FicWad

Chapter 8 - "Welcome To My World"



The robot and the human were studying each other in silence. Neither dared move, taking in the other's appearance.



Jazz knew perfectly well that they both needed medical attention. But he had reasons to be here with her before they showed up at the base. As Rita's guardian and protector, he had to make sure the girl didn't feel threatened at least in his presence before introducing her to the others, what with him being the smallest of the Autobots and with Ironhide having stunningly "courteous" manners, or lack of them thereof, in regards of new acquaintances.



But here she was, staring up at him and trembling. Her eyes seemed huge on her pale bewildered face that was smudged with dirt and dried tears. Her hair, still damp from the shower, appeared tangled and unkempt. Clothes was torn or cut here and there, and covered with dust and soot. It looked like she'd gone through Pit and back which made all her previous attempts to clean herself futile. Not surprising, really.



From such a short distance Jazz could hear her uneven breathing and the wild thumping of her heart. They were so close, Rita could have touched him if she chose to reach out an arm, but she held both of her bruised hands behind her back and just stood there, looking at him in wordless terror.



"Scared?" he murmured softly so as not to give the girl a heart attack.



Despite the Autobot's attempt to appear unthreatening she jumped a little at the sound of his deep voice. She noticed that it sounded like Jazz's "human" voice, but it had somehow gained new harmonics; just hearing this deep rumbling sound, one could tell it belonged to someone really, really /big/. Rita was pretty proud of herself for still being vertical and conscious at this point, given the fact that a huge robotic creature had just invaded her personal space and asked her if she was freaking scared. Rita's inner little voice burst into a hysterical laughter - a comical and miserable sound. There was no point in lying, Jazz could probably see straight through her anyways. So she wordlessly nodded, finding her own voice unresponsive.



The lower half of Jazz's metallic face formed a small smile that looked almost like a smirk. "Hey, I ain't gonna hurt ya, girl. I'm of the 'good guys,' remember?" he said in the same calm and soothing manner. "Anyone tries ta mess with ya, I kick their aft big time, that's the deal."



Rita was silent for a few moments, mesmerized by the way this creature's - /Jazz's/, she reminded herself - lips moved as he spoke."...'Aft?'" she finally echoed absentmindedly. It was probably not the best thing to ask of all that went through her head, but her mouth seemed to have disconnected from her brain and gained a mind of its own.



"Afterburner. Cybertronian slang. Stands fer 'ass,'"he explained without as much as blinking a figurative eye.



"Oh... Cool," she said weakly. Obviously, her speech had reduced to one-syllable words. Fascinating.



"You bet," Jazz let out a mechanical sound similar to a chuckle. "Ya'll get ta hear all kinds of Cybertronian swear words if ya ever see Ratch in a foul mood. He's a walkin' curse dictionary."



Watching this unbelievable being named Jazz chat with her in a friendly and cheerful manner like nothing was wrong in the world both amused Rita and helped her calm down a bit. She managed to let go of her fear enough to look at Jazz. Really look at him, past the initial shock.



While changing into his robot form, Jazz had been moving with grace and ease, but being up-close with him made her see the numerous little scrapes, dents and burns on his metallic body that looked worn, weathered, and heavy. She could see wires and hundreds of small details that made it apparent that he was an extremely sophisticated creature. His entire appearance had no analogues among the technologies she'd ever seen or heard of, and just didn't go with the manner he was speaking in, strikingly human-like and simple.



Now that he'd changed his form, she knew what part of him was formed by the trashed hood; his chest. Judging by the curves of the edges of the three long ugly gashes there, whatever had hurt Jazz had sunk into his left shoulder and had been dragged almost to the center of his massive chest, before it had been yanked out abruptly, causing the three unbent shreds of metal to protrude over the otherwise smooth surface. If Jazz could feel pain, that must have hurt like hell.



