Here is the next chapter!
I wanted to get a new chapter up because I know before I posted the last chapter, it was a couple months were nothing was posted.
So it's a little bit shorter than the other chapters but I hope you all enjoy it!
Sparkling - Newborn
Youngling – Child
Astrosecond – .498 seconds
Breem - 8.3 Earth minutes
Joor - About 6.5 Earth hours
Orn - about 13 Earth days
Cycle – About 3 Earth weeks
Stellar Cycle – About 73 Earth months
Vorn - About 83 Earth years
I want to thank Ayami1 for being my betareader starting with Chapter 14 so...
Thank you! :)
And enjoy!
Can you keep a secret?
Chapter 14
Ok. Don't tell anyone. Do not tell anyone that you were on a date with Optimus Prime last night.
Arriving at work the next day, I felt almost convinced I was going to blurt it out by mistake. Or some bot was going to guess. I mean, surely it must be obvious; from my face, my paint, the way I'm walking. I felt as though everything I did screamed "Hey, guess what I did last night?"
"Hiya," Trailbreaker greeted as I got myself a cube of energon. "How are you?"
"I'm fine, thanks!" I said, giving a guilty jump. "I just had a quiet evening in last night. With my roommate. We watched TV last night. Just the two of us. No one else."
"Right!" Trailbreaker said, looking a bit bemused. "Er, lovely!"
I'm losing it. Everyone knows this is how criminals get caught. They add too many details and trip themselves up.
Right, no more babbling.
"Hi," Cliffjumper said as I sit down at my desk.
"Hi," I replied, forcing myself to keep it at that. I won't even mention what kind of energon Bee and I made, even though I've got a whole story ready about how Bee added a little too much coolant to the mix, haha, what a mix-up.
I was supposed to be working on a credit-off flyer for Praxus Prime this morning; but instead, I find myself taking out a pad and starting a list of possible date venues where I can take Optimus tonight.
1. Bar? No. Far too boring.
2. Movie? No. Too much sitting, not talking to each other.
3. Driving? Optimus and I will glide around to the radio in seamless harmony… No. Still not enough talking. Too impersonal.
4. …
I ran out of ideas already. How fragged up is that?
Suddenly I had a thought. I read this article on marketing innovation last stellar cycle that said if your processor was blank, you should write keywords like SUCCESS and CUSTOMER and DESIRES on a pad and wait for them to stimulate your processor.
Thinking for a bit, I write down: OPTIMUS, DATE, ROMANCE, KISS. I gaze at the words, trying to focus, but it was hard to concentrate when my processor is half tuning in to the idle conversation going on around me.
"…really working on some secret project, or is that just a rumor?"
"…company in a new direction, apparently, but no one knows exactly what he's…"
"…is the Mirage guy anyway? I mean, what function does he have?"
"He's Optimus' bodyguard, isn't he?" says someone.
That's it. That's exactly what Mirage looks like. A bodyguard. Or an assassin. Maybe he's in charge of 'dealing' with Optimus' competitors.
"He's with Optimus, isn't he?" Arcee imputed. She worked in Finance but likes Springer, so she's always finding excuses to come into our office. "He must be Optimus' lover."
"What?" I said, sitting up suddenly and snapping the edge of my pad. Luckily everyone was too busy gossiping to notice.
Optimus' lover? Optimus' lover! That's why he didn't kiss me good night. He only wants me to be a friend. He'll introduce me to Mirage and I'll have to pretend to be all cool with it, like I knew all along—
"How do you know?" Trailbreaker questioned with astonishment.
"I just assumed he was," replied Arcee with a shrug. "There's no other bot on the scene—"
"But they don't even look good together!"
"I don't think they're lovers!" I chipped in, trying to sound lighthearted and just vaguely interested.
"They're not," chimed Cliffjumper's authoritative voice. "I read an old profile of him in Newsweek, and he was dating this femme president of Origin Software. It said before that he went out with some supermodel. But he broke up with them ages ago."
A huge surge of relief flooded through me.
Obviously I knew he didn't already have a lover.
"So, is Optimus seeing anyone at the moment?"
"Who knows?"
"He's pretty sexy, don't you think?" Trailbreaker purred with a wicked grin. "I wouldn't mind."
"Yeah, right," shot Springer. "You probably wouldn't mind his limo, either."
"Apparently, he hasn't had a relationship since Alpha Trion died," Cliffjumper stated crisply. "So I doubt you've got much of a chance."
"Bad luck, Trailbreaker," laughed Springer.
