Title: Transformers: Heroic Hearts
Category: Smallville/Transformers
Genre: Humor/Action/Romance
Ship: Chloe Sullivan/Sam Witwicky
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Giant spoilers, violence, strong language, sexuality
Disclaimer: Whole chunks of the movie Transformers (2007) were rewritten here for coherence, so any of those who haven't seen the movies would be able to understand. I take no credit for any parts recognizable to the brand or the movies themselves.
Word Count: 8,712
Summary: (AU) All Sam wanted was a car and the girl of his dreams. He gets both; only neither are who or what he expected.

Transformers: Heroic Hearts
-Novel-

Prologue:

Before time began, there was the Cube. We know not where it comes from, only that it holds the power to create worlds and fill them... with life.

That is how our race was born.

For a time, we lived in harmony. But like all great power, some wanted it for good, others for evil. And so began the war. A war that ravaged our planet until it was consumed by death.

And the Cube... was lost to the far reaches of space.

We scattered across the galaxy, hoping to find it, and rebuild our home. Searching every star, every world. And just when all hope seemed lost, message of a new discovery drew us to an unknown planet called...

Earth.

But we were already too late…

I.

Qatar — The Middle East
Present Day

On board the sweltering hold of a CV-22 Osprey, were a group of United States Army Rangers. Covered head to toe in fatigues, the men wore a layer of dirt across their sun-kissed skin with pride.

Jorge Figueroa, let his shaved head fall back as he sighed. "Oh, God, five months of this... Can't wait to get a little taste of home." He looked around at the others and grinned to himself. "A plate of mama's alligator étouffée..." He scrunched up his face appreciatively. "Mmm…"

Irritably, Sergeant Robert Epps, iPod in hand, pointed his finger at him. "You've been talking about barbecued 'gators and crickets for the last two weeks." He shook his head. "I'm never going to your mama's house, Fig. I promise."

"But Bobby, Bobby—"

"I'm never going to your mama's house."

Fig tried to explain, "Bobby, 'gators are known to have the most succulent meat."

Unconvinced, he replied, "I understand."

Quickly and easily, Figueroa fell into Spanish to better explain the perfection of his mama's cooking.

Rolling his eyes upward, Epps sarcastically mocked him, faking his own Spanish, before demanding, "English, please. English."

Frowning, Captain Lennox, interrupted too, "English." He looked around at them wonderingly. "I don't— I mean, how many times have we— We don't speak Spanish." He shook his head, staring at Figueroa seriously. "I told you that."

"Why you got to ruin it for me, man?" he complained. "That's my heritage."

"Okay."

Fig broke out in Spanish again to prove his point.

Lennox waved a hand dismissively. "Fine. Go with the Spanish. Whatever."

Donnelly, a bespectacled Bostonian, red-haired man, interrupted them then. "Hey, you guys remember weekends?" He smacked his gum wonderingly. "Huh? The Sox at Fenway... Cold hotdog and a flat beer…

"Perfect day," Epps agreed.

Fig grinned thoughtfully before turning to Lennox. "What about you, Captain? You got a perfect day?"

He smiled to himself, shaking his head lightly. "Nah, I just can't wait to hold my baby girl for the first time."

All together, his team started mocking him. "Awww..."

"He's adorable."

"That's too—"

Brows furrowed, he told them all, "Shut up!"

…

Two Ospreys landed on the tarmac at SOCCENT Forward Operations Base, with the collective soldiers of both walking off the planes, packs thrown over their shoulders and guns in hand.

They took a pair of trucks in to base, passing by fellow soldiers. A few were lounging in plastic pools filled with water, next to a sign that read The Lagoon, while others were playing basketball or just baking in the hot sun, the buzz of chatter loud.

It wasn't long before they were joining in.

"Hey, I'm ready to do this. Hey, any of y'all grow some balls, come see me on the court, man…" Epps called out to them before grabbing up a ball and hitting their makeshift court.

His opponent, tried to block him. "Hey, hey!"

"Watch this crossover, baby. Like Jordan in his prime, pushing through the front line."

Captain Lennox took a seat elsewhere, writing on a small yellow pad.

Mahfouz, a local boy, ran up to him excitedly. "Lennox!"

Grinning, he looked up at him as he came to a stop just in front of him. "Hey," he laughed. "How you doing?"

"Water?" he offered, holding out a pack for him.

