Sam was almost wishing for Bee's company, as he dragged himself along after Mikaela at the car show. He could have contacted Bee, knew it couldn't have been all that difficult, but there was still something holding him back. He'd been scared of Bee; for a split second, he hadn't known who Bee was, and there was something in that still churning beneath still waters, the not knowing, the something that he suddenly didn't understand about Bumblebee. There are things you don't know about Bee, the incident had seemed to say, they're important and you aren't seeing them.

He liked having Bee on these kinds of dates, though, had grown used to it. Mikaela loved car shows whole-heartedly, and Sam wanted to like the things she did, really. And she was so good about it, too; she was always beckoning him over, explaining to him what was unique about a particular car, pausing conversations to give him necessary definitions. She tried so hard to include him, to share with him, and Sam felt like he was falling short when he just couldn't understand or, to be reluctantly honest, care about car things. He liked the way her blue eyes lit up, absolutely, but he just didn't see why painting an engine added to the aesthetic of the vintage MG, or whatever. Mostly, he didn't like the way this made him feel the gap between them, because Sam wasn't stupid; he knew they weren't completely compatible. He just didn't like facing that fact so head-on.

Maybe he shouldn't want Bee there, though; Bee's behavior had been escalading steadily, from occasional, maybe-playful bumps with a door to full on shutting it in front of her, from tricks with locks and seatbelts to brakes, from keeping the doors firmly closed to moving just before she could climb in. He didn't want Bee here in their current state, but – before things had gotten bad, or maybe just before Sam had noticed – he was Sam's ally, was all. They'd bring Bee as their car show entry and some of the time, Sam would hang back with him while Mikaela wandered around. When Bee explained car things, Sam always understood more clearly, and somehow – he cared more. Maybe Bee was just a more engaging storyteller, with analogies that made Sam laugh and oddly not-at-all-objective descriptions of car parts. It was easier, and why wouldn't it be, Sam told himself. Bee was his best friend. Girlfriends weren't best friends, they were – companions? Sam didn't know, he'd never had one before. He wished things with Mikaela were as easy as they were with Bee, sometimes.

"Thank you for coming with me," Mikaela said, when Sam dropped her off at home, opening the door of her beat-up pickup truck for her and helping her down. She touched his cheek, smiled at him in that softly affectionate way she had. Lately, it had started seeming a little sad. Maybe she could see the chasm between them, too. "I know car shows aren't your thing and you just take me because you know I love it. It's very sweet of you."

Sometimes, lately, it felt like the sweet things she said to him could have been followed by a fond, wistful I'll always remember how you did that for me. Sometimes, Sam wanted to pull her to him, all the way across the chasm, but it was just too far to reach.

Sam kissed her goodbye and walked home, and just when he was reaching the point of starting to stew over things too much, he was home and his mother was meeting him at the door before he'd even had a chance to open it.

"Have I got the greatest surprise for you!" She crowed. Sam tried to appear excited, he really did; his attempt probably wasn't convincing, because she swatted at his shoulder. "Oh, come on! This is a good surprise!" She'd said the same about the new lighting fixtures in the bathroom. And the new socks she'd gotten him. And her new bottle of window cleaner, essential-oil based. "Come on, come on." She nearly dragged him into the living room, where his dad was talking to two people Sam had never seen before.

A middle-aged man was seated on the couch, and beside him, a guy who was Sam's age. Sam glanced him over quickly, trying not to appear too obvious. Brown hair that was maybe brown but maybe blond, short on the sides but longer on top so it just flopped over his forehead in a little curl. Dark amber eyes, high cheekbones, ski-jump nose. Sam had to stop looking before he started staring.

"You must be Sam," the man on the couch said, as Sam was nudged into the room by his mother. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Randall."

"He's a friend of Valerie's husband. You remember, Valerie Winters?" Sam's mother supplied, and Sam just nodded along. His mother had more friends than he did, and it wasn't something he enjoyed considering often. Why was she so popular, anyways? "He was here to ask a favor of you."

"Oh, um, sure." Sam looked between his mother and Randall, trying to keep his gaze off the younger guy who was possibly staring at him. Sam didn't want to look long enough to check.

"It's so nice of you to accept," Randall said, and Sam realized, not exactly unhappily, that his mother must have already signed him up for whatever it was that had to do with this guy with the very long eyelashes and pink lips. Sam had to stop staring. When had he even started again? "My sister in law's son is visiting my wife and I this month." He indicated the guy beside him, and Sam decided that was as good as permission to once-over him again. The second glance took in the surprisingly strong arms, the big hands, the strength in such a slight-seeming frame. "And I was telling the Winters that he wasn't getting much English practice, what with my wife and I at home all day. And they told me about your parents, and how they have a son his age. Maybe you could let him hang out with you, for practicing English?"