Just for an instant, I found myself imagining what would happen if I stood up and said, 'Actually, I had dinner with Optimus Prime last night.' They'd all be utterly dumbfounded. There'd be gasps, and questions…
Oh, who am I kidding? They wouldn't believe me, would they? They'd say I was suffering from delusions.
"Hi, Prowl," came Trailbreaker's voice, interrupting my thoughts.
Prowl? I look up and there he was, with no warning, approaching my desk.
What's he doing here? Has he found out about me and Optimus?
I scratched the back of my helm, feeling nervous. I've spotted him a couple of times around the building, but this is our first moment face-to-face since we broke up.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," I reply awkwardly; then there was silence.
Suddenly I notice my unfinished list of date ideas lying on my desk, with KISS clearly visible. Frag. Trying to stay casual, I reached for the pad, turned it off, and dropped it in my drawer.
Around us, all the gossip about Mirage and Optimus had petered out. I knew everyone in the office was listening to us, even if they were pretending to be doing something else. It's like we're a real-life drama on TV.
And I knew which character I am. I'm the heartless fragger who chucked his lovely, decent, mech for no good reason.
The thing is, I do feel guilty. Every time I see Prowl, or even think about him, I get a horrible tight feeling in my spark. But does he have to have such an expression of injured dignity on his face? A kind of you've-mortally-wounded-me-but-I'm-such-a-good-bot-I-forgive-you kind of look.
I can feel my guilt ebbing away and annoyance starting to rise.
"I only came up," started Prowl at last, "because I'd put us down to do a stint on the Primm's stall together at the corporate family day. Obviously when I did so, I thought we'd be—" He broke off, looking more martyred than ever. "Anyway; but I don't mind going through it. If you don't."
I'm not going to be the one to say I can't bear to stand next to him for half a joor. "I don't mind!" I say.
"Fine."
"Fine."
There's another awkward pause.
"I found your white paint, by the way," I say. "I'll bring it in."
"Thanks. I think I've got some stuff of yours, too…"
"Hey," said Springer, coming over toward us with a wicked, optics-gleaming, let's-stir-shit expression. "I saw you with someone last night."
I feel a spasm of terror. Frag! Frag, Frag. Ok…ok…its ok. He's not looking at me. He's looking at Prowl.
Who in the pit was Prowl with?
"That was just a friend," said Prowl stiffly.
"Are you sure?" Springer teased. "You looked pretty friendly to me—"
"Shut up, Springer," Prowl snapped, looking pained. "It's far too early to be thinking of…moving on. Isn't it, Hot Rod?"
"Er, yes." I swallowed several times. "Absolutely. Definitely."
Oh, Primus.
I wasn't going to worry about Prowl. I had an important date to think about. And thank goodness, by the end of the day I had at last come up with the perfect venue. It only took me about half a joor to persuade Bee that when they said, 'The key shall in no circumstances be transferred to any nonmember' in the rules, they didn't really mean it.
At last he reached into his subspace and handed it to me, an anxious expression on his face. "Don't lose it!"
"I won't! Thanks, Bee." I exclaimed as I gave him a hug.
"You remember the password, don't you?"
"Yes. 'Beatdown.'"
"Where are you going?" asked Sunstreaker, coming into my room. He gives me a critical look. "Nice polish. Where's it from?"
"Oxfam. I mean Whittles."
I decided tonight I'm not even going to try to borrow anything from Sunstreaker. I'm going to paint my armor with my regular red, orange, and yellow paints, and if Optimus doesn't like it, he can shove it.
"I was meaning to ask," Sunstreaker optics narrowing. "You two didn't go into my room last night, did you?"
"No," Bee replied innocently. "Why—did it look like we had?"
Sunstreaker was out until three last night, and by the time he got back, everything was back in place. Tape and all. We couldn't have been more careful.
"No," admits Sunstreaker. "Nothing was out of place. But I just got a feeling. As though someone had been in there."
"Did you leave the window open?" asked Bee. "Because I read this article recently, about how cyber-monkeys are being sent into houses to steal things."
"Cyber-monkeys?"
"Apparently. The thieves train them."
Sunstreaker looks from Bee to me, perplexed, and I forced myself to keep a straight face.
"Anyway," I said to change the subject. "You might like to know that you were wrong about Optimus. I'm going out with him again tonight! It wasn't a disastrous date at all!"
There's no need to add that we had a big fight and I stormed out and he had to follow me to the bus stop; because the point was, we're having a second date.
