5. Under Stars
Storm, emerald pendant, library.
Suggested by: Cait
A/N: Lately, I've been wondering what might have happened had Alina not died and remained human. Here's one of those thoughts ... which, technically, I suppose, would be considered AU to the SC world.
There was a man in the driver's seat of the sleek blue Corvette. This would not have been unusual at all, had he not shimmered in the sunlight, or refused to blink.
"Tell me again why we have to drag her along."
Alina pulled herself closer to the rearview mirror, lifting a curl of black hair and trying to decide whether or not to let it hang over her ear or behind it. Though her mass of hair took up a goodly portion of the mirror, she could just see the golden Lamborghini's sleek nose riding on her car's bumper.
Sophisticated paneling lit up along the dash; a voice came from several thin slits therein rather from the mouth of the stone-faced hologram beside her. "Is justification truly in order, Sunstreaker? –Interesting arrangement," Tracks noted to Alina as she tilted her head to the side in his mirror. The raven-haired woman gave the panel a tight, uneasy smile and sat back on the Corvette's plush interior, her blue eyes flicking between the rearview mirror and the passenger side.
A snort that sounded more like a rumbling growl mixed with the underestimating purr of a fine-tuned engine rolled across the tight comm-link. "Yeah, Versace, it is."
I don't need this, she thought, taking a deep breath to center herself and instead focused her gaze on the unending white line of the breakdown lane. I've gotten this far. If you keep talking, I might second-guess myself.
Tracks' dash panel blinked with rows of red and purple; dials indicating his fuel levels and that of various coolants flickered. Around Alina, the Corvette's superstructure shuddered as if the Autobot were pulling in his "shoulders" at the prospect of trying to explain an obvious situation. "Indeed," the Corvette replied at his most urbane. "For this mission, a woman is needed. Carly is obviously too immature by human standards to gain access, and Astoria's penchant for adversely influencing mechanics would be damaging to our objective."
"You and Perceptor been sippin' from the same cube?" Sunny rumbled, pulling around the Corvette when the main road broadened to two lanes.
With a sigh, Alina scrunched down in Tracks' passenger seat, going over the plan as outlined to her by Prowl as the two Autobots bickered. Step one: get into the shop. Step two: act like you have money. Step three: remember that you're doing this because you have no job and the Autobots are giving you part of their government stipend because they feel responsible for the Decepticons gouging a huge hole in your office wall.
Thunder rolled ominously overhead, a curious thing due to the light blue of the late-afternoon sky. Automatically, Alina pulled at the triangular collar of her powersuit around her neck as if trying to ward off bad omens. Life had been rather pleasant lately – until a Decepticon raid on a Central City warehouse got out of hand. In a battle between Optimus Prime and Megatron, the former had successfully subdued the Decepticon leader – by throwing him through Alina's publishing firm's wall. Thankfully, the media had alerted that sector of the city to the Transformers' movements, so everyone was able to evacuate without any unnecessary deaths. However, the causalities among businesses were too high to count.
Thousands were out of work, many never return to their offices. And here she was, friend to the Autobots, and volunteering to stake out certain posh shops that the Cassetticons had been recently visiting in Central City. Because you need the money, she muttered, suddenly feeling useless and dependant. And really, because you owe them, some rational part of her noted as Sunstreaker's voice shouted something inappropriate in Cybertronian over the commlink.
"Having second thoughts?" Tracks asked calmly, effectively shutting the golden Lambo off, save for a light that would glow if danger reared its purple pointed head.
The Autobot's words trickled slowly into her brain. It took her a moment to realize that yes, she was the only one here, and yes, the Corvette was addressing her. Well, they did have to cobble that hologram together on short notice ... "Just a little nervous," she admitted, glancing around for her wide-brimmed hat. Finding it laying in the back seat, she pulled it out and began to methodically brush invisible lint from the surface.
"Time to put that aside," the car replied, albeit a little loftily as he rolled into a parking space in front of the posh perfume shop that was their intended target. "Here."
A panel slid away in the blue Corvette's dash; a thin board extended towards her. In the center was a rather large (fake) emerald pendant which would serve as a link between Alina and the two Autobots. Arranged rather neatly on either side of the piece were matching earrings – thankfully smaller.