He took it appreciatively. "Oh, thank you." He tossed it over his shoulder before standing and asked, "Are you gonna help me with the gear?"

Mahfouz nodded eagerly.

…

Elsewhere on base, a radar officer caught something suspicious on his screen. "Colonel Sharp, we have an inbound unidentified infiltrator, 10 miles out."

Sharp stepped up behind him to double check, his brows furrowed. Contacting them, he quickly and sternly told them, "Unidentified aircraft, you are in restricted US military airspace. Squawk ident and proceed east out of the area…" When he received no reply and saw no change, he grabbed a radio and called up reinforcements. "Raptors one and two, snap to heading two-five-zero to intercept. Bogie is in the weeds ten miles out, not squawking."

Two F-22 jets left the tarmac in pursuit at his orders.

"Unidentified aircraft," Sharp said, "We will escort you to US SOCCENT airbase. If you do not comply, we will use deadly force…"

One of the F-22 pilot's called back to base, "Copy the bogie. Tail forty-five-hundred X-ray."

One of the officer's under Sharp stood from his station holding a paper and informed him, "Sir, says here 4500-X was shot down three months ago. Afghanistan."

Sharp took the paper and read it over in confusion. "That's got to be a mistake. Check again, then recheck."

"I did, sir," he said seriously. "A friend of mine was on that chopper."

One of the pilot's contacted the bogie, "Unidentified aircraft, we will escort you to US SOCCENT airbase," but again received no reply.

Sharp demanded, "Radar, where's the inbound?"

"Bogie's five miles out, sir."

…

Moving into a communications building, Lennox asked an officer, "My wife on?"

"Yes, captain."

Immediately, he tapped into the laptop set up in front of him, bending low to make sure his face was caught by the webcam. He grinned happily when the picture showed his smiling wife, long blonde hair falling over her shoulders, holding their daughter in her lap. "Ahahaha! My ladies!"

Sarah Lennox held the baby up and told her gently, "Look!"

The baby girl gurgled.

"Oh, my goodness. Look at her. She's getting so big. Look at those cheeks…" He waved a finger at the screen as if he could touch them. "I just wanna chew on them…" He shook his head earnestly, "Babe, we made a good-looking kid. I know that people say that all the time, but... Wow, we made one good-looking kid." He pointed at her. "Nice work."

"She has your laugh."

"She laughed?" he asked excitedly.

Sarah nodded. "Her first one, yeah."

He looked wide-eyed at his daughter. "You la—" He paused and looked back at Sarah. "You sure she didn't just fart?"

"No. She's a lady!"

Their daughter started crying then, screwing her face up irritably.

Sarah bounced her, telling him, "She doesn't know you yet, but she will."

…

"Forty-five-hundred X," Sharp read to himself, staring at the bogie through binoculars as a mysterious MH-53 helicopter landed on the tarmac, with the sun setting behind it ominously. "Something's not right."

Meanwhile, in radar, an officer stared at his screen with wide eyes. "Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Radar's jammed." He took his hands off the keyboard and informed them, "It's coming from the chopper," before he grabbed the phone to tell Sharp.

Back in communications, the internet connection started to cut out, the picture going sideways and freezing at random.

"Will?" Sarah asked, frowning.

"Sarah?" He tried to adjust the webcam but nothing changed. "Hey, Sarah, if you can hear me, I love you and I'll be home soon." He sighed as it cut out completely and hung his head in frustration. "Damn."

Finally, he stood and left.

On the tarmac, soldiers were surrounding the bogie.

"To the right. Go to the right."

"Check fire! Get the wheels!"

Sharp watched from above and tapped into the bogie's headset once more. "MH-53 pilot, power down now... Have your crew step out or we will kill you."

Below, the helicopter seeming to power-down as asked. The blades atop then seemed to fold back like a fan.

A soldier called out, "Hold your fire! Stand by to engage!"

But as everything began moving and shifting, engine parts reassembling, the helicopter seemed to grow and form into something else completely, and the soldiers all began firing.

"My god," Sharp muttered in shock.

No matter how many bullets flew, it kept growing until finally it was a giant silver and black machine known as Blackout, with arms and legs made of steel, cogs, wiring and guns. And when it shot back, soldiers taking cover, the blast emanating from its cannon-like arms had an apocalyptic effect. A sonic boom leveled everything in its immediate vicinity and shattered the windows in the antenna tower.

