25. Flirty
F-15, dice, and a cable.
Suggested by: BleuHawke

A/N: Yet another what-if involving the human side of Solarflare.

And is she really human?
She's just so something new
A waking lithium flower
Just about to bloom
I smell lithium now
Smelling lithium now
--Scott Matthew, Lithium Flower: Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex

Astoria might not have any luck with machines, but she certainly knew how to pick men. Even if she was infatuated with a red transforming robot. Politely, Alina dabbed at her chin with the white silk napkin and nodded at some comment Astoria's human date made. Her own sat across the small square table at The White Fox, a rather upscale establishment in Central City. She found it rather ironic when Astoria mentioned that she, Alina, should see more of men than mechs. She didn't dare mention the fact to her friend's face, because she had seen the emotions therein the last time Carly had made an innocuous comment about her status with Powerglide.

"So, Alina, Astoria mentioned that you used to work in publishing."

With a start and an embarrassed flush to her cheeks, Alina realized that her date, Nathan, was speaking. She coughed and set the napkin down. "I did," she replied. "But it didn't last too long."

"Not to your tastes?" Nathan was a classically handsome fellow, the rich and powerful heir to a local software company. He rather reminded her of Mirage, minus the armor and the homesick attitude.

Alina half-smiled and slid a look in Astoria's direction. The CEO of Hi-Tech managed to be deep in her wine and in eye-contact with her date. "Actually, no. I liked it a lot, up until the day Megatron rammed his head into the superstructure."

There it was – the name. Nathan and Astoria's date's eyes widened perceptibly. "Oh, I've heard of you." Tyler, the other man, addressed her for the first time since they'd met at the door and sat down to the meal. He was too infatuated with Astoria and her money to pay Alina and her K-mart dress a second glance. "You run around with the Autobots."

Ah, here we go again, she thought, unable to quell the shiver. Astoria, shaken out of her wine-haze, shifted. I thought I was over the judgment.

"I do, too," Astoria pointed out, no trace of petulance in her tone. She was learning, after all this time, to shed the rich girl attitude and claim the dignity of her birth. "It doesn't make Lina any different than you or me."

Nathan slid his friend a look. "Easy, Ty. Easy." He turned back to Alina, compassion in his eyes. "But, do you?"

It wasn't worth lying, as she'd found out a long time ago. "It's not exactly 'running around'," she explained, reaching for her wine and taking a sip. It was rich and heady, not what she really needed. Before she could drown in liquor, she set it aside. "I help out on missions, travel here and there."

"Like what?" He was genuinely curious – or a very fine actor.

"Places that a human needs to go, where we won't attract Decepticon attention."

Nathan frowned, but without malice. "Isn't that dangerous? Why would you risk your life for these robots? It's not our war."

Astoria's frown was deeper. This was personal. "Of course it's our war."

Sensing that Astoria was going to set aside her carefully crafted sense, Alina reached out and placed a hand on her wrist. She turned to Nathan. "Why do I risk myself?" She'd asked herself that question, so many times; it'd taken many sleepless nights to come to a definitive conclusion. After a moment, she shrugged. "They're my friends." Physically, she checked herself from sliding head-first into a declaration of Autobot loyalty; too many people were flicking her glances over their shoulders. The wait-staff also seemed rather interested. Coughing, Alina took the wine and sipped.

Astoria, prim and collected, smoothed her napkin in her lap. With a smile, she deftly steered the conversation in a more pleasant direction.

Nathan was kind enough to drop Alina off at her house, rather than have her suffer a limo ride with Tyler and Astoria. Alina actually enjoyed limousine rides with Astoria, but that was minus the California boy swigging champagne and groping. The house Nathan pulled up to was not the simple white-paneled affair that Alina had purchased when she had moved back to Portland nearly five years ago. This cream colored, two-story house was located in the suburbs of Central City – closer to the Ark and located as far from anti-Autobot sentiments as her government-provided purse could selfishly afford.