Well, here we go, the woman thought as she reached for the elaborate comm unit. Brave thoughts did not quell the rolling feeling in her stomach or the subtle ache between her eyes. Slipping the necklace and arranging it more comfortably over her chest, she slid the earrings into newly-pierced lobes. As she reached for Tracks' door handle, a scene of the none-too-distant past flashed before her mind's eye:
"You do understand that there is an element of danger, Alina?" asks the Autobot leader as he leans forward. His blue helm is scarred with laser-blasts and pock-marked by steel beams – aesthetic damage the Autobots' chief medic, Ratchet, did not see fit to polish. The face mask moves up and down, slowly, in time to the words that flow from his vocalizer.
She nods, slowly. "There's no other way," she remembers replying. "It's as you said: Carly would be thrown out, and no Autobot other than Powerglide is willing to give Astoria a ride."
To Prime's right, Prowl gives a wry snort. The second-in-command's stance brooks no argument, though his words a soft. "Unfortunately, given the circumstances, and the information we've been able to gather, you are our last resort. It could turn out to be nothing more than the Decepticons mistaking some trivial human commodity, but we can take no chances."
"I understand." Her voice sounds hollow. She remembers how Mirage had been adamant about her staying out of Autobot affairs, and her own words, now strange and otherworldly, telling the spy that she owed them. To either side of her, Spike and Sparkplug nod. Their presence reminds her of how strongly the Autobots value their human allies and to the lengths they will go to ensure their safety. "I understand completely."
Prowl looks to Prime, then nods. "Then we will begin …"
"Good luck," whispered Tracks through the earrings as she stepped out of the passenger seat with more grace than she thought possible. Keeping to their prescribed roles, Alina leaned back inside, looking right at the hologram. "Come back in an hour or so, darling," she told it with a vapid smile, summoning the ladies from Dynasty. Tugging the pale blue hat more securely on her head, feeling that it would be more acceptable at the Kentucky Derby, Alina took deliberate, high-heeled steps into the perfume shop. Behind her, Tracks pulled back onto the road, a driverless golden Lamborghini following him to the regional library around the corner.
Look like you belong here, she reminded herself as chimes rang above her head, announcing her presence to the shop. Astoria would be more at home here than I, she muttered with embarrassment as she took in the rich atmosphere. Pushing the door wide, Alina entered the building and glanced around, trying to keep up the façade of rich trophy wife. She stood in a rather large shop in the classy sector of Central City, an area of town that had been fortunate over the years to keep off of the Decepticon radar. What need did the power-hungry beings have for signature clothing, expensive purses made from crocodile skin, or fragrances?
So the Autobots and their human allies believed – until several shops had reported being raided by two short creatures in overlarge trench coats. Objects had been smashed, patrons put in harms' way … and the Autobots had no idea why. That was, until Chip Chase, Spike's friend, discovered that there was a perfume being distributed in limited quantities that just so happened to possess rather interesting qualities. The perfumery reports were deceptively vague – and "top secret" – but it was enough to interest Megatron – and Optimus Prime.
Across the entrance, two shopkeepers looked up from their books and gave Alina identically icy and professional smiles – expressions that would not see warmth until she showed them the color of her money. Ignoring them, Alina gave them her left shoulder and inspected a row of delicate glass bottles that lined the wall. The fragrance in question was being sold under the name Soft Breezes – oddly mundane considering the price. Alina wandered the length of the shop, nodding to the old lady who shuffled into her path the barest of cursory glances. The elderly woman wrinkled her pinched features and dropped her nose back into the sampler she was stuffing up her nostrils. Damn, they really do act like that! Mildly surprised, Alina edged around the old biddy and continued to scan the shelves.
"Alina! What are you doing here?"
Heart in her throat, blood hammering against her temples, Alina spun around to see the one and only Astoria Carlton-Ritz standing two inches away. The heiress to Hi-Tech was fetching in pale green, her mass of brown hair tied with a loose ribbon; a small white dog was tucked under her right arm, matching purse clutched in that hand.
"Miss Carlton-Ritz – what can we do for you?"
How typical, Alina muttered within the confines of her pounding head. I might look the part, but Astoria has the reputation. But Astoria smiled and waved taller of the two ice queens away with an easy flick of her wrist. Alina found herself staring, wondering how the younger woman managed that maneuver without making it seem dismissive. "Just chatting with a good friend, Priscilla. I'll let you know if I need anything." Before the woman could finish her scraping, Astoria tucked her free hand around Alina's right arm and dragged her merrily away into a secluded corner. It was here that the combined scents of the myriad bottles was the strongest; Alina blinked, fighting back tears and shoving her finger under her nose to quell a mighty sneeze. Astoria or no, those women looked as if they'd boot her in her matching pale blue booty if she sprayed all over their faux crystal decanters.
