I walked into the lobby for Raquel's firm, and her paralegal nodded in greeting. "Mr. Witwicky. Raquel is expecting you. She said you're fine to just go on back."

I found her in her office, typing away. Glancing up at me, she said, "Hold that thought." About five seconds later, she said, "There!" and turned her attention to me. "So. Our generous Judge Snider has denied your request to volunteer at the Mission County Animal Rescue."

"Not miserable enough?" I guessed.

"I believe he specified that you're not allowed to enjoy yourself, much less frolic with puppies."

"I'm guessing he's never had a dog in his life," I deadpanned.

"Or frolicked. He's not content for you to pay your debt to society; he wants to make sure you suffer for your sins. So I can guess that you're not doing anything in a nice office with adequate climate control."

"What if I did my volunteer hours lobbying for my friends." At least it would be more in line with my future assignments for the Autobots.

Leo had never translated some of his phrases, but I had heard "me esta tomando el pelo" often enough to know that such suggestions would land me squarely on her last nerve, so I decided to avoid being a troll for the rest of the conversation.

Instead, I pointed out, "He already denied the petition to allow me to serve the sentence in my hometown – can't he at least give me a break on what I have to do since it means I have to live out of a vehicle for the summer?" Granted it was the Witwicky Love Bus, but still. It might have a fridge and flush toilet, but in other ways it was much worse than living out of a station wagon or Camaro.

Raquel gave a grimace of sympathy before continuing, "Just being out of jail is a break as far as he's concerned. But I've submitted as our second choice that you perform your community service within the Mission County Public Library System."

"And when he denies that?" I grumbled.

"We have a few more options before we get to picking up dog feces in a public park. Let's take it one literacy program at a time."

"Options like another anonymous letter or two to the state bar?" I hopefully asked.

"Shhhh," she answered with a conspiratorial wink.

"What's third on the list again?"

Raquel rustled a few papers, "Next on the list is Salvation Army Donation Center, followed by janitorial work at the Senior Citizens Center."

I sighed, "Right."

...

I didn't have a formal dress code – there was an injunction during the initial interview at the Salvation Army to be well-groomed and keep my clothing in good repair. I probably should have gotten a haircut, but keeping up appearances was mostly for court appointments, not giving back to the community. As long as my longish hair didn't give Mom traumatic flashbacks to her hippie days with my grandparents, I figured I could go a couple of months without being practically scalped.

I didn't ask Mikaela to pick my clothes out for me this time, but she gave a thumbs up to my semi-old jeans and clean blue t-shirt when I modeled it the night before.

"I know it's not your thing," I said.

"But I look forward to getting you home and out of those clothes every time I see you dressing for the job," she said with an exaggerated wink. "And I think you look like you're ready to sell someone a reasonably-priced external hard drive at Best Buy, so no one can claim you look unprofessional."

I immediately vowed to make sure that no pictures of me ever made it onto social media where my ex-roomies could find them and went to get into pajamas before I started to feel self-conscious about my servant-of-the-people uniform.

Any thought of trying to blend in was ruined by the fact that I had to have my timecard approved by Glenn, my de facto supervisor. He had the decency to look it over in the privacy of the corner of the employee break room that was his own and nodded approvingly.

"You're a college kid," he observed.

"No longer as of a few weeks ago," I corrected. "The ink on my diploma isn't dry yet."

"Good for you," Glenn said. "We'll see if we can teach you some actual life skills before you leave us."

"Yes, sir," I said, figuring it was a nice, safe response. If I offended this guy and got booted from the program, I was back at Judge Snider's mercy.

He reached into his desk drawer and lifted out a few plastic nametags in various states of legibility. "Pick anyone you like for the day. If I can find Scotch tape and a Sharpie, we can even put your name over one of them."

Presented with three Steves and a Barbara, I went for Jamie. I read through the code of conduct that he handed over and did my best to memorize the donation flowchart as instructed. Donations were categorized as they came in: clothes, housewares, small as-is, large as-is, yard items, and collectibles. I was assigned to the exciting world of sorting "Small As-Is" even further. Though Glenn used more-technical terms, I remembered these sub-categories as obvious junk, not-so-obvious junk, repairable junk, working stuff, and the holy grail: cool stuff.