The sleek red Mustang with white racing stripes pulled into her driveway. Nathan cut the engine and fingered the keys, looking at her expectantly. Alina blushed, sliding eyes away to the light above her front door, to the silhouette of her orange tabby in the living room window. God, might as well invite him in, she decided at last. It really has been a long time … "Would you like to come in?"

Classic blue eyes lit up. Nathan smiled and pulled the keys. "Wait there, lady." He was out the door and around to her side in a matter of seconds, surprising her with his alacrity. So long … But am I ready? Smoothing her dress, Alina swung her legs out and took Nathan's hand. Keys jingled in her hand with more chiming than they usually made. Fisk greeted them at the door, winding around her ankles and leaving a swatch of golden orange hair along the hem of her dress. He then planted himself firmly on the tip of her shoe, looking up at her with wide amber eyes and meowed. Any person who ever shared living space with a cat knew what that meant.

"Excuse me, I have to feed him or he'll start on the curtains again." Almost absently, she gestured to the wide blue and green sofa. "Have a seat." Scooping Fisk up, she settled him under her arm and moved to the sectioned-off kitchen, the cat's purr rumbling in her wake.

Nathan Wohl had been in many women's apartments and houses; they were less … homey than Alina Michaels'. The woman showed her ordinary roots with every piece of furniture and knick-knack that crowded the large room. He spun in a slow circle, appraising. The television was of ordinary size, with a sleek VCR parked underneath. Jammed into the wide shelves was a small horde of videos and books, both vying for the most space. Several photo albums were stacked with casual abandon before the glass paneling of the TV stand.

With Alina's off-key humming and mild chatter to her cat in his ears, Nathan leaned down and picked up the topmost album. The first dozen pages held family picnics, birthdays, occasional silly shots; the last simply confounded him. Certainly, he was aware that Alina had an open pass to the Autobots' headquarters … he just didn't realize how exclusive it was until now. There were photos of the giant robotic creatures smiling and posing, flashing thumbs' up or peace signs at the camera; several of an older man, an older teenager who seemed to be the man's son, and a blonde girl; Alina perched between two metallic perversions of Earth animals – a lion and rhinoceros. So many photos.

Frowning slightly, Nathan flipped more pages. There was a grouping of six slightly dirty Polaroids on the next panel. In a sprawling scrawl, Alina had written the words: Took awesome photos, but dirty intentions. In these, she was so small, seated against the towering, lithe frame of a white and blue robot, leaning against its side.

Looking up, he saw a framed photograph that he'd passed over perched atop the TV. Setting the album down, Nathan peered and saw the same robot with Alina on its shoulder. She was wearing shorts and a thin tank top; one arm was hidden from sight, probably wrapped around the robot's head, the other rested on the alien's armored shoulder. There was a smile unlike any he'd seen on the woman all night: happiness, brightness; the robot seemed to reflect it, lips slightly pulled back from slab-like "teeth", glassy "eyes" wide. A bright red and purple flower was tucked into pulled-back raven hair; Alina leaned against the creature's blue helm with a sense of proprietary.

The sound of unshod feet on carpet brought his attention back to the real world. Alina stood in the hallway, cat at her ankles, a bright blue-green robe wrapped around her shoulders. Baggy grey flannel cuffs could be seen peeking underneath the hem.

"Who's this?" he asked, trying to sound conversational, but his usual charm and affability was lost.

Her blue eyes flickered from photo to his face. "Mirage," she replied simply.

"That's its name?"

"His." Deftly, she plucked the photo from his unresisting grip and put it back upon the TV. She turned around. "I'm sorry, I should have offered you something to drink, but I didn't realize how late it was. I had a wonderful time, but I have to get up early tomorrow morning."

Prickly jealousy wormed into Nathan's heart. He wasn't used to the brush-off. Women almost always offered a drink, then their bed. "To see him?"

