[A/N:Began as a Springkink prompt that didn't get finished in time. The setting is a grab-bag of the G1 cartoon, the Marvel comics, the tech specs, and whatever amusing or interesting bits I've gleaned from the TF wiki. The author would like the state now that she's mainly sticking with the G1 animated canon for much of the character personalities and for the overall tone of this and other stories. Some events have been moved around in the timeline to make for a more coherent narrative or just because it seemed more interesting story-wise. In other words, expect this to be cracktastically campy and repeat to yourself it's just a fan-fic, you should really just relax.]

~~ New York, 1987

As he lay on the hospital bed staring up at the ceiling tiles, Raoul consoled himself with the knowledge that it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Yeah, it was one damn heroic moment when he jumped Soundwave's heavy metal pigeon to save Steeljaw from getting pecked to death. He just made the mistake of assuming that he was going in against Laserbeak, robot chicken, not Buzzsaw, screaming metal death machine. Of course, Raoul still would've gone in against psycho birdie anyway because Steeljaw was a friend. And a man-a real man- always had his friend's back no matter what. So what if he almost literally got his ass handed back to him when that rusty turkey turned around and mauled him before finally tossing him right into the dumpster behind an all-night Chinese take-out? All the hours spent in surgery had been worth it to have just seen the look on that tin-plated buzzard's face when he nailed it upside the head with a pipe.

Of course, Tracks had acted as if he was going to die any second. Barely a moment had gone by since Raoul'd been moved from the trauma center and admitted to Mount Sinai 'for observation' that the Corvette hadn't called to check up on him. They'd barely spoken or seen each other since the Albany-Saratoga race. And now Tracks was, for no damn reason, constantly calling almost every day to check in on him and even sent a very large, very expensive bouquet which had caused much giggling and speculation among the nurses to Raoul's unending embarrassment. Where the hell did a transforming alien car get the money to pay for crap like that, anyway?

Finally, after wasting weeks away flirting with the gals on duty while cleverly bullshitting his way out of some pretty awkward questions from the cops, the day had come for Raoul to be released from the hospital. He'd barely gotten out of the paper gown and back into some normal clothes—funny, he didn't remember the guys bringing him a change of clothes— when another pair of detectives came bustling in.

"Look, I've already told you guys, I got mugged by some fucking junkies and then the bastards beat the shit outta me," he began automatically and then took a closer look at the detectives. The thin black guy was your standard inner-city cop except for having some of the funkiest shades Raoul'd ever seen but his partner…

His partner must've just walked straight off the cover of fashion magazine. This man should've been out playing tennis with Ridge Forrester, not slumming in some busted up b-boy's hospital room. He was just too handsome…too /flawless/ to be just another cop. Hell, he was so damn /perfect/ that Raoul was seriously starting to wonder if this guy was even human…

"I do hope you know," huffed Mister Perfect in that casually snobbish tone. "It's rude to stare."

"Tracks?" Raoul gaped at him. "Holy shit! Is the really you?"

The human Tracks sighed. "Yes, it is. And would you please watch your language? This is a med-bay."

"Hospital," corrected the black guy, flashing a very toothy grin that made him look kind of like Eddie Murphy. "Humans call 'em hospitals, not med-bays."

"Thank you, Jazz," he grumbled softly.

"What the hell? You mean he's a robot too?" barked Raoul as he finally got over his surprise. "How the fuck are you doing that? Are those some kind holograms?"

"Hey! Give the kid a prize!" Jazz smirked warmly at the boy, helping him with the crutches while the doctor took Tracks aside for a moment. "We've been working on 'em for years to blend in with you guys, but couldn't get the holographic interface to look just right. The science guys called it the "Uncanny Valley Effect", as in looking human but not acting human enough. That is, till we got some new tech from one very lovely lady and her equally fine fairy godmother as a little thank you gift for taking care of their little 'con problem. See, it all started when those fraggers found out about Synergy and—"

"Well, thank you for that lovely story, Jazz, but I do believe my young charge here would like to go back home…" Shooting Jazz a look that could be best called lethal, Tracks gently hustled the boy over to the doctor. He hovered protectively over the young human as Raoul endured the lecture about 'follow-ups' and 'prognosis' or some such crap, followed by even more paperwork before they finally decided to discharge him. Of course, Raoul couldn't help blowing those lovely nurses on duty one last kiss good-bye before getting quickly swept into an elevator by one seriously pissed off robot in disguise.

"Wait here, I'll be back shortly," barked Tracks like he was talking to a disobedient puppy after marching them out of the lobby. When he'd left their sight, Raoul turned to the other Autobot.

"What crawled up his tailpipe and died?"

