Chapter summary : Drag Strip does some soul-searching, and finds out he's just as amazing as he always suspected.

Authors' note : This takes place just after Chapter 18, while Dead End is at work.

-anon_decepticon and QoS/mdperera

Chapter 21 : Pit Stop

After the humans left, Drag Strip was at a loss. Breakdown came back out, looked around and sat down before the computer again, while Wildrider continued to incinerate something in the kitchen. Drag Strip felt as though he was the only one without something to do.

He didn't feel up to tackling Wildrider's idea of cooking, so he left the apartment just before lunch. He had tried practising a new routine, but everything from the warm-up to the dance moves themselves felt as though he was going through the motions. The imaginary audience he'd always seen before him, the cheering crowd of thousands who filled the dingy living-room and transformed it into a magnificent stadium, was gone. He was no longer sure what lay behind human faces and human smiles, whether they were looking at him with genuine appreciation and desire, or whether it was all just a mask.

He told himself that it didn't make any difference. Breakdown would contact the base soon and then the Constructicons would fix them somehow. It wasn't as if he would be human much longer, let alone continue to work at the strip club. Even if no one had disillusioned him, it would all have ended before long.

Somehow that didn't make him feel any better.

He started to walk around the block. That was normally a pleasant experience; people often stared at him in his yellow blazer, tight trousers and high-heeled boots. He always pretended not to notice – after all, it wasn't as though passers-by were customers – but he secretly reveled in the attention, relishing it like a gulp of high-grade. Now, though, he wondered if what he'd taken for admiration was nothing more than pity.

He gave up on the walk and was about to return home when a movement from across the street caught his eye. A woman stepped out of the little deli on the corner, waved to someone inside and let the door swing shut behind her as she turned to leave.

Drag Strip stopped, frowning. He'd seen that woman before, sitting across a table from Motormaster, of all mechs. Somehow she'd survived the experience, though perhaps Motormaster had his reasons for that? Drag Strip had seen many women's faces light up with fascination during his brief stint as a human, but that was the first time he'd seen that kind of interest directed at Motormaster instead of himself.

It was partly that and partly his own reluctance to return to the apartment that set him into motion, crossing the road before he could think twice. The woman had already started off by then, though he noticed the deli was still open. Slipping off in the middle of the day? he thought as he began to follow her. For a tryst with Motormaster?

He wasn't sure what he would do if that were the case – other than observe the proceedings, try not to purge his fuel tanks and take the news back to Wildrider to snicker over later – but trailing her was enough of a distraction to take his mind off what had happened that morning. And although the streets were busy, the woman was tall enough to stand out from the crowd.

He kept to a safe distance twenty feet behind her, not wanting to be discovered. Once, she paused to look in a shop window and Drag Strip had to halt as well, ducking back around the corner of a building and peeking out again cautiously. But soon she started walking again, and after a few minutes she reached another building, pushed open the lobby door and went in.

Drag Strip hesitated for only a moment before he hurried after her. The more he knew about Motormaster's potential weaknesses, the better – and fragging a human without even being paid for it was about as strutless as a Decepticon could get. Through the dusty glass of the lobby door he saw the woman's large form vanish around a corner, probably headed for the elevators.

Drag Strip opened the door just enough to slip inside, the ding of an elevator ahead covering up any sounds he might have made. He padded quietly up the short hall and turned the corner.

Movement flashed, coming straight at him. He jerked back reflexively, so fast that he lost his footing. Before he could recover, he was falling – and that was the only thing that saved him from the white cloud of spray that filled the air where his face had been only a second before. Even at that distance, the caustic vapor seared his throat and stung his eyes.

He hit the ground painfully and scrabbled backward, trying to blink his vision clear. In the next moment he realized that the woman had been hiding just around the corner, and now had a small aerosol can pointed at him. Drag Strip's fuel went cold. He knew only too well what that did to human systems. What if it stained his blazer?

He flung a hand up to protect his face, hoping it would be taken for a gesture of surrender, and glanced around desperately for a weapon. There was nothing close by except for a large potted plant, so he continued to push himself backward. Once he was out of range he would bolt to his feet and run. Perhaps return with a weapon, if he could find one outside.

"Wait a second!" the woman said. Drag Strip froze, looking up at her warily. She towered over him at that angle, and her brows were drawn together so sharply they almost met.