"So!" Astoria began, all smiles and sunshine, not in the least affected by the odor. "What brings you here? Did you find a special guy at last?"
Despite herself, Alina colored. With her reputation, finding a date was … well … difficult. "No …"
"Don't tell her! Don't tell her!" hissed Tracks in her ear. The shock of his voice lent to a yelp of surprise, which Alina quickly stifled behind a fake cough. Astoria tipped her head to the side, her veritable mound of hair shifting. "Did you hear that?" she asked, hiking the terrier more firmly under arm. "It sounded like … oh, familiar?"
Her chest heaving, Alina took several deep breaths. "Maybe that old lady sniffed too much Morning Dew." She winked. As Astoria turned to get a glimpse of the older woman, Alina dug her finger furiously in her ear, which was still ringing softly.
"Could be. So, no lucky man?" Astoria asked. An interesting query coming from a woman who was infatuated with Powerglide.
"No," Alina admitted, her eyes scanning the rows between meeting Astoria's. Did they keep the stuff under lock and key? It was getting to be a bit too much to handle in here, with all the various scents all vying for her nose's attention.
"Too bad," the other admitted sympathetically, without a trace of condescension. "Looking for anything particular?" she asked, observing Alina's wandering attention.
Despite her apparent vapid manner, she's good, Alina noted with a mental smile. "Soft Breezes?"
Astoria's brown eyes widened. "Really? That's expensive … even for me," she admitted in a hush. At her arm, the terrier squeaked and the younger woman calmed it with a soothing croon. "Hm. I seem to remember seeing the bottle in Cosmopolitan …" Muttering quietly to herself, Astoria moved down the row of glasses, one fingertip outstretched as she looked.
"Well, that was close," snarked Sunstreaker. "Don't give the afthead any more info." Alina bit back another yelp of surprise; turning towards the window she whispered into the emerald:
"I don't want to hear anything of the sort. She's smarter than she looks."
Sunstreaker muttered something unintelligible – or in Cybertronian, she couldn't be sure. Tracks' voice snuck into her right ear. "Do pick up the pace, dear girl. My cursory warning system is ringing."
"Ah! Here it is. Have a sniff."
Astoria's long fingers suddenly produced a thin-stemmed sampler, uncorked. The full force of the perfume – not an au-de-toilette like Alina was used to – hit her in the olfactory system. Hard. Oh, dear god! The Decepticons want to steal that? They can have it!
Astoria took an experimental sniff of her own, her delicate eyebrows arching upwards in surprise. "Well, that was unexpected," she commented wryly, brushing under her nose. "From what I read, it was supposed to be a subtle blending of 'wind' and 'summer'."
"No kidding," Alina managed through the short, powerful sneezes that wracked her body. "But I'll take it anyway –"
Without a warning, glass exploded into a thousand shards, their deadly edges flying in all directions within the close confines of the perfume shop. Twin cries of shock and fear rose from Alina's and Astoria's throats – they dropped to the ground, the latter with a wayward shard lodged her upper arm. The heiress rolled, crying and releasing the white terrier. The dog, having more sense than the humans, ran for cover on short, fast legs with nary a look behind him; all pretenses of loyalty vanished with the need to survive.
Holding an arm up to shield her eyes from any new explosions, Alina glanced down at her friend. Astoria lay on her side, covered with several broken bottles and jars; both women positively reeked. "Astoria!" Alina cried, scrambling over to her, only to draw back as a large, square shadow loomed over their bodies.
"Well, if it ain't Powerglide's fleshy friend."
Metal clanged on metal, accompanied by the harsh sound of canvas rubbing against steel. A rude laugh, identical in tone to the first speaker, echoed above Alina's head. Pulling herself closer to Astoria, the black-haired woman at last saw the blood that was trickling down the heiress' arm, staining her grass green sundress sticky brown. Fear for Astoria's life trumped the need to preserve her own.
"We got a two-fer-two, Rumble – Powerglide's friend and Mirage's!"
The same laugh, but from coming from her left. Knocking the broken bottles aside, her cut hands stinging with the potent mixtures, Alina pushed back the brim of her hat to see two tall figures in oversized trench coats looming over them. Huge detectives' hats were pulled over red wrap-around visored faces – one head in blue and purple, the other in red and black.
