Transformers (Tracks/Raoul)

[apathocles.livejournal.com]

Title: Cross Culture
Author: Apathy
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: Implied mecha/squishy relationship, but nothing more. Woe.
Word count: 1432.
Prompt: Tracks/Raoul: Cultural exchange: "The flowers are for the car."
Summary: It may not be his wedding, but Tracks still has jitters.
A/N: TRACKS/RAOUL OMGYAY. That is all.



'Flowers.'

'Yeah.'

'You never told me there'd be flowers, Raoul.'

Raoul quirks an eyebrow in confusion. 'So, there'll be flowers. What's the big deal?'

Tracks flings his arms wide in unfeigned melodrama. 'Flowers!'

Raoul pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. 'You're going to have to be a bit more specific than that, pal.'

One very put-out Corvette folds his arms over his chest and sighs petulantly, leaning back against the wall and peering down over his perfect nose at the human below. He speaks slowly and carefully, as if addressing a particularly dim-witted child.

'Flowers, Raoul, mean mess. They mean pollen, and petals, and leaves, and bugs.' That last word is accompanied by a delicate shudder, and Raoul suppresses the urge to laugh.

'Now, I don't think it'll be that bad -- '

'And what about thorns? Horrible little things, scratching my finish and irritating me all day long -- '

'They don't have thorns, man. They're... they're... well, I can't remember what they are, but they're not roses. They don't have thorns.' He pauses. 'I think.'

Bad move. Tracks is off again, railing against the sheer cruelty of Primus himself, of the very universe, to be putting him -- Tracks, of all the devilishly handsome Autobots! -- in such a perilous and undignified situation.

Raoul can feel a headache coming on. He should be used to it, after all these years, and normally he could wave it off with a joke, but now is not a good time. It's two in the morning, and they're supposed to be up at seven in order to get ready. And his bestest robot buddy is not helping things one bit.

'They're just a few flowers. We can take them off and clean you down later. Hell, we can do it before the reception begins, even. You'll have to take them off in order to transform and come inside, anyway.'

A generous person would describe Tracks's current state as 'mildly upset'. Raoul, being far more pragmatic, is more inclined to go with 'hissy-fit of epic proportions'.

Tracks indicates his body with an elegant sweep of his hands. He practically wails. 'They'll clash with my gorgeous paintwork! I'll look like a fool! A gaudy, tasteless, organic-covered fool!'

'Oh, for crying out.... Look, they chose the colours with you in mind, okay? You won't look like a fool.' He sighs, knowing that the best way to shut Tracks up is to just give him what he damn well wants. 'You'll look fantastic. All the other cars will be jealous.'

'Well, that goes without saying.' But Tracks slouches down a little, and the imminent threat of further histrionics seems to have been averted.

Rolling his eyes heavenwards and turning away, Raoul starts muttering under his breath. 'And you fight off big bad robot monsters from outer space on a weekly basis. Facing up against Megatron? Suuuuuure, no sweat. Getting a few petals on your hood? Call the fashion police! How you even manage to drive anywhere without having a nervous breakdown is one of life's great mysteries.'

'A-hem.'

Raoul turns back, to see Tracks smirking at him knowingly. And okay, yeah, super robot hearing, but he wasn't exactly intending to go unheard in the first place.

'You done with the tantrum?'

'That depends. Are you going to do anything with that polish?'

Before Raoul can even respond, Tracks slides smoothly down into his Corvette mode, engine purring happily.

'You.' Raoul stabs a finger in Tracks's general direction, but can't think of anything else to say. He grabs the required items from Tracks's bewilderingly large collection of paraphernalia and slumps into his front seat, perched sideways, feet on the ground. It's been a long day. 'You're lucky I like you.'

'Luck has nothing to do with it. Who could resist me?' Smugness practically radiates off the Corvette in waves.

'You want the list? 'Cause I've seen you get shot down, man.'

'Sunstreaker wouldn't know a good catch if it bit him on his ugly yellow aft!' The reply is way too quick, and way too defensive. Raoul grins.

'Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of Blaster -- '

'Like I could put up with his taste in music!'

'Or Grapple -- '

'Please! All he ever does is complain!'

'Or Mirage -- '

'Oh, come on! He's a total snob!'

Raoul snickers. 'Or Prowl -- '

'That's a vicious rumour!'

Raoul pats his steering wheel consolingly. 'Face it, bro -- looks like you're stuck with me.'

Tracks harrumphs, but there's no real feeling behind it. 'I guess there are worse people to be stuck with.'

'You'd better believe it.'

Tracks seems to deflate a little, the last of his little fit of pique evaporating. 'I do.'

'Especially if you actually want that polish.'

And the attitude is back, as quickly as it disappeared. 'Oh, Primus. You're going to make me beg?'

'Fun as that would be... nah, not right now. Too much work to do before the morning.' Instead of making a move to get up, though, he swings his legs inside the car and leans back in the seat. A few more minutes' rest won't hurt.

When Tracks speaks again, his voice is oddly subdued.

'I'm sorry about before, Raoul. I'm just....'

'A big drama queen?'

'... Nervous, is all. I've never been to an Earth wedding before. I don't want to mess it up.'

'Hey.' Raoul puts a reassuring hand on the dash. 'You'll do just fine. All you have to do is drive us around and look stunning. I'm sure you can manage that.'

An elegant snort. 'Well, naturally.' He sighs. 'I still wish they'd let me fly us in, though.'

'Believe me, so do I.' Raoul backtracks for a moment. 'Hang on, you said "Earth weddings". Did they have robot weddings back on Cybertron?'

'Oh, yes.' Tracks's voice takes on a dreamy quality. 'It would be a huge affair. The entire city would show up, and the ceremony would last for two of your Earth weeks, and the reception three months after that. The Transformer couple -- or threesome, or foursome, or... well, you get the picture -- would have to consummate the marriage in front of everyone. After that, they'd spend a few hundred millennia living off the generosity of their families, because of the crippling debt.'

Raoul stares. 'You're kidding me.'

'But of course.'

Raoul slaps him tiredly with the polishing cloth. 'Asshole.'

But it's worth it to hear Tracks laughing, a deep, genuine laugh, all hint of nerves gone.

'So,' Tracks says. 'Are you guys all ready for the big day?'

'I think so. Everything's all set, the tuxes are ready and waiting, and I've got my speech written.'

Not for the first time, Raoul is very glad that he never gave himself some lame street name like the other guys did. For months, Pop-Lock -- ahem, Mortimer -- had begged, cajoled, and bribed him to make sure the speech didn't make mention of his old name, or the Bop Crew, or -- dear God -- the clothes.

Raoul had eventually raised his hands and conceded defeat... and promptly went right back to planning his speech, complete with PowerPoint presentation and handy pamphlets. After all, what is the best man for, if not making the groom wish he'd never been born?

'Yeah, I think we'll be fine. I take it Blaster's got his music ready?'

'He's been doing nothing else for the past week. "An '80s extravaganza", I think he was calling it.'

Raoul grins, relaxing sleepily back into the seat, eyes closing of their own accord. 'Man, this is gonna be just like old times.'

'What, you're going to go around and steal other people's cars? I think I'm insulted.'

'And you're going to act like an uppity prick?'

'Raoul, I'm always an uppity prick.'

'Exactly.'

'You're not making any sense.'

'Says you.'

The world seems to be moving oddly beneath him. He opens one eye, to see that Tracks has reclined his chair. He shifts up onto one elbow. 'Hey!'

'You're exhausted, Raoul. Get some sleep.'

He grabs for the door handle, but the locks slam down. 'Hey! Let me out! I've got to polish you!'

'Go to sleep, Raoul. I'll still be here in the morning.' Tracks sounds amused, the bastard. And... fond?

Raoul tries to protest, but really, he is rather comfortable. Just a few minutes' shut-eye, maybe.

He lies back down, closing his eyes. And can't even muster up the energy to get annoyed at the gentle laughter coming from the speakers.