"You're one of Tom's roommates, aren't you?" she said.

Oh slag. Drag Strip hadn't thought his day could get any worse, but evidently he'd been wrong. She knew who he was, and now she was sure to report the incident to Motormaster.

His mind raced. Would throwing himself on her mercy distract her enough for him to get the drop on her somehow? Hopefully she wouldn't expect him to 'face her in exchange for her silence. Her hair was tied back from her undecorated face, and she was nowhere near as attractive as most of the women in the club; Drag Strip rated her a two on his one-to-ten scale. But it's such a novelty for Motormaster to have someone willing in his berth, he probably doesn't care what she looks like.

"Oh, come on, I've seen you before," the woman said. She seemed a little less angry, though the aerosol can was still pointed at him. "You might want to try wearing ordinary clothes next time you decide to follow someone. It was like being stalked by Big Bird."

"By whom?" Drag Strip dared to ask.

"Never mind. Did Tom put you up to this?"

"Of course not!" Drag Strip said indignantly. Just because he was forced to serve under Motormaster - one of the great injustices of the universe - didn't mean he was a drone.

The woman's eyes narrowed, and she didn't look as though she believed him. "Then why did you—" The elevator dinged again and she stepped to one side, lowering the can so it was hidden at her side. "Get up," she said quietly but urgently. "And try to look normal."

Drag Strip scrambled up as the elevator doors hissed open, brushing dust from his clothes. The elevator disgorged two more humans, but they didn't do more than glance at him, which was a relief. He'd been humiliated enough already.

"So why were you following me?" the woman said again.

Drag Strip took a cautious step closer, close enough that he could speak in a lowered voice while still remaining out of the aerosol can's range. "I… uh…" He could hardly say that he'd planned to watch whatever she was going to do with Motormaster, but what other reason could he give? "I was curious," he said, stalling for time while he tried to think of something.

She tilted her head to one side, still looking skeptical. "About what?"

What would a human be likely to believe? Drag Strip wondered. Wait...she's human but she likes Motormaster, so will she think the same way other humans do about me stripping?

"Do you find me attractive?" he said.

She blinked. "What?"

Drag Strip leaned a shoulder against the nearest wall to display his body from a more flattering angle.. "If I took all my clothes off, you'd like that, right?"

The woman's mouth dropped half-open, and she glanced around quickly. "You mean, right now?"

"Well… no," Drag Strip said, not without a little reluctance. If this unfortunate woman could show interest in Motormaster of all mechs, a little taste of the Yellowjacket's honey would probably send her out of her mind with ecstasy. "There's no music or spotlight here. But if we were at the club where I work, would you—"

"Wait a second," the woman said. "You're a stripper?"

Drag Strip rolled his eyes. "Obviously. Why else would I take off my clothes for you?"

The woman blinked, then shook her head a little. "I can see why you and Tom get along. You followed me home to ask me that?"

"Well, another hu—" Drag Strip caught himself just in time. "This other person told me that people look down on strippers, or feel sorry for them. And I…" He stopped, unwilling to admit how he had felt after that.

The woman studied him for a moment longer in silence. "Can I ask you something?" she said. "How long have you been doing that kind of work?"

"About three weeks." And it hadn't felt like work until that morning.

"I see. And did you like it before this person told you their opinion?"

Drag Strip smiled. "Yeah, it was fun. I got paid really well and I was the first one to get a job! The waxing part sucked slag, but it was worth it."

The woman's mouth twitched at the corners. "Then that's what's important."

That didn't answer his question! "But do people think that way about strippers?" Drag Strip said.

"Do I look like I pity you?" the woman said. "Even if I did, who cares? If your job makes you happy, that's what matters. You earned money and supported yourself, rather than taking a handout from the government. And if you got paid well, you must have been doing a good job, so you can be proud of that." She paused. "But the money wasn't enough for what you needed, was it?"

"No, the comp—" Drag Strip stopped. "How did you…" He caught himself again, torn between anger at the realization that he had given himself away and shock that this human knew so much about their situation.

Motormaster's really been spilling it in the berth, he thought grimly.

"Never mind," the woman said. "The point is, people will say what they like. But you don't have to listen. And about this pitying you for being a stripper…" She smiled suddenly. "Some people looked down on me when I was a waitress, and some people still don't think I amount to much because I run a deli in a rough neighborhood. But no one's going to make me less than proud of what I've accomplished with my life, and no one should make you feel that way, either."