As light began exploding nearby, Lennox was startled at the ground quaking beneath him, grunting as the force seemed to spread across the entire base.

Epps came screaming toward him. "They bombed the antenna farm!" he shouted, pointing behind him. "We're under attack!"

Walking further into base, the mechanical enemy blew up everything in sight; the force of each explosion knocking trucks into spinning bombs, rolling over men and buildings alike.

While soldiers were fleeing the fire to find a better vantage point, their enemy tore the roof off a building and reached its robotic fingers inside. He twisted the main computer server, the lines attaching to his hand and sparking.

Racing down the stairs into the room, Sharp yelled at his officers, "Go! Move! Move!" while he himself raced toward the chaos. As he came around the corner, he paused to stare up at the electronic monster before him, letting out an ear-piecing, inhuman squeal. When he bent low to avoid the influx of air and flying papers, he caught sight of the computer screen where dates and pictures were flashing one after the other at a rapid speed.

He sat down at the computer and tried to stop what he knew was happening. "It's going after the files!" He pointed. "Cut the hard lines!"

An officer struggled with the lever, using his whole body weight to try and pull it down. "I need a key! It's locked!"

Grabbing up an axe previously pinned to a wall, Sharp ran toward him. "Move! Move!" he ordered, shoving him out of the way. He quickly began severing the core's network hard lines.

In the middle of it all, Lennox ran at the front of his group, gun in front of him and Mahfouz at his back. He stopped, using his arm to keep him from running ahead. "Here, come here! Come here!" Bending low, he gathered the young boy onto his back.

Explosions rocketed all around, with tanks and armored cars being thrown across bass like missiles, destroying everything they landed on.

Lennox stopped in front of a line of tanks and shoved Mahfouz behind them for cover. "Here, hide in here!" He then hit his knees and assessed the situation.

Figueroa, at his left, muttered, "Oh, my God."

Beneath Blackout's feet was Epps, rolling out of the way as his metal foot came crashing down, close enough to nearly crush him.

"No!" Crawling away on his back, he raised his binoculars and took a look at the machine through them.

And in response, Blackout stared right back, analyzing both Epps and what he held in his hands. In reply, a gun formed in his chest and locked on the soldier.

Turning over onto his knees, he shrieked, "What the fu—!" before racing off out of the way.

Fig locked a grenade launcher on the robot and took his shot.

Thrown backwards and off balance, Blackout stumbled before eventually catching himself and shooting back at the collective group huddled together.

"Epps, let's go!" Lennox yelled as he hit the ground in front of him.

They helped him up out of the sand and ran for safety, hiding beneath the camouflage of the tanks.

From the back of Blackout, a scorpion shaped skeleton dislodged and plunged deep into the ground.

Scorponok went on in pursuit while Blackout stayed behind to continue destroying the base, soldiers dying under enemy fire.

…

Burbank, California

Chloe blearily opened an eye to glare darkly at the alarm clock blaring for her attention.

"Ri-iiise and shine, we've got another hot day on the horizon with summer making itself known! It's six-thirty in the am and we've got the B-52's to sing you into a smile this morning!"

Summer of love,
Summer of love,
I've been waiting for the man,
Just buzzin' around…

She reached over and slammed her hand down on the snooze button before rolling over onto her side and shutting her eyes tight. Her nose wrinkled when sleep was more than just elusive; dangling just there beyond her reach. The sun had crept through her window and was insistently poking at her eyelids. With a heavy sigh, she tossed her sheet back and threw her legs over the side of the bed, shoving herself up to a sitting position. Licking dry lips, she stabbed a hand through her hair, nose wrinkling when tangles knotted around her fingers and yanked against the intrusion. With a yawn that drew her jaw so wide it made a cracking sound, she dropped her feet to the floor and stood. Reaching behind her, she tugged at her shorts that had ridden up throughout her tossing and turning.

The scent of coffee wafted distantly up the stairs and she decided to put the shower on hold until she'd gotten her morning brew. Stretching her arms high above her head, Chloe left her bedroom and made her way across the hardwoods to the top of the stairs. She could hear her dad whistling and not for the first time since moving here from Smallville a couple years ago, she was glad for it. There was a stab of disappointment that she didn't have the sweet, aw-shucks face of Clark Kent greeting her every day, but she knew that it was better for both her and her dad. Gabe Sullivan was still a workaholic, but at least his life wasn't in danger working for Luthorcorp and whatever seedy business angle they were using to their advantage that week. Now he had a nine-to-five job with Saturdays and Sundays to better get to know his former latchkey kid daughter.