"Keep an optic on 'em, Frenzy," the blue one ordered, palming a small pistol from nowhere. "I saw two Autobums sniffin' around; they can be sausages."
"Hostages," the red and black miniature mech shot back, reaching for Astoria.
"Who cares?" Rumble retorted, stomping off towards the front of the shop, where Alina could hear him demanding their supply of Soft Breezes.
Whether the miasma of scents roused her, or the touch of cold alien metal around her bleeding arm, Astoria shot straight up, her brown eyes blazing with a fury Alina had never seen before. "Get your hands off of me, you metal cretin!"
Frenzy sniggered, an unpleasant sound coming from a steel voice box. He scooped Astoria up with his right hand and pulled her close to his boxy frame.
"Alina! ALINA! What on Cybertron is going –"
A huge metal paw flashed before Alina's wide eyes. She gasped, cold terror flooding her body as Frenzy reached for her throat. Scrabbling to her feet, she tried to dash to the side; sleek and malodorous, the tile gave way under her high heels. The world slowed to a crawl as she tipped forward, one leg going in front of the other, the snap of a broken heel echoing in the stillness of the shop.
Sudden, excruciating pressure at her neck drove all the air from her body. Saliva rolled from Alina's gaping mouth as Frenzy's thick digits wound their way around the silver chain that held her comm pendant. Neckgonnabreak …!
As quickly as it had come, the pressure was released. The chain snapped, links flying across her cheeks and shoulders. Alina tipped into a nose-dive, hitting the floor inches from Frenzy's feet. Copper flooded her mouth, a cut on her lip courtesy of the broken bottles.
With a groan, Alina dug her fingertips into the slick tile. The world swam in miniature waves across her field of view – and smelled just as bad. There was a tinny clang beside her right ear; with a moan, she levered herself upright, just enough to see Frenzy's foot come crashing down a millimeter from her ear. Faux emerald shards exploded from underneath the Cassetticon's foot, slamming into her side – pelting but not puncturing.
"Jus' like that disappearin' rich mech," Frenzy sneered. "A spy!"
Dragging her wrist across her mouth to wipe the worst of the blood away, Alina pushed herself into a half-crouch. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead, the sky beyond the shop darkening with every passing second. Where are they? tumbled around and around in her mind. Surely Tracks and Sunstreaker heard the Cassette Twins' voices over the comm unit before Frenzy stomped it to dust.
"Get over here!"
Looking up, Alina saw Frenzy's left hand coming down for a second grab. Try as she might, she could not get her legs to move as quickly as her hyper-active brain. The Decepticon minion was successful – his hard fingers digging into her upper arm. With brutal force, the red and black mechanoid lifted her into the air, to dangle side by side with Astoria, as if they were two ventriloquist dummies.
"Rumble! Let's go!" Frenzy shouted over his shoulder.
"I'm comin' – hold your technoquines!" his twin shot back. Whispered whimpers followed the blue Cassetticon to his twin's side; clutched in the crook of one stained arm was a small brown package. "You go first – the Autobums are here."
"That's right," Astoria snarled from her position on the right of Frenzy. The spitfire heiress walloped the Decepticon on the side of his head with the flat of her purse, then again – and again. "You two midgets won't stand a chance." She hauled back with one soft-shod foot and booted Frenzy in the groin – or where the pelvis would have been on a human. Still, the joint structure was the same. Frenzy dodged to the side, swinging Alina by her arm and a bit of her collar.
As she flew through the air, part of Alina's brain that was still functioning noticed that the Decepticon seemed a bit off-balance. To test her theory, she swung at his other side. Her harder shoe connected with a resounding clang.
"Hey! Cut it out! Ow!"
"C'mon!" Rumble hissed, making for the hole they had blown in the shop's bay window.
Alina kicked harder, vertigo assailing her as the small red and black mech stumbled in his way towards freedom. Nausea was worth it if it meant that she was going to live another day. Though her feet were rapidly becoming sore, and as surely as blisters began to weal up, she felt invigorated.
And heartened. For as the twins quarreled, two larger figures appeared before the shop. Alina caught herself in mid-swing, her mouth dropping open, heart and soul lifting at the sight of Sunstreaker and Tracks standing there. The golden warrior had his weapon drawn and pointed with deadly precision at Frenzy's covered head. "Drop the girls, scraplet," he growled.
"Gotta catch us first, Autoscum," Rumble taunted, reaching out and grabbing his brother by the shoulder – an action that was cumbersome and more of a hindrance than helpful, for he still carried the box of purloined perfume.