That observation made Rita flinch inwardly. Sure, Jazz could reboot his holo-form and start over as good as new, all smiles and easy body language; but he couldn't hide the wounds that covered his real body. The girl's face took on a pained expression. She jumped a little when a tiny blue spark ran along one of the gashes with a slight crackle.



"'Got scratched up a bit,' huh?" she asked in aquiet voice, recalling Jazz's careless comment on the injury from when they were back on the road.



The saboteur wasn't used to humans caring for him - with the exception of Sam and Mikaela, - and it was a pleasant feeling. He chuckled softly. "'m fine. It could'a been worse."



Worse?Rita repeated silently. For the Nth time since their escape from the hotel she thought of the events of the night. Jazz had saved her life three times, and got seriously hurt twice - because of her. "I'm sorry," she said miserably. "It's my fault."



Jazz's facial expression changed into something unreadable. "No Rita, it ain't," his voice was firm, though the tone still held softness. "I'm the only one ta blame if I wasn't fast enough ta avoid gettin' fragged. It's got nuthin' ta do with ya, 'k?" His tone wasn't giving her a chance to argue, so Rita just nodded reluctantly. "Though," the sly smile appeared on Jazz's lips, and Rita found it strange how his metallic face half hidden behind the 'sunglasses' could be so expressive. "If ya feel sorry, I could use some extra seat massages, a'ight?"



She couldn't believe her ears. A small smile tugged at her lips despite the nervousness that still held a tight grip on her. I wouldn't count on that just yet, cowboy, she thought with a single shake of her head, resuming looking him over.



Rita traced the outline of Jazz's helmet with her gaze, for the first time noting strings of strange hieroglyphic symbols on its both sides. Unknown language. Alien language.



And it finally dawned upon her that she was actually contacting an /alien/. How many people of Earth have been granted such an amazing opportunity? She was definitely one of the lucky ones, and the realization thrilled her, awakening a wave of awed curiosity. She suddenly wanted to make sure it wasn't a dream.



"Uh... Can I-?" Rita asked quietly, bringing a hand from behind her back and reaching it out slowly towards the Autobot.



"Sure." He nodded slightly, pleased that she had decided on the physical contact.



With great caution, Rita closed the distance between them and touched the tips of her fingers to his metallic cheeks hesitantly, remembering the stray blue spark that had run along the edge of the Autobot's chest wound earlier and half expecting an electric shock to stun her. When nothing happened, she laid her palms flat against the surface, feeling the warmth coming from Jazz's body. She suddenly became aware of the morning chill surrounding them, and an involuntary shudder went through her at the difference of temperatures.



Jazz didn't move, allowing her to explore him. Rita's tiny hands slid slowly along the hieroglyphic tattoos, tentatively feeling the whimsically curved characters. She would like to know what they said, but didn't dare ask at the moment, simply absorbing the sight.



After a minute or so, Rita gathered her courage and finally settled her gaze on Jazz's black visor. Somewhere under it were his eyes, and no doubt they were watching her. She wanted to know what they looked like, what that mirrored surface was hiding - but all she could see was her reflection there: frightened face, messy hair... It pushed her mind from an awed daze back to harsh reality.



As if on cue, Rita's cell-phone burst with mad ringing.



"Damn!" she cursed under her breath, jerking away from Jazz at the sudden sound, her shaking hands rummaging through her jeans pockets in search of her cell-phone. "Hello?" She breathed out after pushing the dial button, trying to calm her racing heartbeat.



"Rita! Thank goodness you are alive! Are you okay? Where are you?" Michael was raining questions down on her, not even letting her say anything in reply. What aperfect freaking timing...



"Uh..." Her brain was in turmoil. She started thinking frantically how to explain her current whereabouts to her manager, when Jazz's kneeling form came into motion, bringing her confused thoughts to complete and hopeless disarray. The Autobot was rising up from the ground to his full intimidating height; once he straightened, he started changing his form again, rotating limbs and shifting parts. "Uh..." Rita drawled indistinctly into the phone, for the second time that night watching the miracle of transformation that was taking place mere yards from her with wide eyes. "Well..." The same silver Pontiac Solstice with disfigured hood sat in front of her, and the holo-projection of Jazz was walking towards her. The thinking process in Rita's head finally snapped out of the 'pause' mode and resulted in a full sentence. "If-If I told you that aliens took me for a couple of experiments, you wouldn't believe me, would you, Michael?" She spoke lamely into the phone, unable to tear her eyes away from the approaching Jazz's intense gaze.