Drag Strip didn't know quite what to say. It was the second time that day that a human had told him something he'd never heard before, but this time he didn't feel belittled or despised. Instead, it was like driving in the sun just long enough for his plating to absorb the rays, generating a steady warmth that matched the thrum of his engine as it reached its rhythm.

He didn't even need an audience when he felt like that.

The woman looked at her watch. "Damn, I'm going to be late." She slipped the aerosol can back into her shoulderbag.

Late? Well, that was something he could fix. "Do you have a car?"

"I have a pickup. Why?"

Drag Strip grinned, cocked one hip at a jaunty angle and held out a hand. "Give me the keys. I'll get you there ahead of time."

The woman looked at him with a mixture of wariness and disbelief. "Uh, thanks, but I'll pass. It was nice meeting you. Why don't you drop by the deli sometime? And bring your roommates along I'd like to meet them."

"Sure," Drag Strip said before it occurred to him to wonder just how much she knew about his roommates. She had already gotten into the elevator by then, and the doors were closing, so he only made a note of which floor it stopped on before he left. Not stupid, for a human… too bad about the drab way she dresses. No wonder no one except Motormaster would give her a second look. Maybe he would drop by the deli – she could use some advice on how to emphasize her figure and decorate her face. With her hair down and her hemline up, she could go as high as a five on his scale.

And it was always nice to know he had something he could hold over Motormaster's head. Megatron would not be pleased to hear that the leader of his elite gestalt had done it with a human, although Drag Strip wasn't sure if Megatron would approve of the finest member of said gestalt stripping for humans either. Well, too bad if he doesn't. He should try being one sometime, see how he manages.

He sauntered back to the apartment in a much better mood. Motormaster hadn't returned, Breakdown was still working on his program and Wildrider had gone out on some mysterious errand, but there was some lunch left over for him. Drag Strip finished it off and was just about to take his clothes down to the laundry room when the phone rang. He reached for it reflexively.

"Don't!" Breakdown said, looking up from his work. "Motormaster said no one should answer the phone, remember?"

Drag Strip's lip curled. Motormaster had told them that yesterday, after someone had called the apartment several times, but what was the point of having a phone if they couldn't even answer calls on it?

"Hey, Motormouse!" he said – albeit not too loudly – with his hand poised over the receiver. "If you don't want me to answer the phone, get your aft over here and stop me!"

Breakdown just looked at him in a way that said, we both know you'd never say a word of that if he was actually in the apartment, but Drag Strip just grinned as he picked up the receiver. "Yup?" he said.

"Hey, sunshine, come down to the lobby," Wildrider's voice said. "I got a surprise!"

Drag Strip hesitated – Wildrider's ideas of surprises were often erratic and sometimes dangerous – but before he could ask what was going on, there was a click as the phone was hung up at the other end. Shrugging, he strolled down to the lobby. His quick reflexes could probably get him out of the way of any explosions in time, and he had to admit he was curious. For all Wildrider's faults, life was never boring with him around.

Wildrider was waiting in the lobby, sitting on a large cardboard box, but he jumped up when he saw Drag Strip. "Help me get this upstairs before the boss sees it," he said.

"What is it?" Drag Strip said as he bent to help lift it.

"A TV!" Wildrider's eyes gleamed under the locks of dark hair that fell over his forehead.

"How could you afford one?" Drag Strip said, trying to jab the elevator button with his elbow.

"Bought it cheap from Marce. He said it fell off the back of a truck."

Drag Strip nearly let the thing fall again, and only refrained from doing so because the impact might have hurt his toes. "So it's damaged?" he said in disappointment as the elevator doors shut.

Wildrider shook his head. "Marce told me it's fine," he said, and it actually worked when they carried it into their room and plugged it in. Drag Strip turned it off as soon as they heard Motormaster come in, but as Wildrider gleefully reminded him, they could all cram into the room, make popcorn and watch Knight Rider at eight p.m. after Motormaster left for work. Wildrider could hardly wait for Dead End to get home and see it.

"Bet you he'll smi… he won't look so depressed," he said, making himself comfortable on the bed.

For once, Drag Strip didn't bet on the opposite. He only nodded and curled up beside Wildrider.