"With Tracks? Man, there's no tellin'! He's even bitchier than usual." Reaching into his jacket, Jazz pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to the young human.

"Really?" grumbled Raoul as he leaned in for a light. "I hardly noticed…"

Jazz laughed, bobbing his head in agreement. "Ain't that the truth! You wouldn't believe what a royal pain in the ass he can be sometimes. And Tracks has been in rare form ever since he took time off to see you." He paused, frowning slightly. "You two have a fight or something?"

"No, we didn't…" Hunching up a bit, Raoul took a deep drag and huffed. "The big guy's probably still pissed off about me taking him racing on a dirt take. You oughta know how he gets when he's dirty."

"Funny… I saw him when he got back and his aft was spotless."

Raoul shifted uneasily. "I dunno. Maybe he stopped at a car wash."

"Tracks? Going through a car wash? In public?" He raised an eyebrow, staring skeptically over his shade. Then he grinned suddenly and whistled, "Damn! That must've been one hell of a show."

"What 'cha mean by that?"

"Whoa! Easy there, man. I didn't mean anything… It's just that I never thought he'd do something like that."

Shooting a glance over at him, Raoul sneered, "Why? Tracks too good to let somebody wash him?"

"Oh no-no, my friend! He loves that kind of attention. Just eats it up! Getting washed really mellows Tracks out, if you follow me baby…" There was this slick, all too deliberate edge to Jazz's voice that made the human suddenly uncomfortable.

"You mean he gets off on it," Raoul muttered, dwelling on what happened in garage. Then a bit of fridge logic hit him. "How the fuck does that even work, anyway? You're robots!"

"So?"

"Well, you guys are…are machines, right? It ain't like you need to knock someone up to have a kid…just a box of spare parts and some tools oughta do it. You even got any junk down there? Or know what sex is?"

Jazz cocked his head at the boy in absolute disbelief, and then he doubled over laughing. When he finally pulled himself together, he noticed the kicked puppy stare. "Aw, don't make that face at me, baby. You oughta know most people like to fuck recreationally. It's one of the standard pastimes throughout the universe. That and getting royally shit-faced. Anyway, no offense to you humans, but it seems to me that you all got the short end of the stick when it comes to that great and wonderful game of horizontal boom-de-yadda. Hell, there are about five different ways we do it-even more than that if you got the right hook-ups and a creative mind…" He waggled his eyebrows for effect, the grin on his face widening into a friendly leer.

"Five?" Raoul rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. I'm callin' bullshit 'cause there's only three places you can stick it: the mouth, the ass, or the pussy. And I ain't too sure you guys even have any of that last one, 'cause I've never even heard of any robot chicks."

"Actually, there's quite a few femmes left. You don't see 'em around because cosmetically female bodies are a rare, expensive, and extremely difficult to manufacture. They're also tended not to be as physically strong or intimidating as mech body styles, so most hardwired femmes converted to mech bodies after the war started for practical reasons. That is, until Elita-1 got herself a pink paint-job…"

The boy snickered. "She's pink? Oh yeah, I bet that's one scary lady! Does she have a frilly little skirt and lacy panties too?"

Jazz stared at him. "Baby, I wouldn't joke about that if I were you. See, pink is the color of processed energon and where we came from its kinda' like dressing up in spikes and leather."

"Right, sure…" grumbled Raoul. "So there are robot girls. Still, that's only three holes."

"Who said you just need holes?" the Autobot chuckled. "We've got a lot more options than sticking 'plug A' into 'port B' here!"

"Then please enlighten me."

"Well, first off there's direct stimulation of the sensory systems which can set off a nice overload. I even know a guy who gets his rocks off over the smell and taste of marigolds," hummed Jazz with a grin. "Of course, I think we both can guess what a little washing can lead too…" He winked at the boy, then continued casually. "Next up is playing around with the electromagnetic fields. It's kind of hard to explain in human terms, but think of the static build-up you get from a TV screen after you turned it off. Now, try and imagine being able to do that with your skin while cuddling up to someone doing the same thing."

"Wait a minute," Raoul muttered as he let that idea sink in. "So you're sayin' you guys get off on shocking the crap out of each other?"

"Like you said, we are robots…"

"Right. But wouldn't fuck up your circuits or some shit?"

"Eh…well…" Jazz coughed then waved it off. "There are always some aftereffects with field play. But it's almost always so minor that your repair systems can fix it right up… Though there have been times I've limped into the med-bay after a particularly long night of high-grade and debauchery. But that's something I'll tell you about later, babe."

"Electroshocks…" Raoul grinned suddenly. "Oh man, I can't believe there's kinky sex for robots!"