Jazz gestured for her to switch to the speaker phone, and she pushed the needed button just in time for Michael to respond with obvious irritation, "Of course not. It's a bad time for joking, Rita! We are-" He was interrupted by some noise on the other end of the line, and another male voice that belonged to the drummer of her band yelled, "We're goin' nuts here, sis! The hotel's trashed, cops're everywhere! Where the hell are ya?!"



She cringed at the sheer volume of the last question. Before she could answer, there was noise again, then the muffled sounds of Michael's voice that muttered, "Give me the phone, Bobby!"/, and then spoke again to her, "Rita, we are worried. Where are you?"/



That's when Jazz decided to intervene. He stepped closer to Rita and took over the conversation. "Mr. Weller, this is Jack Forte, of NAA. Rita's fine and she's with me. We have reasons ta believe she's in danger, so as of now I have direct orders ta get her to a safe place. Of course, the protocol forbids me to inform you where that place is. I hope for yer understanding, sir."



A stunned silence stretched for almost three seconds, before the phone erupted with several shouting voices at once. It looked like Michael was using speaker phone too and Rita's bandmates had heard Jazz's statement as well. After a moment of absolute chaos Michael's voice could be heard, "Mr. Forte, with all due respect, I would like to remind you of the upcoming show, which is the essential reason of our arrival to Mission City. You having "reasons to believe" Rita is in danger is not reason enough to put the show at risk! As the manager of the band, I must insist that you bring her to us at once!"



"I will, sir, but not now, it's too dangerous. Like I said, I'm takin' her to a safe place."



"But- But this is ridiculous! I don't even know you! How can I be sure that-"



"Mr. Weller," Jazz's voice gained force; not in volume, but in the amount of authority that was put into his intonation. "NAA is an association that's workin' in close cooperation with military forces of the US. This is Rita's life we're talkin' about here. Ya say the hotel's trashed. We say she was the target/. And we're /tryin' ta investigate an' protect her. If I were in yer place, sir, I wouldn't question the association's actions and motives, but would wisely use the offered help. Yer the manager of the band, right? Well, I'll get Rita ta the show in time, an' ya'll get yer business done. Now please let me do mine. Sir." The last word was a significant period in Jazz's speech. The Autobot's jaw was clenched in determination; his blue eyes now had a cold steely glint to them.



Rita could imagine the expression of absolute bewilderment on Michael's face. Judging by the absence of any sounds on the other end of the line, her manager and the members of her band were stunned. Jazz crossed his arms over his chest, his stance and tight line of his lips suggesting the highest degree of stubbornness, even though his 'opponents' couldn't see him. She had to say something before it all grew into a disaster.



"Uh... Michael?" Rita asked and got a gloomy 'yes?' for an answer. "Michael, I'm fine," she said tiredly, running her hand through her tangled hair. "Jack saved my life not half an hour ago, I-... I wouldn't be talking to you right now if it wasn't for him..." She was deliberately staring at the phone in her hand while saying this in order to avoid looking at Jazz; the fact that someone risked their life in favor of saving hers made her feel uneasy and for some reason guilty. "Don't worry about me, I'll be okay, and I'll be at Jet Club by eight for sound-check. Jack will see to it..."



Funny, Rita thought, only several hours ago Michael had been trying to talk her into going with Jazz, and now the tables turned so drastically, and she was the one attempting to reason with her manager. She wearily listened to the stiff silence on the other end of the line, and hoped she played her peacemaker part well enough to stop this argument. If Michael didn't believe her now, then there was no way in hell she was going to explain to him any of what Jazz had told her.