Skipping down the stairs, she grabbed the end of the banister and used her body weight to swing herself around the corner and into the living room. Through the doorway leading into the kitchen, she could see her dad flipping flapjacks and dancing to whatever song he had in his head. With a smile, she slipped into the warm, bright kitchen space and eyed the sizzling hot pan that her breakfast was no doubt being burned in. Her dad, wonderful as he was, was no Iron Chef.

"You're up early," she said, grabbing a mug out of the cupboard.

He startled a bit at her voice, but then turned a warm smile on her. "I am." He grabbed the coffee pot out and filled her mug for her. "Was it the coffee or breakfast that got you up? Usually you sleep in until seven-thirty." He raised a brow, knowing that she'd have much rather lingered in bed. It was a good thing she had a car or she'd have a dismal attendance record.

"Coffee." She brought her mug up to her nose and inhaled the fragrant drink until it tickled her every sense into firing. Draining a long gulp, she moved to the kitchen table, hopping up so her leg was tucked beneath her. "You might want to keep an eye on those…" she warned, looking past him to the pan.

Grimacing, he stuck his spatula back into the trenches and flipped the burnt-on-one-side pancake. "It's Cajun-style," he told her, like he knew she was judging.

With a snort, she rolled her eyes. "Dad… It's not spicy, it's burned."

"It's crispy."

She clucked her tongue but smiled.

After serving them each out two, he took a seat across from her. "So? Friday! You got any plans?"

"Yes," she said unenthusiastically. "Two days of sweltering heat, no air conditioner, and a town full of people who still think I'm weird… I'm afraid weekends just aren't as appealing as they once were…"

"Well… It didn't help that you wrote that exposé on drag-racing last year… Nobody likes a snitch, honey."

She laughed. "Dad! I know you're out-of-shape on the parenting speeches, but you probably shouldn't be encouraging lying!" She pointed her fork at him. "Or a lifestyle of drag-racing…"

He shrugged. "I'm sorry… But if you want to get in good with the cool kids, you probably shouldn't be airing their dirty laundry."

"I don't want to get near the cool kids…" She rolled her eyes. "I'd just like to walk around and not feel like a target is on my back…"

He sawed away at his pancake with a fork and steak-knife; and didn't that just say it all? "Well, you have Sam," he reminded, adding more syrup in hopes it would soften his already pathetic breakfast.

She sighed, shoulders slumping. "Okay, if anybody needs the 'how-to-fit-in' speech, it's Sam Witwicky!" she reminded, eyes wide. "I don't want to be cool; freakdom has called my name and I've answered… But Sam would give his left arm for Mikaela Banes to just look at him…" Inwardly, she couldn't help but add that he'd probably wrap it in paper and put a bow on top while he bled out too.

Gabe's lips pursed and he raised his chin to stare at her a moment with fatherly concern. "Is that what's bothering you? That your little friend is looking at other girls?"

"No!" she burst out, scoffing. But she could feel her face heating him.

He poured sugar into his coffee and stirred. "He's a funny kid. Smart too… Tries to sell me something every time he comes by, but he's a good guy."

Leaning back into her seat, she exhaled heavily. "Dad, I don't like Sam that way, okay?" She bit her lip and used her fork to spread the syrup around on her pancakes. "I just… I wish every guy I met didn't look past me to the prettier, popular girl…"

First Clark with Lana, now Sam with Mikaela…

"If Sam Witwicky can't see what a catch you are, then it's his loss," Gabe told her, staring at her seriously. "You're funny, you're beautiful, you're the best of the best!"

Despite herself, she flushed under his praise, unable to help a smile. "Thanks." She shoved back from the table. "But like I said… Me and Sam are friends. He just… He reminds me of Clark, I guess…" She sighed, taking her half-eaten breakfast to the sink and scraping the plate clean into the garbage. "We're just friends… And I'm more than happy with that."

He eyed her knowingly. "You say so, pumpkin."

"I do." She started backing toward the door. "I'm gonna shower and get changed… I've still got an essay I want to re-read and maybe a tweak or two to make on my blog."

He raised his brows. "Just a tweak or two?"

"A half hour tops!"