"Kinky? Primus! Field play is barely even second base. If I recall, it's said to be the third most common 'intimate interaction'. At least, if you believe the official surveys…" Jazz added under his breath.

"So, what's the first?"

"Ever hook up a VCR to a TV before?"

For a long moment, Raoul just stared at the Autobot and thought about the last time he'd boosted a car radio, slowly imagining the possibilities while Jazz just grinned knowingly. "Damn, man. So every time you guys get new hardware, it's like getting in a happy ending?"

"Are you kiddin' me? Pluggin' is more like foreplay! Besides, going in for mods ain't sexy at all, especially if you get stuck with Swoop doin' the job," Jazz chuckled. "Baby, if you really want to know the real meaning of 'going all the way', try bonding!"

"Bonding?" Disturbingly vivid memories of Tracks strapped down to that amp came bubbling into him thoughts. Driven by a mix of painkillers and teenage curiosity, Raoul couldn't help but ask, "Okay, I'll bite. Just what the hell is that?"

"It's…eh…" Now it was Jazz's turn to be uncomfortable. "That's actually kind of a sensitive subject, baby. You know… one of those wacky alien things…"

"Oh no!" growled Raoul, grinning evilly. "You can't just bring something like that up and then cop out on me! You didn't have any problem talking about all that other shit!"

"Yeah, well all that ain't as…uh, intimate as bonding is. Might even say it's a religious experience…"

"Aw, come on Jazz! You can't just leave me hanging, man."

"Well, baby, it's kind of complicated…." he grumbled, sounding regretful about bringing the subject up. "To put it simply, bonding is kind of like getting married only you're merging your spark with somebody else's."

"And a spark is…?"

"Something that you don't need to know about," snapped Tracks as he reappeared from nowhere, plucking the cigarette out of Raoul's mouth and flicked it into the ash-urn a few yards away. Then he rounded on Jazz, bristling with paternal outrage. "I would thank you not encourage such a disgusting habit and never bring up such distasteful matters as interfacing when you're around my ward."

"Hey man, where do you get off?" the human groused. "We were just havin' a smoke."

"It's bad for your health," muttered Tracks, herding Raoul towards his idling alt-form. "Anyway, you're too young to be smoking. Now, we really must be running along. Good bye, Jazz."

"See ya'," the boy barked, ducking under Tracks' arm as he was carefully packed into the passenger seat. "Hey! You got a number? Maybe we could get together later when my old lady here let's me off the leash…"

"Sure, babe! It's—"

The Corvette's engine snarled abruptly. "I said good bye, Jazz."

With an almost pitying look on his face, Jazz gave Raoul one last wave before the Corvette pulled away from the hospital. They'd barely gone a block from Mt. Sinai before the boy turned on his self-appointed warden.

"What the hell is your problem?"

"Pardon?" murmured Tracks while he went through the motions of steering through traffic.

"I'm askin' you what your fucking problem is? Shit, we were just talking."

"First off, will you please stop using such vulgarities. It's rude." He eased through the muggy streets, the prim veneer never breaking despite hitting a few snarls of gridlock. "And secondly, though Jazz is model soldier and an all around good mech, he happens to be a bit of a rake."

Raoul glanced over at him. "A what?"

"He's a dirty old man. A very, very dirty old man…" Tracks muttered quietly, "Probably started flirting with you the minute I turned my back."

"Jesus, I already told ya' we were just talking!"

"About certain matters that anyone with even a micron of tact does not discuss in public with a child!"

"Child?" Raoul sat up, wincing but too offended to care. "What the hell, man? I ain't a kid!"

"From what I was told, you are considered by law to be a minor."

"I ain't a minor. If you'd look at my license, it'll say right there in that I'm twenty-one!"

"I did…" The glove compartment popped open, spitting out a manila envelope into the boy's lap. "It was falsified, along with most of the other documentation you presented to your landlady, your employer, and various bartenders and store-owners throughout the city. According to your real birth certificate, you won't legally be an adult for approximately two years, seven months, and four days. And you won't be legally able to consume alcohol for another three years after that!"

He stared at the papers for a moment then glared at the Autobot. "Just how the hell did you get this shit anyway? I thought you had to be a relative—"

"Or your legal guardian," Tracks finished coldly. "Which means I'm now responsible for you welfare, your education, and your development into an honest, productive member of society. And knowing you, I fear this is going to take a truly Herculean effort just to teach you some basic manners."

"Dear god, you sound like my old man…" he moaned sinking back into the seat.

"Well, if you'd prefer, I can always return you to your father and mother in California…"

"Step-mother." He hissed the word. "And there's no way in hell I'm going back there. I was born in New York, I was raised in Harlem, and I sure as hell ain't gonna leave my home just because the old man went and shacked up with that fucking whore!"

