Wayward Angel
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Chapter 1 - "What Are You Doing In My Room?"
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Raoul opened his eyes. Something was touching him, and not in an unpleasant way either. It felt like fingers softly plucking at his hair.
In the twilight he could see the hazy shadow of someone kneeling over him on the bed, blue eyes glowing in the way that Tracks' did. Golden biolights haloed the head and ran along some of the limbs. A hand drew away from him and the shadow straightened up.
He was used to Autobots now... perhaps too used to Autobots. Waking up and finding a robot hovering so closely should have raised some concern. But somehow it seemed normal. "Hello," he said softly, eyes still trying to focus on the visage. And as he woke a little more he realized that he did not know this one. "Who are you?"
He'd been working as a mechanic at the Witwicky garage, which was really just a base for operations in New York city and the surrounding area. It was his first real job, and he'd found the work enjoyable. At first he'd just been repairing mundane, Earth-built cars. But later he'd graduated to making repairs on the Autobots themselves. Part of his salary included a sort-of apartment on an upper loft, which made things interesting. It was just an area set apart by several rows of parts shelves, but it had a bed and a television and some closets in which to stash his few possessions. There was a toilet and shower downstairs, and a kitchen area in the break room. Living at the garage made it nearly impossible to play hooky from work, but it was pretty interesting and he got to meet a lot of giant alien robots. And now he seemed to be meeting one that wasn't giant. It was in his room on the bed with him.
The robot spoke back at him in a language he knew to be Cybertronian, and to his surprise the voice was soft and of a higher pitch than usual. Was this a sparkling? That would explain the small size and apparent curiosity of his visitor. Tracks and Blaster had explained their offspring to him, and when he didn't believe them, they'd shown him their "interfacing equipment." And he'd just stared, amazed that giant alien robots had giant alien robot dicks, as well as giant alien robot snatches. They'd even offered a demonstration, but that had been too much and he'd said he'd take a raincheck.
"Sorry, I don't speak your language, little guy. Do you speak English?"
The optics peered back quizzically and the child spoke again.
"Sorry. No entiendo. ¿Hablas español?" Raoul tried.
When the shadow chirped once more in Cybertronian he sighed. "I wonder why you didn't get the language download. I thought that was pretty standard. I guess you just got here or something." He reached for the lamp on the bedside table. The garage was dark and silent—Friday night. They'd closed up shop at 3pm. Sparkplug had gone home. Raoul had microwaved a burrito, washed it down with a cheap beer, and then headed up for a long nap before going out to party most of the night with the Bop Crew.
Turning on the light, he made a realization about his visitor.
"A femme!? Oh wow..." he gasped in awe.
He'd never seen a femme before, only having heard of them from the others, and having been shown pictures. She was about his size, perhaps a bit taller, painted white and mustard yellow, and rather slender in appearance. Her alt-mode's plating seemed to mostly hang down her back, though some of it curled up and forward from her shoulders, giving her something of a winged appearance. In fact she did have a certain angelic air about her, what with the sideways orbital crest on her helm rimmed by golden biolights. And had she been gilded? Where many of the other 'bots were silver, she was metallic gold. And her face... even he had to admit she was beautiful. Somehow Cybertronian aesthetics ran along much of the same line as those of his own race.
"You're really pretty. I wonder how you got here?" He left the bed and looked out into the garage. "Hello! Anyone home!?" he called out over the empty room. And after a few seconds of silence: "Hello? Tracks? Anyone?"
No answer.
Raoul turned back to where the femme still sat on his bed looking like an oversized Christmas ornament. "I guess it's just you and me. Could I offer you some oil or something? Energon? Turtle Wax?" he chuckled. And then he realized where her gaze was fixed.