The sorting was a bit mind-numbing, so small-talk was inevitable. "Got yourself a girl?" Glenn asked.

"I do." Phones weren't allowed except for during breaks, so I couldn't show her off, but I could brag. "She owns her own mechanic's shop and we're high school sweethearts."

"I married my first three high school sweethearts," he said.

With nothing more forthcoming, I figured I wasn't expected to actually render an opinion on that.

"You might see her a few times," I said. "She's still in town after coming out to support me during..." But then, I didn't feel like talking about my stint in jail or Bumblebee's recklessness that landed me in this place.

I expected him to make some off-handed comment about what he'd had for lunch four years ago on a Thursday, but he just grunted indistinctly while examining a slightly dusty silver bud vase.

"I assume I'll be helping out in other parts of the store?" Surely, I wouldn't be stuck here, trying to get gum off of roller skate wheels for my entire summer.

"If you keep your nose clean." He left it at that for a good five minutes before adding, "Last guy we had, he never made it out of sorting. But he gave me a lot of lip."

It didn't sound like a threat or a warning, just a slightly-bored observation not unlike the fact that he'd had a number of high school sweethearts, three of whom he'd married, presumably not at the same time.

At 12:19, he squinted at his watch and told me to be back in an hour. I took the time to say, "thanks," but made a beeline for the door.

Mikaela met me outside five minutes later – she was hanging around both as moral support and as a deterrent to my mother's hovering – and I decided to meet her outside so she wouldn't be subjected to any curious coworkers.

"So," she drawled, "did you make any friends at school?"

I grinned for the first time all day at the teasing. "I'll give you three guesses as to the name of my wise old mentor."

"Leo," she said.

"He doesn't share a name with any roommates."

"Muhammad."

"Think wise, but don't call him old to his face," I suggested.

"Will?"

"Glenn," I informed her.

It was a pretty unimaginable scenario to know three people of completely different personalities and vocations with that name and I could see her trying to take a wild guess as to where he fell on the spectrum between a chronically loud doughnut devourer and a Joint Chief of Staff.

"Whatever you're imagining, it's nothing like that." I could have brought up his three ex-wives or the organic herb garden he claimed to have by his parking space at home, but I focused on one even more memorable thing. "He's got a full head of hair–think Einstein after a good combing–and collects vintage toupees."

"From where?"

"If they're in our stock, I haven't seen them, but I'd love to find out if he's hoarding them for the needy or has them on a bunch of mannequin heads like Lex Luthor."

"Your mom collects shot glasses," she said. "Everyone's got a quirk."

But Mom actually used those on occasion. I had even confiscated the one she got in Maui after one unfortunate night involving her and a lot of Jose Cuervo.

"Mom finds those in random crappy gift shops," I pointed out. "Glenn is a little weirder than my mother, but you'd never know it unless you were stuck with him for hours of small talk."

She had looked and sounded amused by the conversation so far, but she took advantage of our stop at a red light to give me a very quizzical look. "I didn't know it was possible to gauge anyone as 'a little weirder than my mother.'"

"Depending on how much caffeine and/or how little sleep they've had, all of my college roommates have been a little to a hell of a lot weirder," I said. "Anyway, I think he's harmless. But I never thought I'd find a Glenn who was more eccentric than Maggie's hacker."

I'd asked her to pick a place for lunch and Mikaela, in her wisdom, bypassed two Tex-Mex places and one Starbucks before pulling into a half-full parking lot at a diner.

"I can't vouch for the quality of the food, but I figure they'll have variety."

I decided on the soup-and-sandwich combo and Mikaela daringly ordered the "Mission City's best chicken pot pie-3 years running" before reaching into her purse for her phone.

"First order of business…" I leaned across the table and kissed her soundly. "We didn't get around to that yet."

"No, we didn't." She gave it a second go, lingering long enough that I could tell people were starting to take notice. "You've been through a terrible ordeal. Hail the conquering hero."

She might have been joking, but I didn't have a grasp on how endless community service would be. If I was stuck in sorting until the end of time, time would cease to have meaning. On the other hand, I might come out of the whole thing with some great stories and a second-hand banker's lamp.

