Finally, something that is NOT WE continuality! This is a story of its own, completely unrelated to the crazy epic expanding universe of WE. I've been craving a sabbatical from the rigors of that universe for a while, and since the love has been down for As We Come Together's latest chapter, I thought that posting this little nibble of fun would be just thing to get my spirits back up!

Love to you all! Please read, review & enjoy!

Chapter 1

The arid landscape of the Arizona desert slipped by unnoticed as Sam sat quietly in Bumblebee's alt mode. They were alone on the abandoned stretch of ancient, crumbling highway, not another driver to be seen for miles. It was quite a relief really, since pretending to drive the alien Camaro was getting to be a terribly old act. They found themselves taking the scenic routes more and more often, if only to drop the old charade.

Absently, Sam checked his watch, sighing when it read almost noon. They'd been on the road since early morning, no breaks, and they still had a few hours to go before they hit their destination. Not that Sam was complaining. He knew that longer driving times were simply the price he paid in order for the both of them to relax and not put on a big show of pretending to be driver and car. In fact, he appreciated the long drives with his friend. In the sixteen years they'd been together, Bumblebee had learned the exact temperature that his human partner operated optimally in and adjusted the AC to suit that preference. They'd long since compromised on their differing tastes in music and settled for soft rock stations whenever they drove together, even going as far as to negotiate a reasonable volume at which said music could be played. Sam had also learned a few quirks of his friend, like why he hated driving through rocky regions on Earth because it reminded him of a planet he'd landed on and was nearly eaten by rock worms.

They were comfortable with one another.

No, Sam was merely sighing over the time because he knew he was that much closer to Phoenix and all its four million citizens.

Searching for something to occupy his time, he reached over to the passenger's seat where his cell phone had been tossed. With the energy of a sloth, he checked his messages, half listening to voice mails, flipping absently through his texts until he came across a few that were pressing enough to deserve a reply. After that, he shut the cell off and tossed it back to its seat. If anybody really wanted to get a hold of him, it usually was for a Decepticon attack, and, for that, they could contact him through Bumblebee.

Nothing much else to do except wait. Maybe he'd get some shut eye in hopes of giving him an extra edge when it came to dealing with the droves of humans that would undoubtedly be flocking.

A wry smile cracked his handsome face. Sleep. He liked the sound of that. He rarely did it any more. He considered it more of a hobby for when he had a bit of free time; something to do occasionally, but never on a regular basis. The effects of treating it as such were certainly starting to show. While Sam ignored the growing symptoms, Bumblebee watched with mounting concern.

"Sam, you really must stop doing this to yourself," Bumblebee sighed softly.

"Doing what?" Sam asked, feigning interest as he turned over in his seat to pillow his head against the window to prepare for a nap.

"You are exhausting yourself with this ridiculous façade you continue to live," the Camaro replied, chastising.

"Oh, that," Sam grunted, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Yes, that, Sam. You are only one person, and yet you are living two lives-."

"Batman and Superman do it," the human pointed out.

"They are fictional characters and you know it," Bumblebee countered firmly. "This is not fiction and you are not a superhero with supernatural powers-."

"Batman doesn't-!"

"Nor are you a multi-billionaire playboy with a penchant for vengeance and bats," the scout added pointedly, silencing his partner. "The reality of the situation is, this arrangement you have is taking a severe toll on you, and as your friend, I am getting wholly concerned for your well being."

"Please, Bee, I don't want to hear it this time," Sam groaned, giving the dash a light jab with his knee. It wasn't like he hadn't heard the same spiel a thousand times before, from a dozen different people, humans and Autobots alike. They all seemed to harbour the same damned I'm-your-friend-and-I-know-what's-best-for-you complex. "Can't you just be my wholly unconcerned friend right now?"

"No," the mech replied curtly, a crackle of static shooting through the speakers letting Sam know the alien had just snorted at him. "It is not just me who is concerned for you either. Everyone is. They have been watching you for years as you have thrown yourself from one thing to the next, going directly from battle into the next meeting into a research mission into a public appearance and then back into battle once more, and never once taking a break. This has been going on for over sixteen years! No one is built for that kind of stress, Sam, not even a Cybertronian."

Sam groaned again, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as the blazing mid-day sun scored into them. "I know that, Bee, I really do, but what else am I going to do? There's nothing else for me."

There was a brief moment of glorious silence as Bumblebee mulled the question over. He pondered over it long enough for Sam to hope that the mech had dropped the conversation entirely and simply opted for silence. Unfortunately, he wasn't that lucky. Today seemed the day Bumblebee had chosen to rehash every issue they'd clashed on in the past.

"You need a companion."

A drawn out growl, bordering on whine, drifted from Sam's lips. "God, Bee, do we really have to go over all this crap right now? I really don't want to have to walk to Phoenix 'cause you pissed me off with bringing up this 'companion' shit again."

