Chapter 3: Who's Going To Drive You Home?

Sam called his friend Miles while he was in the house; Ron continued to work up his lawn grass in a slightly winding direction towards his house, replacing the grass with slabs of stone. The lawn's layout seemed to please Judy, although Bumblebee couldn't see the beauty of it except in an abstract way – the geometric shapes of the flower petals and the pleasing juxtaposition of colors. The entire layout was too haphazard to his optics.

He checked the Ebay page advertising Archibald Witwicky's glasses to find no bids. Sam apparently did the same a few minutes later since he made a frustrated sound. "Great. Still broke."

When Sam ran out of the house and began to cross the grass to Bumblebee, his father admonished Sam for walking on the lawn instead of the nearly complete pathway of stone; Sam complained about Mojo being forced to wear 'girl jewelry', which Judy declared to be his 'bling', whatever that was.

Human stock in pleasing appearance extended far beyond propagation of their race, Bumblebee noted. They liked everything to be beautiful, which sometimes came in secondary to function. For instance, earrings: humans inflicted permanent (although minor) damage to their skin, most often their ears and nose, to hang bangles from them. The function of the ears and nose were not enhanced in any way by these bangles – they simply pleased the human eye. Cybertronians took pride in their appearances, it was true, and picked alt-modes that pleased them as well as fit their topology requirements, but to physically alter oneself in a potentially detrimental manner – that was unheard of.

"I'm gonna go get Miles," Sam said.

"You're not staying for dinner?" Judy asked, clutching a bouquet of tiny lavender flowers.

"We'll pick something up," Sam promised, opening Bumblebee's car door.

"All right, then," his mother said doubtfully. "I want you home at eleven o'clock!"

"Yeah, okay," Sam said in a tone that made Bumblebee wonder if he was processing what his audio sensors were picking up.

"Eleven o'clock!" Ron parroted as Sam started the Camaro's engine.

As the secondary converter came online with the energon converter, Bumblebee noted the conversion process was 78.8 percent done. He shunted the useless ethanol to his waste tank to be jettisoned and released the remaining byproduct through his exhaust pipe, producing a sudden, massive cloud of visible smoke. Oops.

Sam buckled the self-restraint straps (seatbelt, the Internet informed him) and guided Bumblebee out of the driveway, heedless of the sudden expulsion. Bumblebee didn't know how Sam couldn't smell the sulfur, but the boy's hands remained steady on the wheel as he turned the Camaro out onto the street. "Phew. Hope you don't do that every time you start," Sam commented a few seconds later.

I won't, Bumblebee promised automatically, producing a bzzt-clik instead of anything resembling real words. I hope Optimus and the others land before I have to ingest any more petroleum! The Ark had its own fuel converters, and it was far more practical to use them. Energon was in somewhat short supply these days, so they had to make their own.

Again Bumblebee found himself going to places he didn't know under his own power and Sam's guiding hand; he had no idea where Miles lived. Thankfully, Sam was consistent about signaling turns so Bumblebee had some warning of which way he was going. 1.63 miles later they were pulling into another driveway at a somewhat smaller abode, this one whitewashed and with a quietly well-kept lawn but no flowers.

Sam honked Bumblebee's horn, which startled the not-a-car into rocking slightly before becoming embarrassed by himself. My own horn! I am going to have to get used to having a driver.

A window opened on the top story of the house and Miles leaned out. "Holy crap you really got a car!"

With his elbow clenched against the outside of Bumblebee's door, Sam leaned out. "Yeah, come on down and check it out!"

Miles ducked out of the window and appeared in the doorway of the house a minute later. "I will, Mom," Miles shouted to an unseen parental unit before slamming the door shut and running towards Bumblebee. Sam shut off the ignition and Bumblebee obediently turned off his converter even as Sam climbed out. "I know it's a little beat up but it only cost four grand," Sam proclaimed proudly. "It's got racing stripes."

"Yeah, sweet," Miles grinned. "What kinda car is it?"

"Some kind of old-school Chevrolet Camaro," Sam shrugged.

Miles stroked his hand over Bumblebee's hood and down the support beside his rear window. "How fast does it go?"

Roughly 240 miles per hour at a burst, Bumblebee thought.

"I dunno, man, it's not like I've had a chance to find out. My dad would kill me if I got a ticket the first day I got my own car," Sam pointed out.

