13's Forensics Unit. Smart guy, kind of a rambler, very shy. He's okay, except-at least for me-something about him just stirs me wrong. I mean, rumor goes around that the reason he relocated to America was because of his work history, including questionable experiments and the like. But so far, he hasn't made any missteps, nor does he show any such signs, so I let him be. The only reason I can even be nice to the guy is because Moonracer works with him as his assistant, and she'd be angry at me if I hurt someone she cares about.
I don't know how I'd feel about him being Moonracer's newest boytoy, but since it isn't true, I don't let the hackles on the back of my neck raise.
"Are you trying to change the subject, 'Nia? You're not doing a very good job of it."
Rolling her eyes and cradling her cup, Blackarachnia mumbles something incoherent. I resist the urge to laugh.
"What was that? I've heard you sound better after those eighteen-hour shifts."
She glares at me, though an idiot could see how halfhearted it was. "I said, 'I met Optimus on the subway on my way home three days ago.' I had no idea he worked here until…..well…..that day."
"And…?"
Suddenly, I see a wide smile spreads across her face. Not a girl-next-door type smile Moonie's known for, but…..a womanly smile, an opportunistic smile, with a glint you'd see in the eye of a dominatrix, right before she marks her prey.
The sound of someone rapping on my doorpost ruins the mood.
"WHAT?!", I snap before realizing who it is.
Optimus Prime stands in my doorway, holding a couple of files in one hand, and a scone in the other.
A scone.
Oh my.
"Um….am I interrupting something important, Chromia?"
"Wha-oh, no, sorry."
"That-uh, headache-still giving you trouble?"
"No. Thanks for the painkillers, though. You drink? You like vodka?"
"Wha-well, no, not really. Drink, I mean. I've seen enough to not want to end up on YouTube. You're welcome for the painkillers, though. Uh, just wanted to, er, drop….these….off..…really quickly….….."
He trails off as his eyes settle on Blackarachnia, perched on my desk, right leg folded over the left, sipping from her china cup, hiding her smile behind her streaked hair.
"Um, hi, Blackarachnia. Again."
She finally looks up at him after several agonizing moments. "Hello, Optimus Prime. Good seeing you again."
The way she emphasizes his name, and the word 'you', makes the poor guy blush so hard until even Moonracer sees it. The consultant slides off my desk, like a stream of water, and, with the seductive click-click-click of her leather heels, walks up to him.
"Would you like me to hand these to 'Mia?"
"Who?" She smiles, takes the files out of his hand, and-no joke-sashays over to me.
"Heaven help this man, you've sunk your teeth into him", I can't help whispering to her.
"Have not", she replies, though her smile says otherwise.
Since she's bent over my desk, I look over her shoulder, past her hip, right at Optimus keeping his eyes above my head….and off her butt. Trying to, anyway. That poor, poor creature. Whipped like a horse.
At least he's trying. Most men ogle her ass and don't bother to hide it.
This one respects her. He could've molested her on the subway, but didn't. Could outright stare at her ass and I wouldn't be able to do a damn thing while working, but doesn't. Certainly doesn't go around slapping her butt, or referring to her as 'sweet thing' or 'dollface'.
"He's tame. I approve of him, though."
Blackarachnia rolls her eyes. "'Mia, we met three days ago. We're hardly a couple."
"You could be. He'd be good for you. Maybe even keep our asshole of a boss a good ten meters away from you."
"Oh, speaking of the asteroid-chined jerk…get this. Optimus knows Sentinel really well."
"What? Not. He only started working here a few weeks ago."
"No, really. He says he and the jerk were in the same high school, same college, same football team…."
I spare another glance at the man of the hour, and he's leaning against the doorpost in an admiring sort of manner, kind of like the lean-against-the-doorpost posture Ironhide does when he's watching me work out with my punching bag.
He is gloriously oblivious to the fact that I can clearly see him looking at 'Nia. Until he catches me glancing with one raised eyebrow, and quickly averts his eyes.
"….and I gave him my business card, but I had pulled it out of my bra because my coat pocket had worn out and ripped. A part of me felt like a hooker or something….…are you listening?"
"Yeah, the only brunette in the room has trouble keeping his eyes off your tush." A flash of irritation crosses her features, but I quickly elaborate. "At least he's trying and getting better. Most men nearly became eunuchs because they stare without shame, and I just happen to be there with my army knife tucked in my boot."
"You're lucky we even get away from those guys, you madwoman."
"He respects you. A real gentleman." I thoughtfully stick a pen in my mouth and smile at my best friend. "Here's what I suggest you do before he has to run off: give him a cup of Moonie's chai. Even with you around, I can still see the circles beneath his eyes."
Blackarachnia is known for her dark makeup, especially around her eyes, and I've seen it all long enough to differentiate smudges from actual circles. So seeing Optimus nibbling away at his scone-almost pitifully-to keep himself awake, is enough indication that his dark circles are also induced by sleeplessness.
"What does he do again? Graveyard shift for homicide or vandalism cases?"
"He's a detective, and he trains the rookies. Although, yeah, late shift for narcotics or homicides, too."
"Damn. A bigger workaholic than you. Quick, take that last cup before he le-Optimus, BRING YOUR ASS!"