"You are thirty-four years old, Sam, and yet you have failed to progress any further with any female of your species beyond that of mindless, detached sex. Trysts at best, and none of which have lasted any longer than a month or two."

"They would have been shorter than that, but it's really hard to say 'fuck me and then get lost' to a woman's face and still have her come back to your hotel room," Sam grumbled acidly.

"Sam!"

The human dropped his gaze stubbornly, chastised by the harshness of Bumblebee's reprimand. It wasn't often that the scout lost his cool. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that. I'm just irritated. I haven't had a lot of sleep, you know that."

"I know, I know; it's fine. I shouldn't have snapped, either- I'm sorry, as well. I was not expecting you to be so crass," Bumblebee amended. He sighed and pressed on with the previous issue they were hashing out. "You know I try my best to stay out of your "love life," or lack thereof, but you are in the prime of your short human life and all you have to show for it is an empty house and a miserable double life. For Primus' sake, Sam, your only friends are aliens and soldiers; anyone watching can see you're miserable."

Sam snorted. "Then don't watch. I'm fine the way I am."

"You are not fine," Bumblebee argued. "You are alone, miserable, and frustrated-."

"Gee, thanks for the warm fuzzies, buddy-."

"You don't even have a female in your life at the moment for gratuitous sex to take the edge off. I'm not even sure if you have female friends or acquaintances, aside from Sarah Lennox."

With another sharp jab of his knee into the dash, Sam scowled dourly. "Like I said, I'm fine living the way I do. I don't need anyone else to make me happy, female or otherwise."

The keening noise Bumblebee's engine made could have equated to a human whine of exasperation. "Then simply for relaxation purposes only, you could allow me or one of the other Autobots to-."

"No!" Sam was quick to cut off the suggestion he knew was coming before he had to hear it. "There is no way in hell I am ever going to take up one of your guys' twisted offers to screw a female hologram "just to take the edge off." I am not that desperate, nor am I that pathetic."

"You did that one time with Bluestreak," Bumblebee pointed out.

"I was drunk!" Sam countered emphatically. "And I thought the chick was human! Your holograms can be damn convincing when you want them to be!"

Bumblebee sighed expansively, sinking on his wheels. "I could fabricate an attractive female for you…" he offered quietly.

"I'm sorry, Bee, but you're my best friend and I simply don't see you that way, hologram or otherwise," and then as an afterthought, he said, "Thanks for offering, though."

"I still say you need a companion," the Camaro pouted. "A vacation, at least."

"And I say you should mute it and let me sleep," Sam shot back, rolling over and hunching slightly to get comfortable.

"Fine, I will allow that much," the mech acquiesced stubbornly. "But, after this stint, will you at least promise me to take a break? Some form of relaxation so that you do not work yourself into the ground."

"I don't make promises I don't intend to keep."

"Fine. You give me no choice but to reinstate my old title as your guardian and enforce some semblance of a vacation on you," Bumblebee threatened. "Effective immediately."

Instantly, Sam was up and wary, eyes narrowed at the dash. "You wouldn't dare."

As if in reply, a series of choking coughs sputtered from under the hood, the engine suddenly cutting. Amidst Sam's raging cries of "No! No, no, no! No, don't you dare do this to me, Bumblebee!" said alien robot coasted off the deserted highway, coming to a dead stop on the shoulder in the middle of nowhere.

"No, no, no, no, no, no!" Sam whined, cursing fluently in several of the languages he'd picked up over the years. "Dammit, dammit, dammit, no! Not now! Please, dammit, Bee, just get back on the fucking road!" His answer was silence. The robotic alien could do a pretty good impression of a real car when he wanted to. "Why?! Why now, of all days?!"

Frustration from living several high-tension weeks in a row was released in a series of seizure-like attacks on Bee's interior as the human kicked and punched and flailed at anything he could land a punch on. The Autobot took the abuse easily, barely feeling the blows. It ended with a single, aggravated moan as Sam's forehead fell to Bee's wheel and he simply let the horn scream.

"I hate you right now, buddy. I hate you and I will never forgive you."

Still, Bumblebee remained mute and stationary.

He didn't know how long he sat there, blaring the horn at the hot, arid desert as the AC's cool presence slowly seeped out of the cab, only to be replaced with dry, searing heat. Sometime long after Sam's miniature breakdown, a gentle rapping came to his window.

Surprised, Sam's head shot off the wheel and the horn ceased. Blinking his eyes back into focus, he was a little stunned to see the image of a scrubby old man standing on the other side of the window, white hair wild about his head and brushy eyebrows drooping low over his bright, clear blue eyes. He looked quite relieved to see that Sam was moving. Seeing that he was making the motion to roll down his window, and knowing Bumblebee wouldn't make it easy for him, Sam simply unbuckled himself and stepped out, nearly floored by the immense wall of heat that hit him in the face.