"I wasn't wrong," said Sunstreaker. "You just wait. I predict doom." He glanced at himself in the mirror and brushed an invisible speck of dust off his shoulder.
"Nice paints," commented Bee. "First date?"
"Yes. Well, bye. See you later." Sunstreaker glanced at himself one more time in the mirror then left the room. I pulled a face at his skinny back and start putting the finishing touches on my flame-covered chest.
Honestly. Doom. He's just trying to ruin things.
"What's the time?" I asked, frowning in concentration as I look at my armor in the mirror.
"Ten to eight," answered Bee. "How are you going to get there?"
"Driving."
Suddenly the buzzer goes off, and we both look up.
"He's early," Bee stated just as surprised as I was. "That's a bit weird."
"He can't be early!" We both hurried into the living room and Bee gets to the window first.
"Oh, frag," he said, looking down to the street below. "It's Prowl."
"Prowl?" I stared at him in horror. "Prowl's here?"
"He's holding a box of stuff. Shall I buzz him up?"
"No! Pretend we're not in!"
"Too late," Bee sighed, and pulls a face. "Sorry. He's seen me."
The buzzer sounds again, and we exchange helpless looks.
"Ok," I said at last. "I'm going down."
Frag, frag, frag…
I pelt downstairs and open the door. And there, standing on the doorstep, is Prowl, wearing the same martyred expression he had at the office.
"Hi," he said. "Here are the things I was telling you about. I thought you might need them."
"Er, thanks," I said, grabbing the box, which seems to contain one bottle of polish and some paints I've never seen in my life. "I haven't quite sorted out your stuff yet, so I'll bring it to the office, ok?"
I dumped the box on the stairs, and quickly turned back before Prowl thinks I'm inviting him in.
"So, um, thanks. It was really good of you to stop by."
"No problem," Prowl replied. He gives a heavy sigh. "Hot Rod… I was thinking perhaps we could use this as an opportunity to talk. Maybe we could have a drink…"
"Gosh," I stated. "I'd love that. I really would. But to be honest, now isn't the best time…"
"Are you going out?" His face falls.
"Um, yes. With Bee." I glanced at my internal clock. Its six breems to eight. "So anyway, I'll see you soon. You know, around the office…"
"Why are you so flustered?"
"I'm not flustered!" I shot hastily before leaning casually against the door frame.
"What's wrong?" His optics narrow and he looks past me into the hall. "Is something going on?"
"Prowl." I put a reassuring hand on his arm. "Nothing's going on. You're imagining things."
At that moment, Bee appeared behind me at the door. "Um, Hot Rod, there's a very urgent call for you," he said in a really stilted voice. "You'd better come straightaway… Oh, hello, Prowl!"
The trouble is, Bee is the worst liar in the world.
"You're trying to get rid of me!" said Prowl, looking from Bee to me in shock.
"No, we're not!" defended Bee, flushing bright red.
"Hang on," stopped Prowl suddenly, staring at my freshly painted armor. "Hang on a breem. I don't… Are you going on a … date?"
My processor worked quickly. If I denied it, we'll probably get into some huge argument. But if I admit the truth… maybe he'll storm off in a huff! "You're right," I admitted. "I've got a date."
There's a shocked silence.
"I don't believe this," said Prowl, shaking his helm, and to my dismay, descended heavily down onto the steps. I glance at my internal watch. Three breems to eight. Frag.
"Prowl—"
"You told me there wasn't anyone else! You promised, Hot Rod!"
"There wasn't! But… there is now. And he'll be here soon… Prowl, you really don't want to get into this." I grabbed his arm and try to lift him, but he weighs a lot more than I thought he did. "Prowl, please. Don't make this more painful for everyone."
"I suppose you're right." At last Prowl gets to his feet. "I'll go."
He walks to the gate, his back hunched in defeat, and I feel a sudden pang of guilt mixed with a desperate desire for him to hurry. Then, to my horror, he turns back. "So, who is it?"
"It's… it's someone you don't know," I said, crossing my fingers behind my back. "Look, we'll have lunch soon and have a good talk. Or something. I promise."
"Ok," said Prowl, looking more wounded than ever. "Fine. I get the message."
I watched, unable to breathe, as he shuts the gate behind him and walked slowly along the street. Keep walking, keep walking…Don't stop…
As Prowl finally finds the corner, Optimus' silver limo appears at the other end of the street.
"Holy frag," murmured Bee. "If Optimus had been a breem early…"
"Don't!" I collapsed onto the wall. "Bee, I can't cope with this…"
I felt all shaky. I think I need a drink. Abruptly, I realized I've only got part of my flames painted.