Tracks stared at him, aghast. "I cannot believe you'd say such a thing! What did harm has that woman ever done to you?"

"If you ever met the Wicked Bitch of the West, you'd understand…" Raoul growled, tossing the envelope onto the dashboard. "How did you get made my guardian anyway? And why? I mean, you guys are in the middle of a fucking war, aren't you?"

"Language, please! How you got placed in my custody isn't important. As for the reason why I've taken it upon myself to be your guardian, it's because you needone. Raoul, you are too young to be able to live by yourself," Tracks droned in that especially irritatingly smug tone. "And, since you decided to assault of one of Soundwave's dependents, he now considers you to be an active combatant which means that every Decepticon with half a processor will be hunting you down to get on his—and Megatron's—good side. That makes it my sworn duty to guard you since, as a mere human you aren't capable of defending yourself andthis arrangement makes it so much easier to carry out my orders."

"I can take care of myself, thank you very fucking much. I don't need you protecting me."

"I'm afraid that you're very wrong on both those counts, my boy," he answered pompously.

"You and I both know for a fucking fact that I can kick the asses of any one of those motherfucking tin-plated bastards. I even took on Megatron by myself! With a spray-can!" Raoul puffed up a bit, smiling nastily in spite of the painful ache in his side. "A fucking spray-can! And I fucking won! So don't you fucking sit there and tell me that I ain't able to handle shit myself!"

"Won?" rasped Tracks. "Won? All you did was create a relatively minor system glitch by paint-bombing his laser core. Be thankful his Most Esteemed Lord Protector was so over-energized that the resultant feedback loop threw off his equilibrium…"

"Over-what?"

There was another huff of air. "Drunk. Megatron was drunk off his aft, as usual. Primus, half the Decepticon army stays so blitzed off their afts it's amazing that they can even find the damn battle."

"You guys can get drunk?" Raoul couldn't hide his amusement. "How to fuck do you pull that off? Chug an oil-refinery?"

"In a sense, yes. We are able to get intoxicated by consuming too much fuel and other additives. And no, I am not going to explain how that works because the basic chemistry involved is far too complicated for an average adult human to understand, let alone a child like you."

"Hey! Quit talking to me like I'm some kind of a dumb punk!"

"But you are some kind of punk." Tracks paused, considering something before adding. "Though I wouldn't call you dumb. Oh no, never dumb...You, my dear boy, are a surprisingly intelligent—downright cunning at time—unfortunately you seem determined to waste your potential on becoming just another juvenile delinquent. In fact, the best description I can manage is you're an overconfident, immature smart-ass with a death-wish!"

"One more crack like that," snarled Raoul. "And next time you come out of 'recharge', you're gonna find yourself fluorescent pink with a smiley face antenna ball and a hula girl on your dash!"

Tracks gave him a smug smile. "And it's the little threats like that just prove how immature and irresponsible of a child you are."

"Dear god! Will you just drop it already?"

"Not until you accept the fact that you are a very young and very mortalchild, not some kind of walking one-man army from those glaringly erroneous movies you so avidly rot your mind with!"

"Alright! So I'm a weak little fleshy! I need a big, strong robot to come save me! Happy?"

There was a blast of warm air from the vent. "Why do you always have make things so damn difficult?"

"Why did you hit up Child Services and have 'em put me in your care?"

"Because now I have a legitimate reason to be with you. Primus knows the shameful things people will just assume about an older man spending extended periods of time in the company of a young boy… That one doctor had the nerve to make some truly appalling accusations about my intentions towards you and almost had me barred from the premises!"

Raoul glared over at him. "You sent me flowers."

"Isn't it traditional to send friends and loved ones get-well presents?"

"Guys send their buddies cards," the boy replied flatly. "There are only three people a man will give flowers to: his mother, his grandmother, or his old lady."

"Old lady?"

"His wife, big guy. Or his girlfriend."

"Oh…" Tracks' tone dropped a bit. "I was unaware of that."

"How can you not know that? There are robot chicks, for crying out loud! You should know this shit!"

"There's really not much of a difference between genders on Cybertron." A fainter gust of air came out the vents. "Unlike humans, it's actually a more of a personal preference."

"Seriously?" Raoul grinned a bit, forgetting his anger in eagerness to learn more about his alien friend. "You mean you guys can pick and choose whether you're a chick or not?"

"It not quite that simple," Again, Tracks 'sighed'. "Female bodies are expensive. Even the most primitive and unfashionable feminine upgrades cost more than the average worker would make in vorn…"

"Vorn?"

"That's the average time it takes Cybertron to circuit a galaxy. It's roughly 80 Earth years."