Alina colored and wove her fingers into the collar of her robe. Sinew stood out along the tanned arm. "To do my job," she replied quietly, firmly. "I don't live here on handouts. I'll see you to the door."

And so she did; watched the Mustang fade into the dark and wished that Mirage had been there to blow a few tires.

OoOoOoOoOo

Dice rattled and rolled across the plush green velvet. Cigar smoke floated above their heads, pooled like ghostly haloes. Nathan quaffed the Coors and reached for another in the cooler under the craps table.

"So, she shot ya down."

"For a robot."

Jerry's beer-blazed eyes widened. "Really? No shit." He took a drag on his joint and exhaled slowly. Across the table, Tom and Maynard puffed on their Cubans, disinterested in the conversation. Nathan's butler walked by, eyes watering at the edges but saying nothing; he merely picked up the empty bottles and added more to the cooler. And then he was gone, as quietly as he had appeared.

Nathan stretched out and fetched the dice. Setting coin on the table, he rolled: 4 and 7. With a curse, he slammed the beer bottle down. "Yeah. She saw me with a picture of one of them and shut the night down. Damned Tinker-Toys."

Jerry grinned. "Some girls are kinky, man. You should know that."

"Kinky, sure, but who'd fuck a giant robot?"

Jerry merely laughed, tokin' on his joint. "I'd pay to see that."

Grunting, Nathan threw the dice once more. Jerry leaned over and prodded him with an elbow. "C'mon, man, she sounds like a cool chick."

"Naw. I think I'll look elsewhere."

Smoke curled around his friend's wey-face. Thoughtfully, Jerry stroked his beard. "Then you wouldn't mind if I moved in?"

Nathan shrugged and threw the dice.

Armor slammed against armor as the two Autobots collided. Optimus Prime dug his huge blue feet into the hard surface of the basketball court and threw his shoulder into Grimlock's. The Dinobot warrior grunted then laughed. With an easy flick, he caught the Cybertronian-sized ball and casually tossed it into the hoop behind him.

"Wrong one, Grimmy!" Sideswipe called out irritably, hands on his hips. "We have that hoop."

The huge red visor shifted into a dangerous slope. "Me, Grimlock, no care about which one. Hoop is hoop."

Optimus rubbed his shoulder and chuckled low. "Not in this game I'm afraid, my friend. Remember, we have two teams. My side has this hoop to score in, yours has the other."

Slowly, Grimlock shook his head. "Rules, rules … all the time, rules. Me, Grimlock score more without stupid rules." He reached down and grabbed the ball from where it had rolled against the titanium post. "Fine, then, Opt-imus Prime. Keep Grimlock from scoring."

Alina grinned, rocking back. Behind her, playing backrest, the golden Lion Steeljaw shifted. "Rather boring, is it not?" he observed dryly.

"No, I don't think so. I think it's funny."

"Better time spent in training, than games."

Pulling wind-ruffled hair from her face, Alina wound it into a crude ponytail. "But what if you consider this training?"

"How so?"

Idly, she reached around and scratched behind the mechanoid Lion's right "ear". A pale golden optic rolled in her direction, brow ridge raised, then lowered. Steeljaw was a cat, for all he tried to be philosophical; the deep rumble of a Cybertronian purr filled Alina's ears. "Well, you're working on teamwork, speed, agility. There's also problem solving and a bit of logic."

Steeljaw's muzzle dropped in a low, feline smile. "I see. Well, regardless, I'm rather bored. Walk with me?"

The Cassettebot was newly come to the team, one of four "tapes" built to contend with Soundwave's crew. Attitudes towards Steeljaw, his rhino companion Ramhorn and the two Frenzy and Rumble counterparts, Rewind and Eject, were slowly warming. Alina liked them for their comparative sizes, not to mention the fact that Steeljaw and Ramhorn were "animals" who could talk. It was fairly whimsical, until you saw the deadly guns on Steeljaw's hips and Ramhorn's flanks.

