sakon76

It hurt like a physical wound. Like something that was raw and vital and bleeding out heart's blood. But as a mechanic, Mikaela was nothing if not practical, and so she showed up one Sunday at her boyfriend's house and hauled him out by an earlobe pinched firmly between her thumb and forefinger. "Sit," she told him, letting go only to push a helmet in his hands and point at the seat of the Harley she was restoring bit by bit.

Sam took the helmet, looking bewildered. "Where are we going?" he asked.

Mikaela pulled her own helmet on, tightening its strap beneath her chin. She didn't meet Sam's eyes. "Car shopping," she told him.

Stardust
by K. Stonham
prereleased 5th December 2007

They had an argument about it, of course, right there in the driveway of his parents' home, but it was one Mikaela was bound and determined to win, and she'd prepared her ammo in advance. Sam dug his heels in, as he'd been doing for months, refusing to "replace" Bumblebee with another car. It was such a radical change from the kid he'd been in high school, so desperate to get a car that he'd hawked his family heirlooms in class, that it would have been amusing if it hadn't been so sad.

"You can't keep relying on other people for rides," she told him. "Some day you're going to want to go someplace no one else is, and what will you do then?"

"That's what public transport's for," he argued mulishly.

She laughed in derison. "Sam, we live in Los Angeles county," she pointed out. "Public transportation is a joke."

"I don't want another car," he said stubbornly.

"Want, no," Mikaela said. "Need, yes."

"Dammit, Mickey--" he retorted, then stopped short, his face going pale.

That had been Bumblebee's nickname for her. He'd practically made Toni Basil's "Mickey" her theme song, for months playing a snippet of it every time she'd walked up to the yellow Camaro. Mikaela took a breath, calming herself, pushing back the hurt and loss and blinking away the threatening tears. "You don't have to buy," she told Sam lowly, "just look, okay?"

He looked at her for a minute, then nodded and quietly put on the helmet.

*

This was the third used car dealership they'd been to and still nothing had "pinged" for either of them. Mikaela sighed, rubbing the back of a hand against an itch on her forehead. Sam had blatantly refused to go to Bolivia's Used Cars, and after his mumbled explanation of having purchased Bumblebee there, she hadn't been able to say a word about his hesitancy. Still, though, with the way they were batting a thousand, it was looking like it was going to be a waste of a Sunday.

That was, until he froze, looking into the far back corner of the lot. Mikaela followed his gaze, and....

She had to remember to breathe again.

It was a beat-up 1977 Chevy Camaro. Faded blue paint, not yellow, and no black racing stripes, but the lines... oh, the lines were right.

She swallowed. "Let's take a look," she forced herself to say, and started walking, ignoring her boyfriend's half-hearted protest of her name.

He was right behind her, though, when she reached the vehicle and ran a considering hand over its roof. This, she thought, might just be what Sam needed. She frowned as she lifted her hand and found a smear of blue on it. Grimacing, she wiped it off on the hip of her jeans. "Get in," she told him. "Tell me what you think."

"Mikaela," he protested, but obeyed, opening the driver's door and sitting in the seat. He rocked back and forth a little, hands on the steering wheel. He had a faint frown as he looked up at her. "It's not him."

"No, it's not," she agreed, watching as Sam's eyes drifted sadly to the center of the wheel. Bumblebee had had an Autobot symbol there. This beater would only have Chevrolet's. "But it might be your new car. Pop the hood."

He did and she looked inside and was promptly horrified. Bumblebee's engine had been a thing of beauty and a joy to behold, all power and performance and gleaming parts. This junker's was... junk. "High mileage," she listed a little loudly, for the benefit of the salesman in her peripheral vision who was approaching them. "The engine's a badly maintained piece of crap. Balding tires. I'll lay money the brake pads are shot and the shocks are spongy. It'll take a ton of work to make this thing worth driving." She turned and looked at the salesman. "The price sticker says four grand. We'll give you two."

"Mikaela!" Sam protested.

*

Ratchet looked up as a blue hunk of human car pulled into the hangar, followed narrowly by Mikaela on her motorcycle. He frowned at the noxious plume of chemicals following the larger vehicle, and looked expectantly at his student as she took her helmet off and shook her hair free. "And just what is this?" he asked her as the vintage Camaro spluttered to a stop and Sam exited the blue car.

"Our new project," she said, and grinned cheekily. Sam, on the other hand, looked wan as he looked around Ratchet's repair bay. It was the first time he'd been inside in months, and Ratchet was suddenly glad that his storage shelves had steel doors shuttering their contents away from prying eyes. Sam hadn't stepped foot in his domain since Bumblebee's death, and he had no wish for the human boy to suffer further by seeing his friend's dismantled parts.

"That," Ironhide opined, sticking his head in the hangar, "is a piece of slag. I hope you didn't pay too much for it."

Sam snorted and smiled, just a little. "You should've seen Mikaela talk them down," he told the weapons specialist. "She started out at half the asking price and got it down to a quarter."

"That bad?" Ratchet asked, canting an optical ridge.

"Utter piece of crap," she confirmed, smiling. "Which we are going to fix up since it's high time Sam learned his way around the inside of a car."

*~*~*

Author's Note: This part was actually the first part of the story I came up with, wondering what Sam's reaction would be to having a different car if he ever lost Bumblebee. More reaction to the junker to come in part three.