He quickly grabbed the hem of his tee shirt and yanked it down, hiding his little leopard print jockey shorts. It was bad enough that Sparkplug had teased him about them when he'd found a basket of laundry accidentally left out in the break room. But now the first femme he'd ever met was staring at them. "Ah, sorry about that. I'm not used to having visitors about... I just kinda sleep in my... ah.. never mind." He looked to where he'd tossed his work coveralls, but he didn't really want to put them back on. Friday night. Time to shower and shave and put on his tight black jeans and that purple shirt that always seemed to get the ladies looking his direction.
Bathrobe. His bathrobe was hanging on a hook at the head of the bed.
Trying to keep his tee shirt pulled down he walked back over and went for the robe, trying not to let it bother him that his visitor continued to stare. And as he wondered how would be easiest to pull it on without showing too much he chuckled to himself. Honestly. Did he really need to worry about modesty with some alien robot? Did it matter what he was wearing? Or not wearing? He'd gotten pretty relaxed with Tracks after all. Sometimes the warrior would sit right outside of the curtainless shower cubicle while he used it, just talking to him and even handing him a towel when he switched off the water.
Raoul got his arms into the robe, only to find that she did care what he was wearing. She had slid across the bed to reach him and was pulling at the hem of the shirt, studying the fabric. And then she moved on to the elastic waistband of his jockey shorts.
He stood motionless. Since coming to know Tracks, he'd found it best that when a robot was handling you, your best bet was to just hold still and let him do as he wanted. The Autobots were careful and considerate of the relative fragility of humans. They had yet to drop or harm anyone.
But so much for "take me to your leader" when it came to encounters with alien species. Why not just show them your skivvies? The lack of a shared language was making things very difficult.
And then she pulled the waistband away from his body and stared in at his butt.
"Ah, honey. I'm not sure you want to be looking at that..." was all Raoul could manage to say. And then she allowed the band to relax back into place before pulling it out again. And then she did it again. Raoul looked over his shoulder to see she was smiling. At least she was smiling. "I guess you've never seen clothes before."
Suddenly the waistband slipped from her finger and snapped against him. Startled rather than hurt, Raoul gasped and twitched away. "Ow!"
The white femme laughed, her tittering almost musical, and then she said something in Cybertronian again.
Raoul quickly got the rest of the robe around himself, tied the tie securely, shoved his feet into his battered pair of Crocs, and then took her by the hand. "C'mon. Let's go have a drink or something."
He noted the time on the huge digital clock up on the wall of the main room as they went down the stairs from the loft area. The others were expecting him in an hour and a half.
Raoul led her into the waiting area in the office and sat her on a couch. "Wait here," he said, hoping his tone of voice and gestures would explain what he wanted. And they did, for when he returned she was still on the couch. "Here. I know where the robots keep the good stuff."
She smiled when he set down a cup and filled it from a cube of high-grade. And she took it with what was clearly a gracious thank you when he presented it to her.
Raoul watched her sip from the cup—a ceramic coffee mug with an auto parts provider's logo printed on it. She really was pretty, even by human standards. And she did call to mind an angel with her colors and her particular arrangement of alt-mode pieces. Though he wasn't sure what she transformed into. No wheels or thrusters seemed to be part of it. He'd gotten used to looking at the Autobots and figuring out what their alt-modes were. Sometimes he could even identify a make and model. This one... she was completely a mystery. At least she was an Autobot. The red logo on her chest confirmed that.
And then she seemed to notice he wasn't drinking, and so took the cube on the table, filled the cup, and tried to hand it to him.
Raoul realized immediately that she was trying to be kind or at least social. And so he tried to explain what would happen if he drank it by pushing away the cup and mimicking a dreadful twitching, choking, frazzling death.
She made something of a disappointed sounded whirring.
"Wait. I know. I know where the boss keeps his good stuff." He popped into the business office, and there tucked out of sight behind the coffee machine was a bottle of Jameson, Sparkplug's pick-me-up for rough days at the garage. He grabbed another coffee mug and returned to the waiting room. As she watched he splashed a little into the mug and sipped it, trying to look like he was enjoying the drink. Whiskey wasn't really his thing, but at least he could stomach it.
