Oil Change

“You sorry piece of scrap!  Get back here.” Mikaela called out from the other room.

“Nuh uh.  You’ve lost your processor if you think I’m jus’ goin’ to hold still for this kind of abuse.” Jazz retorted, putting several concrete pillars between himself and the advances of the human female.

“It’s -so- not abuse, you big baby.” she replied, stepping over some of the hastily tipped boxes that littered her path.

“That’s what you think.”

“Jazz,” Mikeala‘s voice was followed by numerous crashes, thumps, and a string of grumbling curses.  “For the love of…act your age!”

“I am.  And, at my age, I don’t need that done.” Jazz retorted, moving further away from her at every step.

“It’s for your car mode. Now.  Hold. Still.”

“I’m telling you Mikaela, I.  Don’t.  Need.  It.”

“Jazz!  Seriously!  Get back over here so I can hurry up and get this over with.” she said, stopping with pursed lips, fists seated firmly on her hips, and a scowl that threatened true bodily harm if he didn’t comply.

“Nope.  Not happenin’.” the mech replied, ignoring her sputtered protests and glares in earnest.

“It’s an -oil change- and you’re treating it like a prostate exam.”

Both mech and human alike froze in their tracks.  

“It’s…not really like -that- is it?  I mean, do I need to be wearing gloves or something?”

“What?  No!  We don’t have prostates.” Jazz hurriedly corrected, waving his hands before him in denial.

“Then what, exactly, is the problem?”

“Exactly.  There is no problem.  And, since there’s no problem, I don’t need this done.” he replied, flippantly.  The Solstice then moved away casually, waving off any further inquiries to the whole fiasco.

“Your ‘change oil’ light has been on for weeks.  You won’t let Ratchet deal with it, you won’t let Bee, and you won’t let me.  Obviously, there’s an issue somewhere.” Mikaela tried again, trailing a few meters behind the mech in question.

Jazz remained unresponsive, humming a tune to himself as he walked into the next ‘room’ of the facility.

“So, what?  Is your oil pan like some sort of robo penis and the oil some strange ejaculate?  Because, then, I could totally understand you behaving like a baby on this but other than that…” she continued, heedless of the current occupants in the room and determined to get her point across one way or another.

Sam stopped fiddling with his iPod and openly staring with the most mortified expression he could muster.  At least on short notice.  Bumblebee, however, simply gaped even as Jazz turned a similar expression down to the human who had uttered the sentence.

“And.  If that is the case, why in the word would you keep your tally-whacker stored in your -chest-?”  she added, driving her litany home with a pointed finger.

“That.” Jazz started, after a pause, “Has got to be the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.”

Bumblebee cackled, processor catching on to the reason why his partner was distressed

“S’not funny…” Jazz replied, giving the Camaro a hurt pout.

“Yes it is.” Bumblebee cheekily retorted, ducking a half-hearted swipe aimed at his head.

“Jazz…c’mon.  Seriously, what’s the problem?” the human female tried again.

“No problem.  No need for the oil change.”

“He’s ticklish.” Bumblebee supplied, ignoring the wide-optic gaze of his partner.

Sam leaned back in surprise, Mikaela’s eyebrows shot clear up her forehead and, somehow, Bumblebee managed to look completely serious and innocent with his delivery.

“…what?” Sam managed to ask, eyes darting back and forth between the two mechs.

“Traitor…” Jazz growled, earning him a nonchalant shrug from the Camaro.

“Ticklish…” Mikaela repeated.  

“Blame the magnetics.  Makes him a bit tender sometimes.” the yellow mech added, laying a gentle hand atop Jazz’s shoulder.  

-You’re not helping…- Jazz sent, via internal communication.

-I know.- Bumblebee replied.

-Why are you not helping?-

-Because you’re neglecting yourself.-

-It’s an oil change, Bee.  Not exactly required maintenance.-

-I’ll make it up to you later…- Bumblebee sent, infliction obviously conveying his intentions.

-Promise?- Jazz replied, accompanying the response with a light magnetic pulse through the hand on his shoulder, making the other mech shudder slightly.

The entire internal exchange took less than a few seconds to complete, leaving the still gaping humans still in the dark about anything transpiring.  

“So.  Jazz.  Oil change?” she prodded again.

The silver mech sighed, crossing his arms just under his chest and giving the girl an exasperated look.  Bumblebee gave him a quiet nudge and a slight nod.

“Fine, fine, fine…” he said, stepping away from Bumblebee.  “But you gotta catch me first.”

The Solstice transformed and, tires squealing, peeled out of the hanger, leaving a mixed crowd behind.

“Oh hell no.  Bee!” Mikaela called, grabbing Sam by the wrist even as the Camaro hastily transformed.

“Go!  Go, go, go!” the teens called as they strapped themselves into the leather seats.  Bumblebee darted off after his Companion.

-You’re not helping, Jazz.-

-Nope.  But you can still make it up to me.-