He laughed. "Just don't hack the government… Gitmo was not meant to be our vacation home…"

Shaking her head, she chuckled. "All right, no promises…"

"Chloe…" he called after her warningly.

Skipping toward the stairs, she called back. "If a seventeen year old can hack them, dad, they deserve it…"

She swore she could hear him sigh in defeat. Grinning, she hurried up the stairs to finish getting ready, check her blog, and maybe, if she was bored, hack the United States Government for a few state secrets…

…

Sam Witwicky had a pop-tart in his mouth, his bag by his feet, and half of his homework spread out on the kitchen table when he heard the long impatient honk of Chloe's horn just outside his house.

"Sam!" he heard his mother shout. "Chloe's here!"

"Yeah, ma, I hear her!" he called back.

"If you get your car, you better not lean on the horn like that," his dad said, walking past him to the coffee pot.

"Not if, dad, when… It's in the bag!" he boasted, scooping the loose papers into his backpack and gnawing off a corner of his poptart.

"Yeah, we'll see," he scoffed.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Have faith, pops!" Turning, he hooked the strap of his bag over his shoulder and hurried toward the door. "Ma, I'm goin'!"

"Okay, honey, say hi to your girlfriend for me!"

He rolled his eyes. "I told you, Chloe's just a friend."

"Yeah, okay," she said, in that laughing voice of hers that said she didn't believe him.

Since Chloe hit the horn another four times in succession, he didn't have time to hang back and argue with her. "Wish me luck on my report!" he said, yanking the door open.

"You better ace it!" his dad shouted from the kitchen.

"Good lu-uuuck!" his mother sing-sang.

Shaking his head, he smiled, closing the door behind him before racing across the lawn and hopping up and over the open window of Chloe's Cadillac convertible, sliding easily into the passenger seat. With a huff that said the door opens for a reason, a regular argument they'd been having for over a year, she flicked her sunglasses down off her blonde hair and over her eyes.

"You need to honk so much?" he asked in greeting. "Dad was about to pop a vein over proper driving etiquette…"

She reached over and snagged the other half of his pop-tart before putting the car back into drive. "You need to take so long?" she returned, licking crumbs from her lips as she turned back onto the street.

"I was reading over my report again. I need to ace this," he reminded. "This project means my own wheels!" He turned in his seat to face her and dramatically said, "No more bike, no more bus, no more begging my dad to drop me off somewhere—"

"No more calling me at eight in the morning and listing all the reasons I'm your favorite person so I'll pick you up when you remember it's your dad's day off," she added.

"That too," he agreed, shifting back around to face forward, grabbing his seat belt down and plugging it in. "So? You read over the copy I sent you?"

"Yup," she said, popping the 'p' at the end.

He stared at her impatiently. "And?"

"And my favorite part is when you tried to sell me your great-great-grandfather's glasses…" She raised a brow at him. "Really?"

"They're cool though, aren't they? You get the pictures I linked you? That's a prime antique you could own all to yourself, Sullivan!" he said, putting on his best car salesman's voice.

She rolled her eyes, laughing throatily. "And while I'm sure Grandpa Witwicky would appreciate your hardship over not having a car, I feel like he'd be just a little offended by you trying to sell off a piece of family history."

He scoffed, throwing his head back. "Come on… What's more important? Broken glasses nobody will ever wear or getting me a pimped-out ride to save my pathetic reputation?"

Her lips tilted in a smile. "Your grandfather was an explorer, Sam… One who was later called crazy… I don't think he would care about your reputation…"

"Okay, true, you make a valid point, but, and just hear me out here…" He held his hands up in a beseeching manner. "Why don't you preserve the Witwicky name by holding onto the glasses? Or, if you're feeling nostalgic, a few other heirlooms too. And I will make up for all the times you've driven me to school on short-notice by driving you to and from anywhere you want 'til graduation…" He raised his eyebrows and nodded at her enthusiastically. "Good deal, right?"

"Let's see… Flaws with your plan include, A. I have my own car, B. I'm not a Witwicky, and C…." She turned in her seat to smile at him mockingly. "Who says I want to spend that much time with you?"