As the box swung towards her, Alina reached out and grabbed one of the sleek baby blue bottles. Transformer physiology was different than that of humans, but they still shared the same senses. While Astoria kicked and cursed lady-like phrases, Alina palmed the bottle and smashed it into Frenzy's face.
"WHAT!"
In his surprise, Frenzy dropped both women. Alina hit the ground with a solid, tail-bone breaking thud. In that moment, the air above her head blossomed into laser fire. The heat was scorching, enough to set the ends of her hair smoldering.
Something tall and gold swept past, massive feet coming within inches of her head. Cybertronian war cries and epithets filled the air, competing with the rolling thunder and the crash of lightning. In the moment between one flash of lightning and the next, the skies above Central City opened up. Within a minute, Alina was thoroughly soaked.
Peering through the rain, she saw Sunstreaker take the back of his hand and slam Frenzy – or was it Rumble? – into the nearest shop wall. The thunder that rolled overhead was echoed by the tremors that buckled and broke the pavement under her hands and knees.
"Alina!"
Crawling across the make-shift battlefield was Astoria, her hair plastered to her head. Grabbing her hands, Alina hauled the heiress over a mound of blacktop. Together, they huddled, peering over the tops of their fingers as Sunstreaker knocked one twin, then the other, against lamp posts, walls – and each other.
Her heart beat fast – too fast. It slammed against her ribcage, jolting the bones and pressing them painfully against her skin. Adrenaline coursed through the woman's body, widening her eyes and increasing the breath in her lungs.
Rubble – or was that Rumble? – flew over their heads to crash with a resounding boom. Distantly, Alina could hear the screams of innocent bystanders; the roar of fire engines and the high whine of police sirens. But the sound, the vibration in her body, was that of Sunstreaker's giant feet as he paraded back to their impromptu bunker. Rain slithered off of his polished body, now liberally streaked with flecks of pink, blue and green – colors that did not run as easily as the brown swatches across his chest.
"And where were you?" he demanded hotly, crossing his arms over his expansive chest.
Heavy footsteps, delicately placed, vibrated the broken pavement behind the two women. Alina looked up through the pouring rain to see Tracks' crimson facial planes fold into an unconcerned mien. "Checking on the status of the humans caught in your version of Cybertron rugby," was the urbane reply.
"You could have helped."
Tracks' laugh was deep and rolling, but interestingly enough, not the in condescending manner Alina expected from him. "I rather enjoyed watching you play by yourself. You seemed to be having a good time."
Sunstreaker frowned, then lifted his shoulders in a dismissive shrug. "Let's go, huh? I need Ratchet to wash this Decepticon crap off of me. I think I'm smoldering in some places." His feral facial planes curled downwards in disgust. He paused and lifted one thick arm and sniffed. "What is that smell!"
Alina's wide eyes arched higher in her face, pulling at skin already stretched too tight. "Perfume," she offered meekly. "I hit one of them in the face with a bottle."
Tracks looked down at her, then walked over to Sunstreaker. Begrudgingly, the melee warrior let the red-faced mech take his arm for analysis. "You're slowly corroding, Sunstreaker," he observed. Cupping one hand, Tracks caught the deluge and vigorously rubbed it along the golden mech's arm.
"And people put that on themselves!" Alina heard Astoria exclaim in shock. The heiress looked no better than Alina believed she did – hat gone, hair a mess, clothes plastered to her body. At least the bleeding along her upper arm had stopped; at some point during Sunstreaker's punting practice, Astoria had removed the offending shard. The bandage around her wound was expertly tied. Wriggling at her side was the white terrier, dirty but whole.
But Tracks looked thoughtful. "I have not heard any news regarding smoldering humans," he said, looking at Sunstreaker's arm again. "Where did you leave Rumble?" With a grunt, the golden warrior jerked his head behind him.
As Alina checked herself for any wounds she had not felt during her adrenaline rush, a squad of policemen came jogging up to them. They drew to a halt, pistols at the ready. As her gaze flickered to Sunstreaker, the mech seemed to be vaguely offended at the notion. "You there!" one called out; Alina swung her head in their direction. "Come with us. We have a med team waiting to inspect survivors."
Alina and Astoria looked at each other, then up at the two mechs. Tracks walked up, a small box in one large hand. "I –" Alina began.
"Ma'am, come with us," the cop insisted. Around them, the officers began to lock their hands around the women's wrists, prepared to lead them off.