Curiousity in her optics again, she moved to sit beside him on his couch and looked into the cup. And then she dipped her finger into it and put the finger into her mouth, sucking on it thoughtfully. Raoul was familiar with the way the Autobots tasted and ate things. Inside their oral cavity were hundreds of chemical sensors, and just behind it was a small stomach full of digestive grinders and nanites that would extract whatever minerals and metals were needed from whatever their glossa shunted in. But knowing the how and why of it did nothing to keep him from noticing how sexy a robot could make that tasting process look. And then she took a small sip of the whiskey before handing it back. "Hmm..." was her appraisal.
"Not doing anything for you?"
She answered by picking up her own cup and drinking again.
Raoul had grabbed his phone from the nightstand before heading downstairs to the waiting room, and now he took it from his bathrobe pocket and dialed up Tracks' number.
No answer.
He tried Blaster's number.
No answer.
He tried Red Alert's.
Red Alert picked up on the third ring. "Hey, Raoul. Sit tight. Stay wherever you are. There's nothing going on for sure, but then again there might be. I'll have Tracks call you when the coast is clear." He hung up without even saying goodbye. That was Red Alert for you.
Raoul sighed and put his phone back into the pocket of his bathrobe. Long range sensors had probably picked something up and the two had been sent to investigate. It happened often enough. But so much for finding out about who the femme was and what she was doing there. Casual communications would be locked down for a while. Had some Autobot just dumped her at the garage and gone off to investigate?
And then the femme was pushing his cup into his hands again. "Thanks, Angel." And lifting it up to finish the rest of the shot he'd poured he found that she'd refilled it with two. "What? Trying to get me drunk so you can look at my butt again? You are one naughty chica." He laughed and drank a little of it.
And then his eyes fell on the clock on the wall. He now had one hour to get himself ready and meet the Bop Crew seven blocks away.
He took another swallow of the whiskey and set the cup down. "Angel, I've gotta get ready and go somewhere. You um... you wait here." He tried the same gestures again, hoping she'd sit tight. He grabbed a random magazine from the coffee table, opened it to a random page, and pushed it into her hands. "Here. Read this. I've gotta get going." And with that he hurried out of the waiting room.
The shower cubicle was down at the far opposite end of the garage, just off to the side of a much larger shower for the 'bots to use. Raoul turned on the water, stripped, and jumped in when the temperature was right. He ran a razor over his chin and then shampooed his long hair. But as he began to massage the conditioner into his locks he noticed he was no longer alone.
The femme stood just outside the shower stall looking in.
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"Wayward Angel" continues in Chapter 2: "What Are You Doing In My Shower?"
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Author Notes
I wanted to do a Raoul story that wasn't Raoul/Tracks (there are some delicious fanfics out there that have that pairing though, with varying degrees of their involvement, from bickering friends to serious lovers). The idea of Raoul meeting an Autobot femme developed, and suddenly there was a story. I have to say this one practically wrote itself. The chemistry between the cocky but polite Raoul and the mute (sorta) but terribly curious "Angel" flowed so nicely into words and actions. Ooh, just wait until you find out who and what she is in Chapter 3: "What Are You Doing In His Bed."
Was that too much of a spoiler?
There was a good amount of world building here –I hope I didn't go overboard in the details. There isn't really dialogue since the femme can't speak English. But Raoul talks and even has some humorous lines. A lot of his lines though are simply his thoughts out loud. A lot of this fic is what's happening inside the head of a young Hispanic man who's found his life changed by the introduction of the Autobots into it. Suddenly there's more to his universe than being a street punk. I can imagine the events of this story pulling him in even further in that direction as he discovers he has a lot more in common with the Cybertronians than previously thought.
Thank you for reading, and I promise the two continuing chapters will not disappoint! If they do, please return the unused portion of this fanfic to the author along with the purchase receipt to receive a full refund. LOL
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Transformers and all related concepts, characters, worlds, and events are property of Hasbro and Takara Tomy. Original characters and story elements are property of E. Potter, writing under the pen name of Miratete.