Raoul stared at him. "80 years? One year Robot Time is 80 fucking years?"

"Actually, a vorn is a closer equivalent to about a month… and must I keep reminding you to stop using that sort of language?"

"A month?" came the startled little yelp. "How old are you guys?"

"I'm 34 giga-cycles old," Tracks replied mildly. Seeing that the boy had no idea what a 'giga-cycle' was, he added, "That would be a little over 68 million years, Earth standard time."

"…68 million? Jesus…" repeated Raoul, going slightly pale. "I've heard of a May-December romance, but this is ridiculous!" He forced out a laugh.

"Romance? What romance?" He shifted back to that cold formality. "I fail to see anything 'romantic' about our relationship. Just a simple acquaintance between a caretaker and his ward, nothing more."

"Then why are you getting jealous?"

Tracks ignored the question, deftly sliding into a parking space right out front of the apartments. He'd barely gotten out before a pair of girls appeared on stoop.

"Good afternoon, Mister Perlman!" they purred in unison, primping and batting their eyes at him.

"Good afternoon, ladies." Tracks, aka "Mister Perlman", gave them a slight nod before going around to the passenger side to help the boy out.

"Sorry bitches, you're all barking up the wrong tree!" Raoul sneered as he hobbled onto the curb, then lisped nastily as he waved his hand limply at them. "He's gay!"

"You wish, pajaro!" hissed one of the girls.

"Tu madre, puta."

"Maricón."

"Cocksucker."

"Raoul!" Shooting him a reproachful glare, Tracks dutifully helped him up the stairs then paused briefly at the door. "Please pardon that outburst, Miss—Latisha, wasn't it? My friend here has just gotten out of the hospital and he's in rather disagreeable mood."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Mister Perlman sir," cooed Tish, slinking in closer. "That boy is always like that…"

"Fuck you too, Tish." Raoul growled under his breath as he stealthily flipped her off.

"By the way, Mister Perlman," purred the other girl, squeezing her past Tish. "Elevator's still out, so you're gonna hafta use the stairs."

"Yeah," Tish murmured as she butted her friend out of the way and smiling nastily when she noticed Raoul's cast. "Real tough break, seeing that you're going all the way up to the fifth floor and all…"

"Thank you Jacqueline dear, but I think I can manage." Without warning, he scooped the boy up into his arms and calmly carried him into the building.

Tish and Jackie staring after the pair blindsided by shock while Raoul glared at Tracks in mute horror. It wasn't until Tracks let him down by the apartment door that the teen rounded on him.

"What the fucking hell is wrong with you?" Raoul snarled as he staggered through the door.

Tracks blinked in confusion. "What? The elevator is out and in your condition you aren't to exert yourself."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" roared the boy, collapsing onto the second-hand couch without noticing the boxes scattered around the apartment. "Right in front of those putas? Holy fucking shit… Half the goddamn Barrio's gonna find out…"

"Find out? Find out what, exactly?"

"They're all gonna think I'm your bitch!" When that failed to get a reaction, Raoul snapped, "Do you understand what a 'bitch' is?"

"Yes. It's a female dog."

He stared at the disguised robot in complete surprise. "…that's it? That's all?"

"Well, I do recall Carly saying that it was extremely rude to address a female human that way," murmured Tracks as he bustled around, packing away some things off a shelf.

"How about faggot? Do you know what a faggot is?"

"Yes." Before Raoul could say anything, Tracks continued blandly, "It's a bundle of sticks."

"You're fucking with me, aren't you? You cannot stand there and act like you don't know shit about gays."

"I suspect they're very happy people," grumbled the robot. "And will you please try to stop cursing every other sentence?"

"How about 'queer'? You know what that means?" There was a panicked tone to his voice.

"It means strange or odd." Tracks frowned. "Look, I don't know why you're asking all these silly questions. If you really need definitions, you could look up the answers in a dictionary…"

"Are there any of those 'femme' models on Earth?" asked Raoul abruptly.

"Pardon?"

"Are any girl robots on Earth?"

Tracks went over to the sofa, his frown deepening as he considered the question. "If you're talking about the ones who are cosmetically female in appearance, Arcee would be the only one currently stationed on Earth. Of course, we had to do some radical modifications recently to her outer armor design in order to appease a very persistent group belong to the 'feminist' faction. They were under the impression that because we didn't have anyone who looked superficially like a human female, that we were being 'sexist' and purposely excluding females from our ranks. Absolutely stupid, in my opinion. The very idea that any rational being would think that gender determines whether or not you're qualified for military service is absurd!" He paused, huffing angrily. "Besides, once Arcee had undergone the modifications, the group's spokeswoman had the nerve to state that she was 'a male-chauvinistic stereotype' just because her new design was based on the appearance of a nude Carrie Fischer."