Miles leaned down to stick his head into Bumblebee's interior. "Dude, seriously sweet." Then he laughed. "Hey Sam, you gonna listen to Elvis or something?"

"What?" Sam was standing a little off to the side with his arms crossed.

"You have a freaking 8-track player," Miles snickered. "Your dad give you his collection yet?"

"Yeah, right," Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Come on, get in the car." He proceeded to climb in himself. Bumblebee noticed that his doors were creaking ominously and made note to reroute a hydraulic of oil there at the first opportunity.

"Where're we going?" Miles asked, not bothering to open Bumblebee's door but rather hauling himself up on Bumblebee's hood, jumping, and sliding through the space provided by the open window feet-first. Sam shouted in alarm, and Bumblebee rocked inadvertently as the boys shifted their weight around his interior.

"What is wrong with you, you almost kicked me!" Sam demanded as Miles got himself settled (finally) in the passenger seat.

"Sorry, man." Miles did not sound very sorry. "So, seriously, where are we going?"

Sam sighed and started the Camaro's engine again. "First we're gonna go get some thing to eat."

"Taco Hell?" Miles asked hopefully despite the derogative misnomer for the 'fast food' restaurant.

"Yeah, sure," Sam shrugged. "And then we're going to a party at the lake."

"You mean where the jocks and their concubines hang out?" Miles sounded doubtful. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure," Sam answered, but he swallowed hard and his heartbeat elevated a little. He put Bumblebee into reverse and began to back out of the driveway.

Bumblebee wondered what interest Sam had in the lake, the apparent sports-oriented students (jocks) and the women Miles claimed they copulated with out of wedlock (the definition of 'concubine', if Bumblebee was understanding things correctly). He recalled that Miles had before referred to the woman Sam seemed interested in, Mikaela, as the 'jock concubine'. Oh … In realization Bumblebee chirruped, but the sound was inaudible under his converter. Sam believes that owning me will somehow make him more attractive to the female.

Well, why wouldn't it? Judging from what Bumblebee had researched on the Internet worldly possessions, as a representative of wealth, was a factor in choosing a mate. Of course, other factors included interpersonal relations, physical attractiveness, et cetera – mostly things that Bumblebee was not capable of judging for himself. His logic processors could tell him what colors and geometric shapes pleased his optics, but he could not begin to fathom what would cause an organic being to pick one mate over another. Abruptly Bumblebee was very, very curious.

But the first stop was Taco Bell, a chain restaurant that produced food at low prices with great speed. Humans preferred to have a variety of flavors and required a variety of nutrients to remain at full health, but since organics were constantly doing things, rushing from one place to another, they also often wanted their food at great convenience. Taco Bell, McDonalds, and a number of other 'fast food' places met the speed and price requirement. Bumblebee did not know if they provided a good selection of nutrients in their food, but he was aware that the highest quality oils and purest energon on Cybertron had been both expensive and took a long time to produce. Whether there was any equivalency here on Earth, Bumblebee did not know.

(He also was not certain that credits on Cybertron could be quite equated to money on Earth. The system worked with significant differences and Cybertron's economy, so to speak, was more closely related to socialism than capitalism. Bumblebee had never been terribly good at understanding the philosophical arguments over the matter suggesting Cybertron was a gestalt system and the like, and by the time his logic processors might have been able to handle enough empirical data the whole matter had become moot with the oncoming war.)

Sam informed Miles that they were not, under any circumstances, eating in his brand new car, and so Sam parked Bumblebee and they went inside to eat. Bumblebee decided to be grateful. He had seen humans eat and their food left crumbs. It took them about half an hour to return, during which time Bumblebee idled his secondary converter and finished processing the petroleum. As a result when Sam restarted the engine proper the Camaro belched another cloud of sulfur-smelling smoke, which Miles reacted poorly to. "Dude!"

"It does that sometimes," Sam said in a nasal voice. Bumblebee imagined he was pinching his nose shut.

"Doesn't that mean there's something wrong with the carbon thingie or something?" Sam didn't reply, possibly responding with some kind of body language. Miles snorted. "All I'm sayin' is, it's awesome you've got a car and all but this thing is why we have global warming."

"Look, you don't have to ride in it," Sam snapped irritably.

"I'm cool, I'm cool," Miles protested.

.