"Good ta know ya ain't dead, sonny," the old man said happily, clapping Sam on the shoulder with a hard, wrinkled hand, seemingly unaffected by the sweltering desert heat. "Heard ya 'fore I saw ya, and boys was I thinkin' ya were a goner out here."

Sam paused for a moment, appraising the stranger carefully. He was old, thin, though still vibrant with the sort of aura that only came from a full life lived. He was in a pair of faded jeans and a worn denim shirt, the pocket on the left breast embroidered with "Oscar's Restoration Garage- we make old things new again."

Probably under the impression that Sam was suffering from some form of mild dehydration or desert madness, "Oscar" leaned in close and squinted up into Sam's eyes concernedly. "Ya sure yer alright, boy?"

Finally finding his voice, Sam nodded firmly and replied. "Yes, I'm fine. My car just broke down and I think I was having a minor breakdown myself." He gave a sheepish smile that he hoped convey his mild embarrassment over the situation.

The old man suddenly smiled. "Happens ta the best of us," he assured. "I know a thing or two 'bout cars myself. Mind if I have a look?"

A little amused by the offer, Sam nodded and stepped aside for "Oscar" to have his way with Bee. The old man definitely knew what he was doing, circling once before whistling impressively. "'09 Camaro Concept," he commented approvingly. "Flawless condition, fer something this old." He popped the hood and bent over the steaming engine. "Ya buy this thing old or did ya just have it a long time?"

Sam, despite himself, grinned. "My first car, sir," he replied, patting Bee's roof.

Gruff laughter sounded from the man. "Good fer ya, boy." There was some fiddling going on under the hood, even though Sam knew the metal in there must be scorching under the heat. "I see ya updated the internals, though."

"I scrapped gasoline for hydrogen fuel cells a long time ago- figured it was the safest way to go before that whole crisis over the oil fields drying up," Sam replied, knowing full well that his "car" ran off something ten times better than either gasoline or hydrogen.

"Smart boy, too, aren't ya?" With a grunt of effort, the old man straightened and shrugged. "Can't see nothin' wrong with it from here, but, if ya like, I could hook 'er up ta the truck and tow 'er back ta the garage. I'm only a bit down the road and I'd be more than happy ta take a closer look at 'er."

Sam leaned against Bee's side, weighing his options. "I was hoping to be in Phoenix by five," he said, sighing. "I have reservations."

"Ah, well now, that is a problem." Tugging lightly at a stray lock of grizzled hair, the old man seemed to realize something important. "Oh, hey now, fergot ta introduce myself!" He stuck his hand out. "Name's Oscar, son, Oscar Vautz."

Grinning, Sam shook the offered hand. "Sam Witwicky."

Oscar tipped him a toothy smile. "Well, Sammy, my boy, we'll just hitch yer car up right nice an' get 'er back ta the garage. We'll figure out the rest of the details then. Right now, it's just best ta get out of this heat 'fore we both cook our brains!"

Faster than what Sam thought the old man capable of, Oscar had Bumblebee hooked up to the rickety tow truck in minutes, and both men were comfortably seated in the cab of the old Ford as it bumped along the deserted road. Sam only felt half guilty as he listened with one ear as Oscar happily chatted away, while the other half of himself cursed Bumblebee out to the nine levels of hell for pulling his stupid stunt in the first place. This was something he might have pulled ten- fifteen years ago. Not now. Not after sixteen years.

True to Oscar's word, his shop was only a little bit down the road- half an hour at most. It was a classic place; small, old, and a little ramshackle looking, but welcoming in a way that brought one back to a time of ice cream parlours and jukebox dances. What Sam assumed to be Oscar's house sat attached to the side of the small garage shop, in the same dusty, ramshackle condition, but just as friendly looking.

Pulling into the small lot before the shop, Oscar fussed over Bumblebee while Sam offered any help he could. Soon enough, Bee was backed into the garage right next to the most magnificent '67 Pontiac Firebird Sam had ever seen, in the process of being restored and shining seductively in a coat of hot cinnamon red.

"Looks like lil' Mick ain't here at the moment," Oscar commented, already preparing to get down and dirty under Bumblebee's hood. "Maybe if yer nice ta 'er, she'll hop ya lift ta Phoenix," he said, winking. "She's a right fiery young woman, but she's got a soft spot fer handsome things like yerself." He laughed an old, rough laugh, the lines in face deepening. "In the mean time, there's a couple of bottles of water in that fridge over there- if ya wouldn't mind grabbing one fer yerself and me, we can get right started on this car of yers."