Raoul cocked an eyebrow at him. "Let me get this straight: There's only one female robot on Earth and she's a giant, naked Princess Leia?"

"Well, yes." He let out another little huff. "You know, I am amazed there was such a fuss over it. First off, Arcee gave her full consent in the matter and was happy when Optimus personally assigned Sunstreaker and Grapple, two of our most artistic mechs, to undertake the design aspects of this project. And they both thoroughly researched every detail they could about the human ideal of feminine beauty. They were also adamant that nudes of either gender were indeed appropriate and would be more economical, especially after Wheeljack submitted his estimate on how much raw material he'd need to construct a set of external armor resembling a ball gown."

"You seriously were going to put her in a dress?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong! It was very beautiful design… In fact, I believe the concept drawings are still archived. Just a moment, and I'll show you them." Tracks stretched out his hand and a off-white box that was the size of a large paperback materialized in his palm. He opened it flat to reveal a black screen with a green grid overlay and surrounded by tiny bumps. When Tracks turned it on, a floating image of Martian Space Princess Barbie and her Office of the Future appeared.

"What in God's name is that thing?" Raoul asked, moving to get a better look at the little hologram waving and happily babbling at him in some kind of crazy moonman language.

"Oh this old thing?" muttered Tracks, giving the little hologram girl a friendly tap on the head as he sat the computer onto the arm of the couch. "It's just a little Nebulan palmtop. I amazed it's even able to runs a Teletran OS as complicated as a 40 series."

"Nib-u-whatsit?" He reached out cautiously and flicked MSP Barbie's backside, causing her skirt to flip up and show her space panties. Grinning, he watched her angrily shake a tiny fist at him, shouting at him in what he guessed was Nibanese.

"It's a portable computer. Really, you're acting like this is some kind of miracle machine."

"Cause it is." Raoul continued poking at the little green girl, 'chasing' her around the desk and filing cabinets with his finger. "I've never seen a computer do this before. What is this? Some kind of super alien Tandy or-OW!"

Fed up with being harassed, MSP Barbie bit down on his finger.

"Holy crap! How the fuck did she do that?"

"The same way I can stand here talking to you without doing major damage to this building. This palmtop uses a holographic user interface. All you have to is ask Teletran-42 to fetch a folder like so..." He murmured another bunch of crazy moonman speak at her and the little hologram happily skipped to one of her cabinets, pulling out a large blue folder. She laid it out on the desk for him. "And then just open it."

And with a flick of his finger, Tracks tapped the folder and up popped a the image of a thin, very evil looking robotic monster.

"This," Tracks hummed without really noticing the look of horror on his charge's face. " Is Arcee. Prior to the redesign, of course."

"She looks like that thing from Alien crossed with the fucking Predator. With pink highlights."

"That's because her original alt mode was that of a Kalis Crystal Spider," He smiled wistfully. "It happens to be one of the few large predators able to thrive in the Toxic Sludge Swamp owing to its aggressiveness and trans-organic nature. Made for the most interesting hunting... From what I've been told, when Arcee was still a youngling her creator abandoned her in the swamp and she was found living with a hive of them. It turns out that she has quite an affinity for animals. It's rather like the story Snow White."

"Yeah… She's a regular Disney princess…"

Tracks rolled his eyes at the boy. "Honestly! Arcee happens to be a very polite and good natured young femme once you get to know her better…"

"She looks like something that crawled out of Freddy Krueger's nightmares. I can't tell whether she'd rather fuck me, kill me, or rape me while murdering me..."

"She's never do such a thing. And I assure you Arcee was much more pleasant looking without that battle-mask on. I can't begin to tell you how hard it was to convince her to get rid of that awful thing! It was a vast improvement once she did…" Reaching over, Tracks flipped to another image.

Now Raoul found himself face to face with an androgynously pretty gray face that had the kind of broad, toothy smile that would make a hungry shark seem friendly.

"That ain't much better…" he muttered, edging back slightly.

"Honestly, she is very sweet in person."

"Right…" He glanced at the new image that Tracks flipped to. It was of an attractive pink robot girl posing for the camera. "Okay, now that I can deal with. So, since she's the only robot chick in the whole damn world, Arcee must be pretty popular…"

"Well she certainly does have a couple of young mechs fawning over her," Tracks murmured primly. "Of course, in spite of her upbringing, she happens to be quite a well-bred young lady."

"You mean she don't put out?" hummed Raoul with a grin.

Pulling off a magnificent grimace, Tracks let out a weary sigh. "Will you please explain to me why you must have such a fixation on sex?"