But Miles and Sam both grew more agitated the closer they got to the lake, shifting their weight around constantly. "Dude, are you sure we're invited to this party?" Miles asked.

"Of course, Miles," Sam stressed. "It's the lake. Public property." He took a hand off the wheel and Bumblebee caught a whiff of mint, not from his air freshener. Sam pulled the Camaro around the winding corner and parked him alongside the road; Bumblebee noted the flat looks from a group of taller muscled boys standing around a sports utility vehicle next to a tree. "Oh my god, dude, Mikaela's here," Sam said, his voice low but his heart rate picking up. "Just don't do anything weird, all right?"

Bumblebee did not sit up on his chassis, doing his best non-sentient car impression, but he attuned all his sensors to the upcoming interaction, filtering out other voices, the wind, and the birds. It was easy to read from Sam's stiff shoulders as he climbed out of Bumblebee's interior and approached the group of males that he was nervous, even if he hadn't spoken: "I'm good, right?"

Miles came to Sam's side and patted him between the shoulder blades. "Yeah, you're good," he promised.

"Okay." Together the two boys started towards the knot of fellow adolescents.

Bumblebee identified Mikaela when she appeared from behind the SUV, the only female in the group. Mikaela wrapped her arms around a blond-haired boy wearing a hat who was several inches taller and broader in the shoulders than Sam. As Sam and Miles drew close, Miles dropped one of his several shirt layers on the ground and began to climb into the tree they stood next to.

The blond boy's face was flat and confident as he stepped out of Mikaela's embrace and approached Sam. "Hey, bro, that car. It's nice," he said. Bumblebee was a little surprised by the proclamation, considering that the boy's body language was subtly aggressive. "So what are you guys doing here?"

Sam glanced at Miles. "We're here to climb this tree."

The boy seemed equal parts confused and mocking. "I see that. It looks … it looks fun." He turned his gaze back on Sam. "Hey, I thought I recognized you. You tried out for the football team last year, didn't you?"

Sam's calves tensed as he almost backpedaled physically, the words somehow a threat or a joke Bumblebee didn't get. "Oh, that? No, no –" Sam laughed nervously – "That wasn't like a real trying. I was researching a book I was writing."

"Oh yeah?" By this point Miles was hanging from his legs out of the lowest branches of the tree. He seemed quite relaxed there. Bumblebee thought of the images of primates he had seen online. "What's it about? Sucking at sports?"

'Sucking', a colloquial term derived from an act of sex involving the oral cavity and male anatomy. It was derogatory. Sports prowess was supposedly a sign of male virility, so this boy was accusing Sam of being impotent because he was not good at sports. Funny how almost all human cruelty could come down to sexual terms.

But Sam barely flinched. He laughed but did not seem to be actually finding the statement humorous. "No. It's about the link between brain damage and football." He paused as the other boy ceased to smile. "It's a good book, your friends will love it. Its got mazes in it, little coloring sections, you know, pop-up pictures … it's a lot of fun."

And Sam came back with an insult to the other boy's intelligence. Bumblebee recalled some of the more spectacular verbal wars between Autobots and Decepticons with some amusement. He also recalled viewing other biological entities, males staking and defending their right to a female. Of course, humans could not be so easily broken down, but it was not dissimilar.

It would have been a lie for Bumblebee to say he was not rooting for his charge.

But Trent responded with an aggressive step forward. "That's funny." The statement was at odds with his body language.

Sam stepped forward too, his head held high, but the female Mikaela stepped between them before Bumblebee could decide whether or not it was prudent or necessary to come to Sam's rescue (he had not, he admitted, expected to need to protect Sam from his fellow humans!) "Okay, okay, you know what? Stop." Mikaela pushed herself against the taller boy. The boy pushed against her briefly, but then he looked away, clearly giving up the fight. Mikaela brushed past him without looking up.

The boy decided to declare victory in a different way: a retreat, but to a place that was clearly exclusive and outside of Sam's social group: "Hey, guys, I know of a party. Let's go. Let's head there." And the group of men started to herd around the SUV once again.

Sam shook his head, clearly frustrated, and started to whisper to Miles furiously. Miles jumped down from the tree and landed, impressively, on his feet, but Bumblebee could not discern Sam's low words until he got closer. "You made me look like an idiot back there. You made us both look like idiots." His body language was easy to read, his lips pursed and his shoulders stiff. He leaned his hips against Bumblebee's hood while Miles dove back into Bumblebee, this time headfirst.