"So, we should set some ground rules," MIkaela announced once we'd both been offered coffee. "We've got a lot to do and only so many lunch hours before it has to be done, but if you want to make your breaks a wedding-free time, I will respect that."

It was a temptation to veto conversations having anything to do with hors d'oeuvres or color schemes, but I was also willing to compromise for the mental health of my sweetheart.

"How about this?" I proposed. "When you're not in town, we can check in during lunch hour to see if I can help out in any way and when I'm lucky enough to have you here, we can fit some planning in."

"Some?'" she echoed. "Meaning your mom's not invited? She's going to be all over our wedding like white on rice."

"Or white on a bride," I teased. More seriously, I said, "She's not allowed more than once a week. I'm pretty sure she's got some strokes of genius, and I want to know about them. But I draw the line at her commandeering our lunches for rehearsal dinner seating arrangements or whatever."

"Deal." We shook on it, but I kissed her hand so it wasn't completely unromantic.

"So, did you have something in mind for today?" I prompted.

She pulled a pen out of her purse and flipped the paper placemat over. "Let's start simple. We've got a DJ and I can guess who you're picking for your best man. Who else are we sticking in tuxes?"

…

I'm not sure if Glenn was getting his orders directly from Judge Snider or not, but I half suspected he was, considering the schedule I got stuck with. I started at nine o'clock, but my lunch hour didn't start until around 12:30, meaning I had to come back for a measly half-hour before my shift ended at 2:00 pm.

But over Monday's lunch, Mikaela and I had figured out at least the basics of who we wanted standing with us on our wedding day, though come to think of it, I wasn't exactly sure where we'd all be standing. Venue was an issue for another day, I guess. Tuesday's lunch hour was spent looking at dresses for the bride and her maids, so I assumed we'd be talking about what I preferred to be stuffed into for my special day during lunch this afternoon.

"Hey," I greeted Glenn as I tied my Salvation Army apron on for my third day of indentured servitude.

"You came back," he observed. "Start on the bin of toddler clothes." He pointed with his chin toward a huge cardboard box.

With a sigh, I started sifting them by size. The little jumper-thingies and bibs and stuff I just folded for laying out on a shelf on the sales floor, but the occasional frilly dresses and baby tuxes I had to put on teeny little hangers.

I was pretty flabbergasted by the itsy-bitsiness of it all, but it was a pair of sneaker-style baby booties that punched me in the gut.

I'd been pretty distracted at the time, but I had a clear memory of Mom bawling over my baby booties the day I left for college. I'd worn shoes this tiny once and I'd grown up to, by most accounts, reach manhood. It didn't seem possible that I'd ever been little enough to need slightly-squashy sneakers the size of my palm.

And then the reason for the gut punch hit me. Mikaela and I were getting married. We would probably have kids. We were planning on kids...I think. I mean, we hadn't sat down and sketched out our family plan like we did the wedding party, but it was kind of a given. And if we had kids, they'd be tiny and helpless enough to wear something like this. The cost of tux rentals had me mildly freaked out, but wedding plans aside, I was pretty sure that it would be a hundred times more nerve-wracking to be in charge of someone like that. Some little human being that would leave vomit and other unmentionable stains on clothes like the ones I'd been sorting. I didn't know if I was ready for that. I didn't know if I was going to be ready by the time a doctor handed a little wrinkled thing wearing a hat to me. Maybe I was years from ready for that.

"Your face looks the color of oatmeal; you sure about getting hitched?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin at Glenn's voice. I whipped around to find him smirking behind me.

"Uh..I..um..." I stuttered incoherently.

He took the baby booties out of my hand, "You've been staring at these for a good five minutes."

I nodded, still not able to articulate an intelligible sentence, and gestured to the box before turning around and picking the next item – frilly dress with matching bonnet and diaper cover.

"Come on," Glenn said gently, taking those out of my hands too and putting all of them back in the box. "There are less scary things on the sales floor and you could use a change of scenery."

We loaded up a rack of clothes that Glenn had sorted before my shift started and headed for the casual racks of the Men's section. Faded Ramones shirts and holey jeans were definitely less panic-inducing than the leftovers of spit-up.