"Sure! Right after you tell me why the hell you don't know jack shit about humans."

"Excuse me? I'll have you know that I happen to have had a thorough debreifing on proper human behavior which included extensive study of Earth broadcasts."

"What kind of broadcasts?"

"/As the Kitchen Sinks/ and other soap operas are popular along with various broadcasts saved by Teletraan-1. Episodes of /I Love Lucy/, /Leave It to Beaver/, /Father Knows Best/ and other slice of life kind programs are almost as popular with most of the crew. I'm personally fond of /Bewitched/. Can't stand /Gilligan's Island/, though... It's far too unrealistic. I mean, why didn't they just place Gilligan into stasis instead of letting him continue to ruin their chances at being rescued every time?"

Raoul stared at him for a long, silent moment. "You're kidding, right?"

"Why would I joke about this?" Tracks grumbled, going back to his tidying. "Now, I understand that there's some dramatic license taken but they are a decent guideline for the daily life of the average American."

"You do realize almost all those shows came out in the fifties, right? Fuck! That shit wasn't even true thirty years ago if you weren't a goddamn WASP!"

"Will you please quit using such vulgar language? Seriously, I'm getting rather tired of repeating myself." He paused. "Also, isn't a wasp an insect? Or is that the name of a human faction?"

"It means 'White Anglo-Saxon Protestant'. Jesus, you honestly don't expect me to believe you guys learned everything you know about humanity from the fucking TV!"

"That's not exactly true. We've had quite a bit of input from Sparkplug, Spike and his friends about some of the more puzzling aspects of human culture. Though I've still haven't gotten an answer as to why mated couples are required to sleep in separate beds."

Suddenly Raoul burst out laughing, then just a quickly curled up in a little ball of pain. He waved off the painkillers Tracks dutifully offered. "Christ! You really think people live like that?"

"Well, why else would such an impractical state of affairs be so prevalent in your media?" he muttered, fingering the bottle of pills idly.

"'Cause back then nobody was suppose to get down with each other."

"Get down with-" Tracks suddenly let out a groan. "Again with sex? Is that all your species thinks about?"

"Hey, it ain't like we can make more people any other way! I haven't seen any Radio Shacks carrying a Build-Your-Own-Brat kit yet."

"Honestly, there's more to it than simple procreation..."

The grin widened. "Yeah. That's why it's one of the universes two favorite pastimes: getting fucked and getting fucked up!"

"Let me assure you that, despite whatever Jazz might have told you, the cultured Cybertronians have more sophisticated ways of passing the time than that."

"Oh, I get it..." he chuckled, wincing. "Ain't nobody good enough for Mister Perfect, right? Betcha you must get tired turning down all the ladies..."

"Actually, no. I don't court femmes because I'm not attracted to my own gender."

Raoul twisted around sharply to face him, barely holding back a hiss of pain. "You're not what?"

"I am not sexually attracted to my own gender." Tracks repeated slowly. "Really, it isn't that hard to understand."

"Uh...maybe you're misunderstanding me, but a guy who's not interested in pussy is almost by default a faggot you know. That is unless you're a trannie or something."

"A what?"

"A trannie. You know, a transexual?"

He waited for a response, but Tracks only stared vacantly off to a point just a bit past his left ear. It took Raoul a minute to notice that his eyes had changed to the total neon glow he knew. Fascinated by this changed, he watched as thin glowing lines appeared, first a pair running from just below each eye to the jawline, then symmetrical angles that formed interlacing patterns. Suddenly, the lines disappeared and Tracks glared at him, his eyes still glowing.

"I just looked up what those words you keep using meant... And as of right now, the only time you are allowed to use words like 'gay' is if you're using the proper dictionary definition."

Raoul started chuckling. "You just now looked those up?"

"This is not funny."

"Oh, it's fucking hilarious! Here you are, a super-advanced alien robot older than God and you can't even be bothered to look at your little cheat sheet? You just know everything, don't you?" His tone dropped from a laugh to a hateful hiss. "In case you haven't noticed, this ghetto. Or do they have ghettos on your planet?"

"Believe, they do. Which is why I've spoken with a very nice young lady who was more than happy to allow us to have one of her penthouses on Fifth Avenue. According to Miss Carlton-Ritz, it has lovely view of the park and Carnegie Hill is within a few blocks of the school you're going so it won't be too drastic of a change for you."

"You're pulling my dick..."

"No, and I must insist that you never use that expression again."

"You are not seriously telling me some rich bimbo is just letting you move this homeboy's ass into her old apartment on fucking Carnegie Hill?"