Bumblebee wasn't paying much attention, though. He felt that Sam's attempt to court the female had been something of a disaster, but he watched as she separated herself from the pack of boys with a disdainful walk. Sam, too, was turned to face her.

Something had to be done. Bumblebee was curious and furthermore, it would be a mark of goodwill to help Sam along. Mikaela had clearly separated herself from the alpha males, which meant she was available. Sam merely needed to interact with her, and that would be easy enough to arrange! He flipped on his radio hurriedly, and a voice crooned, "Who's gonna drive you home …?"

Miles, slumped in his passenger seat, asked, "What's wrong with your radio?"

But Sam understood immediately what Bumblebee meant. "I'm going to drive her home," he said almost absently.

"What? No, man, she's an evil jock concubine. Let her hitchhike."

Sam didn't move. "She lives 10 miles from here, okay? It's my only chance. You gotta be understanding here, okay?"

Oho, you know where she lives! The Autobot was tickled by the revelation. You have been after her for some time then.

Miles sat up a little. "Okay, put her in the back. I'll be quiet."

Sam sat up. "Did you say 'put her in the back'?"

Bumblebee recalled a human saying: 'three is a crowd'. Miles' presence would be detrimental to Sam's chances of significant courting activity.

"I called shotgun!" Miles was indignant. Bumblebee wasn't sure what the protocols between humans were when they were attempting to woo the other sex, but Sam's friend wasn't taking the whole thing well.

"I'm not putting her in the back! You gotta get out of my car," Sam snapped, turning and opening the door.

"That's a party foul!"

"What rules?"

Miles sputtered. "Bros before hoes!"

What? Brothers before farming implements!? Bumblebee was preoccupied with trying to decipher that odd statement while Sam argued Miles right out of the Camaro's interior and drove off, leaving the boy stranded on the side of the road. Bumblebee decided that acquiring a mate could probably be likened to a battle, and at times comrades had to be left behind to accomplish an objective. I hope you come to understand, Miles.

Meanwhile Sam pulled up alongside Mikaela. The Autobot compared her body against that of women generally accepted to be attractive on the Internet – 'supermodels' and 'movie stars' – and found that her proportions were similar. She was a little bit shorter than a supermodel, but her breasts were prominent and well supported; her waist was significantly smaller around than her hips and rear, creating a noticeable curve. She did not seem to have a significantly high body fat ratio. Her hair was very dark and long, hanging around her optics, which were a striking shade of blue, and she dressed in such a manner that it accentuated that which identified her as female.

This was the kind of woman that Sam believed to be worth chasing after. Bumblebee did not entirely see the appeal, but she fit the human archetype. He turned up his radio, still playing the same song to make sure that Mikaela heard.

Sam steered haphazardly, distracted by his effort to keep pace with Mikaela and talk to her at the same time. "Hey, Mikaela! It's Sam. … Witwicky?" he added when she showed no sign or recognition or stopping. "I hope you didn't get stranded or anything."

She looked away. Bumblebee turned down his music to make sure she heard Sam and almost pointedly revved his engine to get her attention but refrained at the last moment.

"You sure?" Sam was persistent. "Look, I was wondering if I could ride you home. I mean, give you a ride home. In my car. To your house."

Mikaela finally came to a stop; Sam opened the door for her and she climbed in. Initial objective accomplished, Bumblebee noted, satisfied. Objective two: win her trust. Articulate your interest.

Sam was mightily distracted by Mikaela sitting right next to him, so Bumblebee had to halfway take his own reins without seeming to. He kept the drive smooth and safe while Sam initiated small conversation. His heartbeat was rapid and he stammered more often than normal. Mikaela, expressed what she found desirable in male attractiveness with self-disgust, paradoxically not pleased with the man who fit her description as Bumblebee understood it (the blond boy at the lake). For some reason Sam started claiming responsibility for aspects of Bumblebee's interior in response. (He wondered if there had been some body language he missed.) On the other hand, she also demonstrated that she had never been aware of Sam before this moment despite apparently near-constant contact for ten years of school (which explained why Sam knew where she lived, perhaps). Her heart rate never picked up and she sighed several times, all signs of disinterest.

When Sam told Mikaela that it was okay she had never noticed him, Bumblebee revved his engine in disgust. Sam was getting nowhere on his own; clearly intervention was needed.