Any echoes resulting from the walls of my office cause Moonracer to wince a little. The red-shirted man obeys, taking a few tentative steps in before stopping a respectful three feet away from my desk.
"Come closer, I'm not a queen. And I don't bite."
"Hard", Blackarachnia adds snarkily, and I throw a half-hearted glare in her direction. Ignoring me, she sets her cup and the folder on a tentative pile of week-old paperwork, carefully takes the last cup of chai from Moonie, and slips it into his large hands.
"It's chai. Pure, straight from Nepal, naturally caffeinated. You really look like you could use it, Optimus."
With one hand holding the cup by gripping the bottom, he gently lifts it out of her hands. His hands are so large, it's amazing he doesn't break the fragile porcelain cup or 'Nia's hands in the process.
"…..Thank you, Blackarachnia", he replies quietly, shyly taking his eyes off of her and focusing on his tea. Forgoing the usual tea drinker's inhale, he takes a long sip and smiles.
"It's…..it's really good."
"More honey or milk?"
"No, thank you, Moonracer. It's sweet enough for me, and I think more milk might make me sleepy."
He takes another sip, but his eyes settle upon 'Nia again, her eyes lingering on him. She blinks thrice before, almost shyly, sipping her tea.
Soon, too soon, tea for both of them….for everyone, really….has vanished, and Moonie quickly pours everyone a second cup.
"Cheers", she peeps, already having mixed hers with her usual diabetes-inducing amount of sugar and milk.
"Um, Blackarachnia", Optimus mumbles, his face so red anyone can mistake it for a bad sunburn. "Would you…er…would you like to come out with me? Outside Chromia's office, I mean? So she can get back to her work. And we can talk."
She smiles. One of those spidery, sly smiles. "Of course." She quickly grabs a scone, holds it in one hand, lithe, purply-black nails breaking off a piece, and holding it in front of his pressed-in, full lips. His eyes widen in surprise.
"Funny. Thought you liked blackberry scones."
"Oh, this piece is for me? Thank you." He reaches to take it, but she quickly holds it away from easy reach. He gets the idea (his blush growing outside of human capabilities), and when she holds it close enough again, he slowly closes his mouth around the piece.
Yep. He's whipped.
The two of them take their tea and treats and talk outside my office, 'Nia promising that they'll return the cups later.
I think their intention was to continue conversation away from my line of sight, but out of the one-way blinds gracing my interior windows, I can still see them, leaning up against a wall and chatting with big smiles.
It makes me happy, to see my girl so light and carefree. Her job as our consultant is a tough, gritty, cold job that would force even Moonracer to see the world through jade-colored glasses. And after three years? You wonder why she is the way she is.
So seeing her eyes look brighter, her smile wider, and her face and posture much more relaxed, I feel like I'm watching my sister fall in love. It is one of the greatest feelings.
I guess learning to use a sniper scope hones more than sharpshooting skills.
To top it off, Sentinel comes by again, and this would've bothered me had Optimus not been there. Since Blackarchnia's shapely rear is against a wall, there's no easy access for him to slap it, and the rookie cop faces the deputy and talks him off.
There is the usual big-headed outburst from Sentinel, but no snarky smile follows after since he didn't fulfill his usual sexual harassment quota.
The fascist, big-chinned prick leaves. The red-shirted, small-town-boy detective and the black-lace wearing, femme fatale consultant watch him storm off, then look at one another and laugh their asses off.
"Hey, 'Mia, look at this", Moonracer interrupts my thoughts, filing through one of the manila folders. In the topmost one, with 'To: Chromia Minor' written in black marker on a note, tucked under a paper clip keeping the folder closed, there's a certificate for the guy. It's one of achievement as well as rank.
Reading more of the files, it appears he'll be working here pretty often, too. The certificate is signed by the governor, Alpha Trion, Chief of Police of our District, Kup Minor, and our Mayor, Ultra Magnus. There is one more blank line to be signed, which simply says underneath 'Deputy Chief of Precinct 13'. Underneath the certificate is a note from old man Kup himself.
'Sign the damn thing, since I have the feeling Sentinel would only touch a pen to this paper to slander Optimus. You're a Deputy Chief as well, just not at the office because, unlike some folks, you bleed and risk your life and work for a living. Put your name on the line, and we'll deal with any crap Big Chin flings our way. You make me proud, ~Kup'
I smile. That's why I got sent this.
My hand automatically flies to an old beer glass, with 'Class of 2009' embossed on the side, the dusty thing being house for my pens. My pointer touches a black one, but then I think again and, with my smile growing wider, I scoot my chair back, open the topmost drawer in my desk, and whip out a thin black box.
Inside is my lucky bottle opener from 'Nia, a braid of hair from Moonie, the first bullet I shot with Ironhide, and my fountain pen with chrome blue ink.
Taking out the pen, I open it and sign my name on the blank line above 'Deputy Chief of Precinct 13'. I sit back and look at it with pride, angling the paper a little to see the chrome-like shine of the azure-colored signature.
I take one more look outside, and though the porcelain cups are now back in my office, the two of them are still talking away, oblivious to the bustling and sounds of work around them.
"You're right, Chromia", the forensics investigator says with a dreamy sigh. "I think he's good for her."
"Indeed, Moonracer."
And I would totally drink every work night if I could say good morning to this every day.