Alina glanced down to the intense basketball game, noted the pock-marks on the field, and decided that it was better if she left before the ball got out of hand and branded her soft skin. "Sure."

Steeljaw rose and stretched, taking off along the outer rim of the field. Alina followed, shambling up the shale slope that separated the Ark's front door from the backyard. The Lion had little by way of commentary, so their walk was mostly in silence. She paced at his right side as they ambled down the long and winding rock road that connected the Ark to Central City's major highway. Several times, the golden metallic Lion paused, scenting the air with sophisticated sensors; at these points, Alina reflexively put her hand on his broad shoulder, glancing for Decepticon purple. Each time, Steeljaw snorted, shook his head and continued on, not bothering to explain his concerns.

It was at the road's entrance that Steeljaw left her. They were about to make a circuit when the Lion's head came up. "Stay here," he growled, nosing her to the side where a large cairn of rocks holding the Ark's "no admittance" signs stood.

"Steel …" But he was gone, loping with a grace that belayed his bulldog-built body. She watched him run, golden metal muted in the waning light. With a sigh, she nudged a smallish boulder over to the cairn and sat down, alternately scanning the skies, the road and the rocks beyond.

The highway, once well-traveled, had seen a cut in traffic over the past few years due to the Autobot presence. No one wanted to drive by and have their car cut in half by errant laser fire – or flattened by careless Dinobot feet. Thus, Alina was surprised to see the sleek blue Corvette put on its blinker and pull over. "Tracks …?" No, stupid – no wings, no decals.

The man who slipped out was brown-haired and bearded – closely cropped to his sculpted jaw. Puffs of smoke filtered out after him, ringing his head like a halo. By chance, the wind blew and Alina caught the scent of marijuana. She'd done a little before college during her somewhat rebellious teen years, so she was fairly certain it wasn't a cigar. "Can I … help you?" she asked, looking for Steeljaw. The Lion was nowhere to be found. Cursing under her breath, Alina swept the newcomer up and down, looking for signs of danger. He was nothing if not handsome – and stoned.

"You Alina?"

Too stunned to answer, she began to slowly rise, wishing and praying that the metal Lion had only gone chasing after a ghost. The man marked her edginess. "I've been driving all around town, lookin' for ya. I'm Jerry – Nate's friend."

Apparently that made things all the better. Alina was smarter than that. She shook her head and began to walk backwards up the path. Where are Red Alert's cameras? she wondered in the hurricane that was her thoughts. "Steeljaw?" she called out, following it up with a whistle.

Jerry took a step towards her. "Is that his name? Nate said you had an Autobot friend." He grinned lasciviously. "Why waste your time with robots? What do they got that a real man doesn't?"

That did it. Breaking, Alina turned and ran, screaming Steeljaw's name at the top of her lungs. Jerry, despite his state, was faster. She was plowed into the rocky path; heavy breath scented with weed gushing over her bleeding cheek. "STEELJAW! STEEL– !"

Jerry grabbed her wrists, jerking them behind her back. "I bet you can't be satisfied by a two-ton metal dick. Lemme show you a real one." Something thick was wound around her wrists, biting into flesh. Using the heel of one hand in the middle of her back to keep her down, Jerry reached for her jeans.

A savage roar split the twilight. Fear-sweat coursing down her brow and trickling into fresh scrapes, Alina looked up through black bangs to see Steeljaw bounding over a rocky outcropping. He was in full roar, a sound that shook her to her soul. The Autobot Cassette leapt, landing within feet of her precarious position; trylithium claws winked in the fading sun. On her back, Jerry trembled, scrabbled upright – and was promptly knocked over by Steeljaw's voice.

Alina wasted no time in flipping over, her hands still bound. The Lion walked stiff-legged towards her attacker, who lay sprawled on his back, a wet stain spreading across his pants and the rock. Steeljaw roared again. Jerry went completely white and fell over in a dead faint.