"Excuse me," a familiar and ringing voice called. "I need a tall, strong man to help me."

I'd have knocked Glenn over to go to Mikaela's aid, but he just glanced over. We were roughly the same height, not enough to really accurately measure. Glenn flattened his hair, proving he was shorter than me, and clapped me on the back with unnecessary enthusiasm.

"Stop slouching and go help whatever damsel's in distress. You'll have to make friends in this town eventually."

I arrived on the scene in As-Is to find her next to our bizarrely well-stocked vase section. "I'm picking up a few things for my new apartment," she said cheerfully. "Do you think you could help me with that gray one?"

"The gray one has a crack on the bottom," I said automatically. (I'd shelved it on Monday and Glenn had marked it half off for the defect.) "If that's your style, how about that silver one in the back?"

It wasn't anything like the gray one on the top shelf, but we both reached for it at the same time and she winked when we brushed fingers.

"Glenn thinks I need to make friends around here," I said in a low voice. "I was hoping you could be one of them?"

"Why..." She squinted at today's borrowed nametag. "...Jessup. I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Just the pretty ones," I muttered back. "Get a little polish on that thing," I continued in a louder voice, "and it'll look good as new. Or this one comes in a set."

I handed one of the rose-embellished bud vases to her and held the next one up for comparison, hooking my pinkie finger around hers.

"Hm," she eyed the vase speculatively, "I'm not really one for the flower motif, if I'm going to be putting flowers in it. I think I'll take the silver one; you're right, a good polish and it will look quite classy."

"Will that be all, ma'am?" I said with a bit of a forced smile as I thought, Another thing for the list – flowers!

"Miss," she corrected firmly.

"Didn't want to be too forward, miss. I call every nice lady 'ma'am." Also, I could apologize for ma'aming her at length when Glenn wasn't glancing at us every few seconds. "Can I help you find anything else?"

I helped her for another two minutes, then walked her to the cashier, bidding her farewell with a "Come back soon, miss!"

What was said between As Is and Nadia at the registers was, "I think you shouldn't mention how friendly we are to Glenn or you'll never get to visit again."

"I don't know," she said. "I think I can win him over."

Just as long as she didn't give him the impression that she could be Ex-Wife #4, I was up for that.

Glenn and I finished stocking the floor with our gently used merch and headed back to sorting. With more kindness than I thought his dry soul capable of, he traded with me, so I spent the rest of the morning sorting men's clothes while he tackled babywear.

...

Over the top of her menu, Mikaela said, "You're pretty quiet."

She was heading home to California about 4 pm, so this was our last lunch together for a couple of days. She'd be back Friday night, but especially after her surprise visit this morning, the prospect of working that soul-sucking job for two days without moral support wasn't something I was looking forward to. "Just… this job sucks more than I thought it would. And it's not even my fault. That's what burns me the most – I was just an innocent bystander."

"Beats jail," she pointed out, looking at her menu again.

"Is that the benchmark we're working from now?"

She glanced up, her eyes unreadable, and I recognized the wall she put up whenever she remembered her now-expunged record. "Fine. Beats being called 'femme commander.'"

My brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged, dodging my gaze again. "RaFly keeps calling me that."

"Well yeah." It made perfect sense that they would see her in that role, especially with Elita offlined.

She sighed and set aside her menu. "I know what I'm ordering. Hurry up – we've got wedding plans to hammer out."

"Like flowers?" I ventured.

A little sparkle returned to her eyes. "How'd you guess?"

...

Like usual, Mikaela and RaFly picked me up and brought me home to my parents' RV. My first sign of trouble came when I greeted her with, "Hey, Beautiful," when I climbed into the passenger seat.

Mikaela gave me a too-bright smile and said, "Hi, Sam."

She usually answered that one by calling me "famous." Calling me something else had the inflection of my dad using my full name.

Sensing I was on thin ice, I waited to let her lead out on whatever was bugging her, but after two miles, she still hadn't said anything or even turned on the radio.

I glanced over at her in the driver's seat. "You're pretty quiet."

She delicately snorted. "Just a lot on my mind. I'm going to need to spend at least a couple days a week at the shop still, so we should talk logistics."

"Okay…?"