The silver limo pulls up in front of the house and out gets the same driver as before. He opens the passenger door, and Optimus steps out. The expensive paints and polish are gone—he's wearing casual blue and red paints, which somehow make him that much hotter.
"Hi!" he said, looking taken aback to see me. "Am I late?"
"No! I was just, um, sitting here. You know. Taking in the view." I gesture across the road, where I notice for the first time a huge fat mech is changing a tire on his leg. "Anyway!" I said, hastily standing up. "Actually… I'm not quite ready. Do you want to come up for a breem?"
"Sure. That would be nice."
"And send your limo away!" I added. "You weren't supposed to have it!"
"You weren't supposed to be sitting outside you house and catch me," countered Optimus. "Ok, Dodger, that's it for the night." He nods to the driver. "I'm in this mech's hands from now on."
"This is Bee, my roommate," I said as the driver gets back into the car. "Bee, Optimus."
"Hi," said Bee, looking a bit self-conscious as they shake hands.
As we made our way up the stairs to our floor, I was suddenly aware of how narrow they were and how the cream paint on the walls were all scuffed and the floor smelled of stale energon. Optimus probably lived in some enormous, grand mansion. He probably had a marble staircase or something.
But so what? It was probably awful. All cold and clattery.
"Hot Rod, if you want finishing getting ready, I'll fix Optimus a drink," said Bee, with a smile that said 'he's nice!'
"Thanks," I said, shooting back an 'isn't he?' look. I hurried into my room and started applying the finishing touches to the flames on my chest.
A few moments later there was a little knock at my door.
"Hi!" I said, expecting Bee; yet in came Optimus, holding out a glass a sweet coolant high grade.
"Oh, thanks!" I smiled gratefully. "I could do with a drink."
"I won't come in—"
"No, it's fine. Sit down!"
I gestured to the berth, but it's covered with paints and polishes. And my dressing table stool is piled high with pads. Damn, I should have tidied up a bit.
"I'll stand," said Optimus. He took a sip of what looked like coolant and glanced around my room in fascination. "So this is your room. Your world."
"Yes." I flushed slightly, unscrewing my polish. "It's a bit messy—"
"It's very nice. Very homey." I can see him take in the pads piled in the corner, the little glittered stars hanging from my light, and the mirror with a rag strung over the top.
"Virus Research?" he asked puzzled, looking at the label on my sheets. "What does that—"
"It's a shop," I said, a little defiant. "A secondhand shop."
"Ah." He nodded with tactful comprehensions. "Nice sheets," he added, smiling.
"It's ironic," I said in haste. "It's an ironic statement."
Primus, how embarrassing. I should have changed it.
Now Optimus' was staring incredulously at my open dressing table crammed with brushes. "How many brushes do you have?"
"Er, a few…" I said, closing it.
Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to let Optimus come in here. Now he was picking up my vitamins and examining them. I mean, what's so interesting about vitamins?
"Did you grow up in the city?" I asked to distract him. "Or in the country?"
"Kind of between." Optimus looked up from the bottle. "So these are beauty vitamins? You don't take them for the health benefits?"
"Well." I cleared my intakes, feeling a bit shallow. "Obviously I take them for both health and beauty reasons…So…which did you prefer? Town or country?"
Optimus didn't seem to hear. He's looking at Bluestreak's painting. "What's this? It's…lovely?"
"It's a painting," I answered, screwing up my face as I turned to look at it. "I know. It's hideous. I can't stand Bluestreak's painting."
Where's that brush? Where?
Oh, Ok, here it is. Now what's Optimus doing?
I turned to see him looking in fascination at my exercise chart, which I put up a couple of stellar cycles ago after I'd spent an entire cycle eating energon treats.
"'Seven a.m.'" he read aloud. "'Brisk jog around block. Forty sit-ups. Lunch time: yoga class. Evening: Lift weights. Sixty sit-ups.'" He takes a sip of coolant. "Very impressive. You do all this?"
"Well," I said after a pause, "I don't exactly manage every single…I mean, it was quite an ambitious…you know, er, anyway!" I quickly spun around and stand up. "Let's go!"
I had to get him out of here quickly before he does something like spot something embarrassing and ask me what it is. I mean, honestly! Why on Cybertron is he so interested in everything?
Ok so once again I know it was shorter than the last one, but TfJazz inspired me to at least post a little something.
So I hope you liked it and reviews would be lovely!
Thank you once again to Ayami1 for being my betareader. You are amazing! :)