"Oh, uh. Yeah. Totally. That'd be cool." Sam wondered just how much fun there was to be had, when he spending his time packing up boxes to bring into his uncertain future, going on dates that felt sorrowfully numbered, generally being alone for the last month he had at home.

"He's from Venice, and he doesn't speak any English." Sam's heart sank a little, at Randall's words. So much for having someone to talk to, he thought, didn't enjoy how the sharp disappointment highlighted his apparently dire need for that in his life.

"None at all?" Sam asked; the guy took on a sheepish look, looking down.

"He can understand quite well, but has a harder time with putting the words together himself," Randall explained. "His name's Calabrone."

"Cal." The voice was low, hoarse. He glanced up shyly, offered a smile. Sam could feel it; even if Cal couldn't say a word back, talking to him could never feel like being alone.

xxx

"Who's this?" Mikaela asked, with an amount of surprise that Sam probably deserved. He hadn't exactly been social this summer; for him to make a new friend, they'd have to have opened a Friends for Hire store at the mall. Especially in the last few weeks, he hadn't been feeling very sociable, so it was probably pretty surprising to see him with a new companion.

Cal was trailing along after Sam into the garage, offered Mikaela a shy smile. Maybe he was intimidated by her; Sam certainly had been, the first time he'd seen her, and every time he looked over, he saw Cal's amber-eyed gaze flickering away.

"This is Cal. His uncle knows my mom's friend, and he's visiting them to practice his English and stuff. He's Italian." Sam glanced over his shoulder, to see Cal poking around in the garage, just looking away from them again. Mikaela leaned away from her crutch to sit back against the hood of the car – old, and baby blue, and that was all Sam could readily identify – and looked over at Cal.

"You talked to Bee at all?" she asked, her eyes kind. Sam didn't want her to have to teach the lesson he knew she inevitably would: that you could love someone without being in love with them, that it was sad, that it was to know you were missing a piece and just going along hoping it was an edge piece, something unimportant to the whole picture.

"Not really," Sam shrugged a shoulder, as if not speaking to Bee at all could constitute a 'not really,' instead of a flat-out no. Bee hadn't contacted him either, he wanted to point out petulantly, but it was an unfair argument. Bumblebee was keeping quiet because he could see it was what Sam wanted. "You ready to go?" Sam asked instead, looking around for her truck.

"Amy took the truck," Mikaela explained its absence, "she needed to pick up some big plants at the nursery."

"Okay," Sam peered into the window, confirming his suspicion. "Uh, it's a stick shift," he pointed out sheepishly, "you can't drive, with your ankle," he gave a pointless gesture towards her cast.

"Ugh, I can't believe I forgot," Mikaela shook her head at her ankle, sighed. Impulsively, Sam looked over at Cal.

"Can you drive stick?" he asked. It was a dumb question. Cal was from a city without cars, for God's sake, but before Sam could correct himself, Cal nodded eagerly. His smile was brilliant as he darted forward to take the keys from Mikaela and open the backseat door for her. It was a chivalrous gesture and all, Sam noted bemusedly, but shot Cal in the foot a little, if he wanted to flirt with Mikaela; it left the passenger seat open for Sam to sit beside Cal, after all.

xxx

There goes one more day, Sam thought, as Mikaela waved goodbye before closing the front door of her house. They were nearing the day he would leave, moving to the Autobot's new city for his own protection, the start of some vague new chapter in his life. He and Mikaela had never discussed it, what would happen between them when that day came, but – but they understood each other. Made for each other they weren't, but they could share bittersweet smiles and know without speaking that they were in the dwindling dusk of their time together.

Sam meandered down the sidewalk, Cal at his side, as the streetlights winked on overhead in the gradually darkening sky. "So," Sam said, glancing over at Cal, "did you like Mikaela?"

"You love her?" Cal asked, in his hoarse voice. Sam sighed, and when he looked over again to find Cal watching him, his heart fluttered a little. It was the way Cal was looking at him, like in this moment, Sam was the center of the universe.

"She's a great person," Sam said, "she really is. And we really do connect, you know? We get each other." Cal gave him an inquisitive look and a questioning little sound, just like the 'what?" sound Sam was so used to hearing from Bee. "We've been dating since I was eighteen, and when I went to school, it was even long distance, and I just, I know her really well now. And I like her, I know her completely and she's so good. But-" Sam was almost afraid to go on. It felt final, in the gathering dusk, the stars coming out overhead and Cal's eyes on him unfalteringly. "I think the person you're supposed to be with… they should feel like home."

Cal nodded slowly, saying nothing. Sam couldn't quite figure out what it meant. It was like Cal's silence was saying something to him, like it was a language all his own, and Sam was only just learning how to speak it, its words still just a poetic mystery to his ears.