"Yes, I am seriously telling you that Miss Carlton-Ritz was kind enough to put me on the lease and let us move in after your landlady evicted you."

Raoul stared at him. "...what?"

"Given the situation, I had to explain to your landlady that the lease you'd signed was invalid since you're not of age and I'd be more than happy to take responsibility for rent. She was rather...empathic that we find other living arrangements. I was lucky to get her to give me till this Friday to get moved out. Though I just cannot fathom why she'd suddenly be so hostile about the issue."

"Cause the old hag thinks you're fucking me..."

Barely suppressing growl, Tracks rubbed his temples. "Yet again we come back to sex?"

"I'm fucking amazed this ain't gotten through your damn circuits yet," the boy grumbled. "Look at it from a normal person's perspective: Here I am, your average cheap little punk, who suddenly has an extremely good-looking and rich older white man driving him around in a truly gorgeous Corvette, offering to pay his bills, and generally acting like hubby dearest. It ain't that much of a leap to think we're screwing."

"But we aren't. No offense, but I just shocks me that almost all of you humans automatically jump to the conclusion that an older person showing any kind of affection or charity to someone younger than themselves must be involved with them sexually. It's not only insulting but truly disturbing!"

"So, that thing in the garage never happened?"

"What thing? I don't recall anything happening in a garage." Tracks answered stiffly, stepping quickly to the kitchenette to get a glass of water.

"Don't you fucking dare act like that didn't happen. Or does it only count if I stick up your tailpipe?"

"First off, you'd be effectively jabbing your genitalia into my nostril," he hissed, then continued in increasingly strained tone. "And secondly, nothing happened in that garage, understand? I just allowed you to use me for a race, we came back, I got cleaned up, and then we returned to our respective homes in a perfectly normal fashion. Nothing else happened. Am I making myself clear?"

"Oh no. Uh-uh. You are not going to stand there and pretend that we didn't fuck."

"Because we didn't. Now, will you please just let it go?" His tone shifted for outrage to a pleading and odd kind of weariness. "Please, can we just not talk about this right now? You need to rest like the doctor told you to. It's going to be hard enough getting moved without having to deal with all this slag as well. Also, it's time for you to take your medication anyway."

Growling, Raoul settled back on the couch. "Fine. Subject dropped. Besides, I'd like to get royally bombed off my ass right now..."

"Thank you. Here," He hand him the water and the pills, pretending not to have heard that last part. "Now, I'm going to take some of these boxes over to the apartment. If you need anything, just tell Teletran-42 to call me and I'll be here immediately."

"And just how am I suppose do that?" he muttered sulkily. "I don't speak alien!"

"She's been programmed to speak and respond to a few English phrases. Just say 'Call Tracks' and she'll connect you to me."

Raoul grinned slyly. "So all I gotta do is say 'call' and a name, right?"

"Yes," answered the robot, glad that Raoul's fickle attention had focused on something else. "Also, here's a list of commands Teletran-42 knows. I'm sure you'll find plenty to keep yourself amused for the time being."

"Oh, I will. I will!" he replied in a overly cheerful tone. He waited till Tracks had left before leaning toward Teletran-42. "Okay, my little Martian princess, let's see if we can reach out and touch somebody... Call Jazz."

She cocked her head and gave him a puzzled look. "Emergency?"

"No. I just wanna talk to him."

Teletran-42 frowned, angrily wagging a finger at him. "No call. Emergency ONLY!"

"But this is an emergency!" Raoul whined. "I desperately need to talk with a guy who doesn't have a stick up his ass!"

"No call." She huffed up and crossed her arms.

"Pretty please?"

"No. No call!"

Grinding his teeth, Raoul thought for a moment. "Okay, fine! How about you do something useful, like -I dunno- let me watch a movie or something?"

"Moo-vee?" she repeated with another puzzled look.

"You know, movies? TV shows?"

"Oh! Tee-Vee!" Grinning, she tapped at her desk and the office scene was replace by a little movie theater complete with a stage and a large, floating screen. On it was a list of channel numbers and show names.

"Okay! Now we're getting somewhere..." He scanned through the lists, popping back a couple of pills while he tried to find something interesting. "Let's see... Alf, Season 1? The Wizard, full series? Designing Women? Jesus... This is all crap! Don't you have anything cool?"

"Coo-ool?"

"You know, something exciting? With explosions and action?"

Teletran-42 pursed her lips in thought, then happily hopped up and down. "Kamen Rider Black! Kamen Rider Black!"

"Alright, Kamen Rider Black it is!" He stretched out as the title flashed across the screen to start the opening credits. By the time Tracks had returned, the pills had taken hold of Raoul, sending him off to sleep dreaming of motorcycles and weird cyborg monsters.