"I'll be back Friday night, and I think that's a good thing – me spending the weekends with you. So Sunday evenings after it cools down, I can leave for California, and then I'll return Wednesday evening. That'll let me avoid riding my motorcycle through the heat of the day."

"What about me?" RaFly asked, finally putting the radio to good use. "I am assigned as Samuel's bodyguard."

"That's why I'll be riding my motorcycle."

"Understood," RaFly answered, but even I could hear how resigned she was.

Something was wrong, but I had no idea what, other than Mikaela's comment about RaFly calling her a femme commander. "RaFly should stick with you," I said. "You two have always been friends ever since she arrived on Earth, and besides, air conditioning! You'd be able to travel whenever you wanted."

RaFly made a completely non-necessary clearing her throat sound. "I am assigned to your security detail, Samuel Prime. I cannot leave."

"Well you're right, but she's the human femme commander just like I'm the human Prime..."

"No, I'm not," Mikaela softly said.

Something was wrong and I was trying to fix it. I turned to look at her. "Yes, you are."

Raising her voice, she said, "No! I'm not, Sam!"

I froze, confused about why she was yelling.

"I'm just me. I've always been just me, and I always will be. I'm not some Autobot military commander, and I don't need a bodyguard. I can take care of myself."

"Okay," I soothingly said, looking forward again. "Yeah, you...you definitely can."

We spent the rest of the ride in tense silence.

…

When we pulled up to the campsite, Mikaela immediately focused on Mom, even leaving Wheelie in the back seat where he rode like some entitled chihuahua all the time. It wasn't exactly a cold shoulder, but it sent the same message loud and clear.

She started letting Mom know about our new logistics arrangement and making sure they'd be able to drive me to work tomorrow.

RaFly's holoform climbed out of her cab and approached us. "If Mikaela wishes to regularly ride her motorcycle between here and California, I can return overnight tonight and be here in the morning to provide transport and security again for Samuel."

"That'll work!" Mikaela cheerfully agreed, and I ducked into the RV to change into shorts and sandals.

"Trouble in paradise?" Dad asked. Judging by the kitchen towel over his shoulder, he'd been doing the dishes.

"Just being treated like a tween without wheels." Primus, I missed Bumblebee!

Dad rested a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Relationships can be difficult sometimes for any girl, anyone, Sam. Especially if it involves...um...commitment. It's a lot to take in."

"Yeah, thanks for the pep-talk," I grumbled, and grabbed my suitcase on my way to their bedroom to change.

But his words kept rattling around in my brain, and as I kicked my stifling tennis shoes off, I suddenly realized why. It's a lot to take in.

I changed as quickly as I could and hurried outside. Taking Mikaela by the elbow, I peeled her away from Mom, saying, "Can we talk?"

She didn't answer, but she didn't resist as I steered her toward the RV park's little gift shop and convenience store. "First, ice cream."

"If you're trying to butter me up…" she warned.

"Nope, just sweet-talking. Toppings optional."

We bought a banana split like we were any normal, not-fighting couple and found a shady table on the patio. We even took a couple of bites in silence.

"I'm sorry I pressured you," I began. "I remember when I first found out I was a Prime and...I freaked. Like, way more than you have about them calling you a femme commander. And Optimus freaked, too, but his freaking out was because he was terrified I'd reject it. And I get where he's coming from now."

She swallowed her bite of banana split and just watched me warily.

At least she wasn't yelling this time, so I forged ahead. "This whole femme commander thing is a big deal for a lot of people, but it's gotta be something you want, you choose. So I'm not going to force it down your throat and I'll talk to Optimus and make sure that RaFly and the rest of the Autobots back off, too. Just...understand that the reason we all thought of you that way is because we see your strength and smarts and kindness and of course you're the kind of person anyone would follow into battle. We adore and trust you that much. And no matter what title you're comfortable with, that's the person we see in you."

She sighed, but she was fighting a smile and tears swam in her eyes.

Encouraged, I reached across the table to hold her hand. "You are Mikaela Baines, and by the grace of some god or another, you've agreed to become Mikaela Witwicky. If that's as far as you're comfortable changing, then I'll take it and count myself a lucky man."

She stood, came around to my side of the table, and gave me the best ice-cream kiss ever.