"These two females are with us, my good man," Tracks interjected smoothly.
"I think you've done enough for today," the officer in charge told him brusquely. Pressure around Alina's wrist increased, a subtle warning for her to go with her own kind. Astoria was not walking so quietly – she was cursing and shouting for her dog, anything that would delay their removal.
Yes, for all her faults, she knows what she's doing, Alina noted with a small smile. As she looked up at Sunstreaker, the golden warrior and Tracks exchanged looks. In the amazing rotation of parts, the melee warrior sat in his altmode upon the broken pavement. His door opened and Tracks placed his soggy package in the passenger seat, with nary a grumble from Sunstreaker. Then, with an ease of motion, Tracks planted himself between the officers and their squad. "The ladies come with us," he insisted. "Autobots stick together."
Pressure around her wrist lightened, then was removed all together as the officer who was holding onto her reached for his firearm. Pride and embarrassment flooded the raven-haired woman's taxed heart at Tracks' words. A quick glance behind her to Astoria saw the same expression on her flawless face.
In the distance, a high whine resonated throughout the streets – growing louder and longer with each passing second. Though, to most ears, it was the same as a regular siren, but Alina had not hung around the Autobots for these past two years without knowing something of their signature sounds. Also, it helped that as the sleek black and white squad car pulled up, it transformed.
Prowl's door wings flicked over his shoulder plates as he surveyed the damage wrought by Sunstreaker's wonton play, but spoke instead to the officer near Alina. "I am Prowl, second-in-command to Optimus Prime. How may I help you in your investigation?"
The officer looked around at the destruction, then back up at Prowl. His face took on a curious look. "You can help by taking your … men … with you. We will deal with this."
He must be new to the district, Alina thought wryly. Most Central City residents will piss on themselves to interact with Autobots.
Prowl nodded slowly, not at all dissuaded. "Well, if that is the case, I will collect our allies and we will vacate the premises immediately. Here, let me give you my contact information for the damages …"
"Allies?" the man repeated. "They're humans."
"And friends," Prowl stressed. "Tracks, see to Alina and Astoria; I will remain for a moment."
The officer stepped between the red-faced mech and the two women. "They are getting medical attention for their wounds."
"Which they can receive with utmost care at our base," Prowl returned smoothly.
"They're human!"
Alina had been listening to the whole conversation with constant flip-flopping of the heart. She knew that Prowl would not let them be taken by the police, but the way he was handling the officer required delicacy and utmost tact so as not to offend – and that would take a long, long time.
As the officer argued semantics with Prowl, Tracks leaned over and slipped something into her hand. Alina felt a thin, rectangular card in her palm, and she turned it over. On one side was the ubiquitous Autobot symbol – the red face of Primus, their creator-god; with another flip, she saw her name, picture and an impressive list of credentials, as well as several government agencies claiming that she was an "official" aid to the Autobots. Water beaded and slid off of the clear plastic.
"Is this …" she asked up at the Corvette, who cut her off with a shake of his head, flicking droplets with every motion. By the looks of Astoria's face, she was wondering if it, too, was fake.
When she looked up, the same officer was standing in front of her, his thick lips drawn in a thin line. "Let me see those IDs." Wordlessly, Alina passed hers over; Astoria gave a flick of her wrist, holding the card out between two long, slim manicured fingers, their French tips broken. The cop gave them the shortest of perusals before thrusting them back at Alina and Astoria. "You're free to go," he told them, walking away to deal with the encroaching crowd.
Behind him, Prowl gave the two women one of his rare, small smiles. "Go on." And he turned around, his door wings flaring out behind him as he took notes in the rain.
Tracks nodded in silent agreement; walking over to an unaltered part of the road, he transformed and held open both doors. Alina made for the passenger seat, but a quick motion of Tracks' windshield wipers urged her to the driver's side. When she saw Astoria pick up her dog and remnants of her purse, the black-haired woman understood why. As she slid into the smooth leather seat, Alina heard Tracks' soft moan of despair echoing from his dash panel. Well, it's not the first time I've graced an Autobot's innards with my wet butt, she thought with amusement.
"Hey! Can we listen to the radio?" Astoria exclaimed as Tracks shut both doors, his alien engine rumbling to life.
"Oh, Primus …" the Corvette muttered as he turned the heat on to full. But Alina merely smiled, fingering the card that was tucked into the pocket of her ruined, bloody and tattered pants. Tracks pulled forward, his lights winking in the darkness as they drove off into the night, under the stars.