Finding himself more and more amused by this Oscar fellow, and hoping beyond hope that he was handsome enough to impress this "lil' Mick" to give him a lift, Sam did as he was asked and sunk himself up to his elbow's in Bumblebee's parts.

The first thing that caught Mikaela's attention was the sound of the Vautz's ancient Ford trundling closer. Next to her, Gloria Vautz hummed and shook her head. "Looks like he's back," she sighed, as she always did in a way that Mikaela could never tell if she was happy or disappointed.

"At least we won't have to put lunch on hold," Mikaela replied, stirring the soup she had been dragged out of the garage to assist with. From beyond the door in the kitchen that led out into the garage came the sounds of a car being backed in, and then the deep murmur of male voices, revealing that Oscar had not returned alone.

"No, but we'll probably have to set another place at the table," Gloria said, rolling her eyes as she, too, recognized the sounds of a second presence in the garage. "That man is always bringing home all the strays he finds, damn him."

"He just has a big heart, is all," the younger woman replied, smiling softly. She had once been one of the strays Oscar had happened upon, finding her baking on the side of the road after bailing out of her at-the-time boyfriend's truck after a vicious fight. He'd taken her home and Gloria had offered dinner, and then they'd set her up in the loft above their storage barn in the backyard for as long as it took to get back on her feet. That had been three years ago, and she still didn't have the heart to leave. "He just wants to help everyone who looks like they need a hand."

Gloria, a woman who was as down to Earth as Oscar was up in the clouds, clapped her hands on her apron to clean them of the flour that had accumulated from the biscuits she'd just finished. "Oh, he's got a big heart alright, Mickey, it's that little brain of his that I worry about." With as much energy as she had in her youth, the woman began to bustle about setting the table for four. "Why don't you go summon that husband of mine and his new friend before they get buried in all that junk and don't want to come out."

"You sure? You don't need any more help?"

"Go, go," Gloria ushered, waving her hand dismissively as she poked through one of her cupboards for the better plates she used when guests and strays showed up.

Smiling amusedly, Mikaela hopped to the door and eased it open, ready to dig Oscar out of the latest engine he'd dragged in from the desert. Instead, she froze. Her honeyed eyes shot wide as they took in the make and model, and especially the paintjob of the car that now sat in the garage. On its own, a hand came up to cover her gaping mouth.

It. Couldn't. Be.

As her racing heart overpowered every other sound in the near vicinity, Mikaela's eyes dragged from the robot she knew was sitting in disguise smack dab in the middle of the garage to the man that accompanied it. Her mouth went as dry as the scorching desert. His back was to her, bent over the engine as he chatted comfortably with her landlord/boss. She traced the broad shoulders, chewing her bottom lip as her eyes dropped over the smooth muscles of his back, displayed nicely through the worn white t-shirt he wore, tapering down to lean hips and long, strong legs. He'd filled out nicely since last she'd seen him, the tight, tanned muscles of his arms and back corded tightly to the bone like steel bands, flexing in a way when he moved that caused a strange tingle to ignite in her lower abdomen.

This was not the boy she's walked away from sixteen years ago. The creature she was staring at now was all man.

She must have made some audible noise in the doorway, because suddenly Oscar's head shot up and he focused on her with one of his friendly, toothy smiles. He raised his hand in greeting, about to call her over, which caught the other man's attention, causing him to straighten and slowly turn around.

Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh- hot damn!

The years had done him good, that much Mikaela could see.

Age had transformed his face from its adorable, endearing boyish looks to a face that could charm the clothes off a nun. His chocolate hair was kept in much the same cut he'd worn in high school, close enough to the head to prevent those rampant curls from growing into a wild afro of curls. But his face- oh, his face had aged, the jaw hardened, cheeks becoming tanned plains of flesh that stretched over high cheekbones and a straight nose; smooth brows shadowing dark brown eyes that appeared nearly black in the dusty light.

On their own volition, her gaze dropped to take in the rest of him, all six-foot-two of him. Hidden strength compressed into tightly corded muscles; still lean, but not in an awkward teenaged way. His body had grown, matured, filled out. Not the bulk she'd once sought in high school, but a quiet strength compacted into a long, sinewy body. She could see the deadly, hidden strength oozing off him like an aura, making her legs, and a couple other things, quiver.

But, of all that, it was his eyes that captured her, eyes she still remembered from high school- sixteen years older and yet still expressive, still deep. Her breath was stolen a little by the new intensity of them, the foreign darkness, but the familiarity was hard to miss. She was a little shocked to see his eyes roving over her in much the same fashion that she was ogling him.

Oscar, sweetly oblivious to the new tension surrounding the pair, simply grinned and waved. "M'dear, come on over so I can introduce ya ta my new friend here-."

"Sam," she breathed disbelievingly.

"Mikaela," he replied in the same breathless tone.

Oscar's bushy eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "Well now, ain't that a surprise!"