The black Autobot settled into his tires, feeling rather awkward sitting out on the side of the street. His charge had decided they were taking a "vacation" to visit some such or another relative in some little "American Dream" city. Hah! he thought. Vacation! I could have sworn vacation was defined by the humans as relaxing and not working. Thank you, Captain Lennox! You are just SO good to me! Some vacation this is! His engine snorted, and he rumbled, grumbling to himself about the shopping sprees and the "family outings" that consisted of restaurants or not-so-local parks, both of which left his cab dirty and abused.

He silently noted a car coming at a slightly higher-than-normal speed, with the volume far louder than necessary. And after scanning it, he identified it as a Ford Gran Torino Squire, with the rear section weighed down with mismatched tires, none of which he presumed belonged to the vehicle.

A passenger of the vehicle suddenly shouted "Stop!" and the vehicle jerked to a stop, not too far ahead of where he was parked. The passenger in the right seat stuck his head out the window, looking towards him, or more so, at his very large, very pricey tires. He conversed with his driver briefly, before kicking open the door and heading straight for the totally-not-suspicious truck and crouching down next to his front, driver-side tire. The man twisted at the chrome pegs on the bolts of his tire with his fingers, then pulled out a wrench and twisted, successful in getting one off. He growled, but the man noticed not, and shouted back at his friend that they'd be "taking dem rims for sho'", then continued turning the wrench around and around quickly.

They want to show my wheels? Where? …why? thought the weapons specialist, unfamiliar with the slang the pair was using. Without warning, the pick-up's left front tire was rising off the ground, startling the Autobot. The chrome lug nuts were being twisted off, and he suddenly knew exactly what was happening. These punks were stealing his tires.

The engine suddenly burst to life, revving loudly, angrily, and scaring the young man, knocking him on his ass. "What the hell?" He shouted. The driver of the Ford, who was still sitting in the car, watching his idiot companion, hissed at him to quiet down, and huffed. Looking in the mirror, he spotted the nightmare that had been following them. The nightmare was what had started them on their tire-spree. They'd planned on stealing some wheels, anyways, but the vehicle that turned onto the street's end had cued them into action.

It was a red and black 2006 Chevrolet Silverado 4 door, with a bunch of tires and assorted wheels lying around in the bed. The companion next to the Topkick had spotted the truck and it's cargo at a gas station, and immediately decided they were going to nab most, if not all of the tires, if they could get away with it. From there, they'd been back and forth between stealing tires off random vehicles and running from the angry driver of the Silverado.

The driver began shouting at the partner, to hurry up. The partner suddenly jiggled his tire, and with a great heave-ho, pulled the Topkick's tire off the studs and rolled it over to the car, climbing in and putting the monstrous tire in his lap. The sputtering family-car suddenly took off with his tire, painting an instant horrible mood on him. The Silverado that the Ford was fleeing from sped by, then suddenly slammed on the brakes, fishtailing slightly, then flooring it after the car again.

The Weapons Specialist growled in aggravation. Only he could have this kind of luck.

~XxXxX~

The Topkick's charge, Captain William Lennox, emerged from the house, glowing. "Ready to go for a drive, Ironhide?" he exclaimed, rounding the front of the truck, and tripping over the arm of the car jack. Sprawled out across the ground, he stared at the jack, then at where it was, and then, why it was there. "Uhm… Ironhide? Where's your tire?" "I ate it Lennox. Where the hell do you think it is?" The Captain simply lay on the ground, startled. "Okay, well that makes things interesting." Lennox pushed himself off the ground, and walked over to stand in the street, still staring at the exposed rotor.

"Where's your spare tire?"

"I don't have one."

"But what if you got a flat?"

"I don't get flats."

"…oh… So… Should I call Optimus?" The man asked, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head.

"No." The Topkick clipped.

"Should I call Ratchet?" Silence, for a few solid minutes. The arms man shifted, casting a glance up the street to unsuccessfully try and shake off the awkwardness.

Then finally, "Do I even need to answer this question?"

"Right… Don't call Ratchet unless it's life or death." The human muttered.

"Correct. And unless your mate is giving birth several months premature, or you or your current offspring is bleeding profusely on some unscannable plane, this is not such a situation. Also, for your information, Captain, all human biology lies entirely within scannable ranges and planes, as far as Ratchet has informed me. Therefore, the latter situation is highly improbable, and has not, will not, and cannot happen."

The Captain stared blankly at the pickup. "Right. Well, uh, I think-" The man peered over the truck's hood, "I think I heard Sarah calling me! Gotta go!" He patted the Topkick's hood, nearly running away from the awkward conversation.

The GMC cycled some air in a sigh, and sunk into his springs. The cheap jack that was pumped up under his axle suddenly sprung a leak, and began sagging, letting his front end down with it.

Only my luck.

A/N: So... No guarantees I'll update this... Ever... It's kind of my time filler. When I'm not working on Ego Vivo, I'm working on this and a handful of others that are kinda just throwaways. However, I would love reviews... :3 I realize this chapter is tiny, but the next scene that I started just didn't fit the chapter, to me... *shrug* I guess we'll see what happens...