"Steel …"

The golden mechanoid Lion shook his head, triumphant. For a split second, metal was overlaid by flesh and fur – a full black and gold mane flew about the Autobot's shoulders. It was gone almost as quickly as it had flashed into her head. "Steel … jaw." Panting, Alina struggled upright, pain in her legs and arms. So close … so close …

Steeljaw made as if to paw at Jerry's unconscious body but thought better. He turned stiffly and walked over to where she sat. Without comment, he bent his head towards her wrists and deftly snapped the cables free. Alina shook them from her flesh as if they were snakes, kicking them with her feet. "It was his scent I smelled," Steeljaw finally said as he offered his shoulder. "It coursed over the roadway, layer upon layer."

Alina blinked. "He said … he was canvassing for me."

"Not anymore." Steeljaw spoke with such wisdom and finality, Alina had no reason to doubt it the truth. With the Lion at her side, she walked back to the Ark – to Ratchet's tender mercies and Red Alert's apoplexies.

OoOoOoOoOo

A week later, Alina walked into Ratchet's medbay, a book bag slung over one shoulder. Her gate was still a little stiff, her wrists nearly healed; the cuts on her cheek and chin were scabbed over, aided in the healing process by some Wheeljack-created, Ratchet-approved gel. Mirage saw her coming and shifted upon the recovery bed. His white and blue armor bore burn marks; holes had been dug out of shoulders and legs, smoke stains spread over his seamless light blue facial planes. He, along with several others, had been patrolling an experimental air base in New Mexico. The Ligier's new paint job was courtesy of a Decepticon-slung F-15 jet aimed at Bumblebee.

Astoria had called her several times over the past week, apologizing profusely for what had happened. She even cut ties with Jerry's father's company for the son's transgressions. It was extreme, but a pure Astoria reaction. Jerry himself was in rehab – and in a psych ward. He confessed everything to the police before he was sentenced.

As she walked closer, she saw his frown. "Are you all right?" he rumbled in that cultured baritone as she made her way up the stairs set against the bed's side. He lay back down, propping one wrapped arm behind his head. His optics never left her face.

She smiled softly, trying to play down her physical appearance, and settled herself on his chestplate, propping her back on his thigh. "You're more worse for wear. I hear you caught a jet."

"Yes, well. So I did."

He was being very modest – either that, or he rather would have her tell her what happened. It wasn't a story she wanted to tell, not now – even to him. "Alina."

Black hair fell from her face as she looked up from rifling through her book bag. "Yes?"

"What happened." There was no scent of query in his vocalizer. He looked at her from behind blue glass optics, lip components set in a thin line.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said at last, pulling out two books. "Austin or Bronte?"

With his free right hand, he pushed them downwards, gently. "Answer me."

A knot worked into her belly; she avoided eye contact. "I'm sure someone told you."

"Hound," he conceded. "He told me that some overcharged male attacked you at the entrance to the base. Neither Ratchet nor that creature, Steeljaw, would say any more."

Privacy. What a novel concept, she thought wryly. "I don't want to talk about it." She sighed, slowly shaking her head. He would never understand.

"Alina." He touched her cheek – the unscathed right one.

"Men think that I'm an anathema … because I work with the Autobots. They seem to think they have to prove their manhood." There, she said it.

"He tried to force you."

"Steeljaw stopped him."

Mirage rumbled; she felt the vibration in his chest through her bottom. "Humans," he hissed. "Humans!"

"Mirage," she whispered quietly. He lifted his chin, the black smoke streaks giving him a roguish look. "Austin, Bronte, T.S. Elliot …?"

For a moment, he frowned. Then he settled back, head propped by his arm. "Pick something."

"Okay." And she dug into her bag, pulling out Achebe's Things Fall Apart. How apropos … Flipping to the first page, she settled herself against his leg and began to read, knowing in her heart that men would never be for her. Not when she had him.