After a few moments of thinking Michael finally agreed. "Alright," he said. "But I'm still having trouble with trusting anyone I don't know personally. I don't care about Mr. Neville's reputation; he's a stranger to me. Rita, if you are late, even for one minute, I'm going to the police, or calling a lawyer or something..."



"I won't be late," she assured him, and addressed her bandmates, "Hey there guys, don't worry about me." Three voices mumbled 'A'ight sis,' 'Yeah, okay' and 'See ya Rita' in reply.



"Be careful. And keep in touch. And I'm not exactly asking," Michael instructed her sternly.



"Okay." With a sigh of relief Rita flipped the phone closed, giving Jazz a weary smile. "That... went well."



Jazz responded with a similar smile. "Yeah, better than it coulda been. C'mon, we gotta get ta the base," he moved to the car, but stopped when Rita didn't even twitch towards it, instead staring at it in dumb silence. "What?" He asked, confused.



Rita's eyes shifted to his human face. "Tell me- I didn't just dream all of this up," she made a vague gesture in the Pontiac's direction, which brought another smile - a brighter one - upon Jazz's lips.



"No girl, ya didn't juz' dream all o' this up, an'it ain't no some 'Punk'd' show. I really am a robot, slash car, slash this nice guy yer talkin' ta," he pointed towards his chest with both thumbs. "Now, let's getcha ta safety before anyone else tries ta talk us outta this."



This time he put one warm palm on the small of her back protectively to escort her to the car, and the tired girl decided to not think and to just obey. It was so much easier than resisting the reality and swimming against the proverbial current.



Back on the road, they sunk into strained silence. Jazz's eyes were fixed on the road; he was thinking God only knew about what. Rita was sitting in the passenger seat quietly, trying to fit the fact that this car truly was a being from another planet into her mind that by this point seemed to have been turned inside out and frozen numb in that uncomfortable position. The uneasy feeling of having no control over the situation made her painfully aware of the fact that she was only a small weak human, for some unfathomable reason literally caught up in the cross-fire of an alien conflict.



"Y' know, I wasn't lyin' ta Michael," Jazz said all of a sudden, interrupting her unhappy thoughts.



"What?" She turned to him, a little taken aback by the statement.



"I wasn't lyin' when I told him that we Autobots were workin' with the military forces of the US. Everythin' I said was true; we're juz not called NAA, 's all," he shrugged, still not looking at her. "I didn't yell at him for nuthin'... I wasn't juz tryin' ta get things done my way, y'know... He juz wasn't right."



Rita gave a long confused look to her bodyguard, allowing herself to study him. The line of his lips was tight, eyebrows furrowed slightly, and overall his facial expression spoke of deep thought. So, it seemed that even though Jazz was just as much a victim of circumstances as she was, he wasn't seeing her like a mere tool of gaining victory in an interplanetary war. He wasn't seeing her life as something insignificant enough to rip apart without second thought for the sake of his race, wasn't breaking everything that she was in favor of the Greater Goal. He wasn't looking at her like at something unimportant. He respected people who were dear to her; he respected her way of life. The emotion he was showing towards the issue with Michael meant alot to her. It made a soft wave of respect and gratitude spread somewhere in her chest.



She didn't know what to say for a minute, and then gave a small smile to Jazz. "Well... It's not only about business for him, too. He's more worried about me than anything else. I've learnt that through the years we've been working together... He means good, even if from time to time his stubbornness confronts mine, and then we're hewing sparks out of each other's armor, figuratively speaking," she laughed quietly, shaking her head at the memories of numerous heated, but good-natured arguments with her manager.



"Sparks, huh," Jazz laughed along with her. He finally turned to her, and she locked gazes with him, enjoying the way his eyes were smiling now - not smugly, or teasingly, but easily, friendly.



Neither of them spoke for the rest of the trip, but this time there was no discomfort in silence between them, only the relaxed companionship.



The End of Chapter 8