He shut off his own ignition, ripped control of the wheel from Sam's hands, and turned himself off the road and into the brush towards a dropoff where one could overlook the whole town of Tranquility. Sam immediately began to panic, his heartbeat skyrocketing and his fingers scrambling at Bumblebee's dashboard as if to somehow stop him. Bumblebee turned up the radio again and much to his pleasure found the slow, electronic tones of another song about love. "When I get that feeling, I want sexual healing … sexual healing …"

Sam tried to disclaim Bumblebee's music choice, complaining that the radio was old (it was analog in design, so below anything technological Bumblebee had seen on Cybertron that he'd had to retrograde his circuits to take full advantage of the concept), explaining that he would never try this on her.

And Mikaela sighed. Again. Bumblebee couldn't make heads or tails of it. This was 'mood music', wasn't it? Humans used music to improve their moods, right? He had done it to Sam just hours previous! This should have made Mikaela receptive to Sam's interest! He switched songs. "—knew that I would! I feel good! So good! I got you!"

Sam stammered that he wasn't 'that kind of friend' although he could be that kind of friend except that he wasn't—

"Just pop the hood," Mikaela said in a disinterested tone, climbing out of the Camaro.

"O-okay," Sam stammered. Then he started kicking Bumblebee's dashboard with all the strength his meager human body had to offer. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Bumblebee gave up with a static whine of frustration and apology. Sorry, Sam. I tried my best. Humans were obviously more complicated than he'd thought, or Sam was too inept, or Mikaela was just unreceptive. Or Bumblebee didn't understand them at all. The last option was the most likely, he admitted to himself in disgust.

His initial reaction to the idea of having his hood popped was to deny the humans access, but he also didn't want Sam to hurt himself trying to get 'Bee's hood open. Pretending to be a non-sentient car was so far shaping up to cause more manhandling (literally) than Bumblebee had been prepared to deal with. He let Mikaela force his hood wide open and Bumblebee thanked Primus that his energon converter so closely resembled the carburetors of normal cars.

"Wow," Mikaela said. "Nice headers. You've got a high-rise double-pump carburetor. That's pretty impressive, Sam."

Primus! Bumblebee barely refrained from honking in both surprise and appreciation at Mikaela's proclamation, identifying on sight the energon injector that helped keep the system under pressure. One would think she'd seen an energon converter before!

"Double-pump?" Sam asked, clueless as the Camaro had known he would be.

"It squirts the fuel in so you can go faster," Mikaela explained patiently.

Sam's heart rate was rising, as was his temperature. "Really? I … like to go faster."

"But it looks like your distributor cap is a little loose," she continued, pressing her hand on the cap in question rhythmically.

It is not! … Is it? Bumblebee hadn't experienced any troubles with his electrical systems that a systemic problem with the distributor would have caused. Hmph. He logged it for Ratchet to check when the medic 'Bot made landfall.

"Yeah? How did you know that?" Sam asked.

Mikaela shifted against Bumblebee's radiator. "Oh, my dad. He was a bit of a grease monkey. He taught me all about this; I could take it all apart, clean it, and put it back together."

"Really? I just, I wouldn't peg you for mechanical."

"Well I don't really broadcast it. Guys don't like it when you know more about cars than they do."

The picture of the female was coming more into focus, and Bumblebee found himself impressed. He liked Sam for no reason other than the boy had chosen him out of a lot of used cars; the girl he began to like for her technical knowledge. Ratchet will adore her. Supposing, of course, they ever had reason to meet.

"Especially Trent," she continued. The Camaro assumed she was referring to the blond boy from before. "He hates it."

Sam was leaning on the edge of Bumblebee's engine compartment. "Yeah, no, I'm cool with it. You know, females working on my engine. I actually prefer it."

"You wanna fire it up for me?"

"Oh yeah, yeah, sure. You know, I was thinking. If Trent's such a jerk, why do you hang out with him?" Sam leaned into the car and pumped the ignition, but Bumblebee wanted to know where the conversation would go from here; he didn't let Sam start the converter.

Mikaela pulled away. "You know what? I'm just … I'm gonna walk." She passed by Bumblebee's driver's side, grabbed her bag out of the back, and started back across the brush towards the road.

Wait. What? No! The Autobot felt a stab of irritation with himself. She must have been frustrated with his failure to respond to her expertise and given up!

"All right," Sam said after a moment. "W-walking's healthy, right?" But belying his words, he leapt back into the driver's seat. "No, no no nonono! Come on, you gotta work with me, you gotta start for me," he begged Bumblebee, pumping the ignition again.

They were on the same page, but it took several tries for Sam to get Bumblebee started again – mostly because Bumblebee was having trouble starting himself. This was new. My ignition sparkplug is dirty and it acts up now!? Never mind Ratchet, I could take my own cerebral processors off for this!

The converter turned over and Bumblebee immediately began to belt out a song of apology. "Baby come back! Any kind of fool could see …"

Mikaela kept walking, even as Sam rushed to push down Bumblebee's hood and get back into the driver's seat. Bumblebee was in reverse almost before Sam's hand touched the gearshift, spinning his tires on dust. "Hey! Hey, wait!" he bellowed. "Wait a second!"

"There was something, in everything about you! Baby come back! You can blame it all on me! I was wrong, and I just can't live without you!"

When Sam pulled in front of Mikaela, successfully getting her to come to a halt, Bumblebee realized that she was smiling. Apparently they'd managed to do something right. Somehow. Bumblebee was beginning to see why men on the Internet claimed women were indecipherable.

&

Sam offered to take Mikaela to get something to eat, but the girl turned him down. Their talk was a little easier afterwards; they discussed shared classes at school, mostly. Sam clearly took the long way around, however, because they traveled over thirteen miles to arrive at Mikaela's destination rather than the supposed ten. By the time they pulled up, the setting sun had dipped below the horizon. The road was narrow, the street was not well-lit, and the house was less than two feet away from both its neighbors with a poorly kept exterior.

Bumblebee pondered the offense that had almost ruined the entire outing and came to the conclusion from Mikaela's 3.3 seconds of silence before declaring her decision to leave that something Sam had said offended her. The only thing Bumblebee could identify as offensive was the comment about Trent, the man Mikaela had shown interest in up until she left the pack of males in visible disgust. What about that comment was offensive? Bumblebee wondered. Perhaps she did not like Sam questioning her choice in men? Did she feel that Sam was accusing her of poor judgment?

"Well, here it is," Sam said.

"Yeah." Mikaela shifted in her seat. "I had fun, so, you know, thanks for … listening."

"Oh, yeah, yeah." Sam was putting up a front of calm, but Bumblebee knew better. Actually, Mikaela's heartbeat was elevated as well.

"You … you think I'm shallow?" she asked abruptly.

Shallow? Bumblebee's logic processors took a moment to sort that out to its colloquial meaning: to not see 'below the surface'. Of course humans couldn't literally see beyond another human's skin without the aid of external devices, but it seemed to imply an inability to perceive moral and personal qualities that had nothing to do with physical attractiveness.

It was not his question to answer, but Bumblebee wished desperately that he could somehow communicate to Sam that she was likely asking because of his earlier comment about Trent.

Sam proceeded to confirm his analysis of the question. "I think you're …? No, no. I think there's a lot more … than meets the eye … with you."

Surely that's a good answer! Bumblebee appraised.

"Okay." Mikaela almost audibly mulled that one over. "I'll see you at school." She started to get out of the Camaro.

Sam began to berate himself immediately, rocking in his seat. "That was a stupid line. 'There's more than meets the eye with you', stupid," he grumbled.

But Mikaela waved from her front porch before she went inside. Bumblebee wasn't sure if Sam had seen until Sam gave a little chuckle, still rocking in his seat. "Oh, god. Oh my god, I love my car," he nearly panted.

After two turns Bumblebee knew the rest of the route back to the Witwicky house. It was a good thing, too, because Sam was so giddy he was barely in any shape to take them both home.

To be continued

I apologize for this chapter being a little shorter than the others, but there wasn't an easy cutoff other than the end of Sam And Mikaela's Awesome Adventures.

Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter:

Skittles the Sugar Fairy (I'm glad I made you smile!), Hellfirefanatic (sometimes I overthink things so I'm glad the detail is good and not overwhelming. Proud to be your favorite 'Bee fic!), Geekgirl (Thank you!), and whitedino (yeah, that l'il bot (relatively speaking) is my hands-down favorite. =D).

Next up: Sam and Satan's Camaro. More action ahoy!

Please review!