He held a hand to his chest like he was hurt. "You wound me, Chloe, really… In fact, I don't think I'll ever get over the shame…" He shook his head, frowning. "Well, that's it… This is awful… How are we ever supposed to talk again? I'll always remember this moment where you shot me down and stomped on all my hopes and dreams…"

She laughed. "Sam—"

"No. It's done. You've burned me with your acidic words." He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "We had a good run. I'll try to remember our friendship fondly. It'll be tough but I think I'll survive…"

"Uh-huh…" Brow raised, she shook her head at him. "Okay, look… Worse comes to worst, you don't hock your goods to the class, I'll take the glasses off your hands for twenty bucks…" She shrugged. "Call it my small contribution to your car fund."

He swiveled toward her, bargaining, "Fifty."

"Twenty."

"Forty-five."

"Twenty."

"C'mon! Work with me here, Chlo!" he begged. "Forty dollars, my last offer."

"Thirty-five—" She pointed at him. "And… I shotty front seat on your first trip around town…"

He fist-pumped happily. "Deal!"

Pulling into the school parking lot, she found a space and shifted into park. "Just do me a favor and try to sell it though! That's my hard-earned cash from spying on my neighbor's nephew…" She rolled her eyes. "She thinks he's stealing her pot."

He snorted, hopping out of the car and hooking his thumbs in the straps of his bag. "Wait, your neighbor hired you to put your legendary sleuthing skills to work tailing her nephew because she thinks he's stealing her illegal marijuana…?"

She grinned. "I never said the work wasn't weird or mildly hypocritical, just that it was, indeed, work."

He shook his head, amused. "All right, whatever pays the bills."

She nodded shortly. "Exactly."

"Hey, dad's picking me up after school to hit the car lot, so…" He shot the guns at her, grinning when she rolled her eyes at his antics. "I'll call you when I've got my new wheels, all right?"

She raised a brow. "You still have to get an A in your class, remember…"

"Don't jinx it!" he said, waving his hands worriedly. "Knock on wood!"

She laughed. "What wood?"

"Find some!" he shouted after her before turning to make his way to his locker.

Ten minutes later, just as he was walking into his first class of the day, he got a text from her. Found some wood, knocked on it – sell, sell, sell!

A grin split his face as the bell rang.

…

Chloe bit her lip to keep from laughing as she read Sam's latest text. She'd just finished a surprise math quiz and was seriously happy that there were only a few more weeks of school left.

Almost talked Miles into buying the sextant… Never mind what he thought it was for…

Shaking her head, she texted him back with one hand as she stopped at her locker. Remind me again why you're friends with him?

She shoved her math book into her locker before beginning the search for her history books; since she knew she had a test that day and a free block before break, she had some extra prep time to study in the library.

Her phone buzzed with his reply and she flipped it open, ignoring the way her skin warmed. She and Sam had been friends since she moved to Burbank from Smallville. She'd been hesitant to get close to anyone considering her checkered past with trusting the wrong people, but Sam Witwicky was the persistent type and he needed her science notes at the time. They bonded over music at first and then she just generally liked his personality. He was by far the only person she knew that could make her laugh at the worst of times. But it wasn't just his sense of humor; he was also down-to-earth and genuine. He was weird, but she liked that, even if most others didn't. Like the didn't-know-what-she-was-missing Mikaela Banes. Not that Chloe was holding a grudge or anything; really, the popular and extremely beautiful girl had done nothing to her, but Chloe knew the type. Maybe she was a little biased, and maybe her history with Clark and Lana was coloring her point of view, or maybe she was right. It wasn't like she was going to find out any time soon… Mikaela would never give Sam the light of day and Chloe had very firmly planted herself at his side, even if it was in the friend zone.

Shaking her head, she focused on his text. He's an excellent tree climber… When has that not come in handy?

Chuckling under her breath, she walked to the library, texting back. Right. A very important trait in a best friend. What was I thinking?

She smiled at the librarian before taking a seat in the back, setting up at a computer station. After checking her emails, she stopped on Sam's eBay page to see if any of his family heirlooms had been sold. They hadn't and she was glad for it. Maybe it was just her own history, but she loved knowing the background of ancestors and Sam had a pretty interesting past. Like the great-great-grandfather his report was on, a famous explorer named Captain Archibald Witwicky. One of the first people to explore the Arctic Circle back in 1897, he took forty-one sailors with him straight into the arctic shelf. Not exactly a nature hike. Unfortunately, like many great geniuses of their time, he wound up going blind and crazy and locked away in a mental hospital, drawing strange symbols, babbling about a giant ice man that he thought he'd discovered. Obviously, it was just the kind of weird that was right up her alley. So while the antiques Sam was trying to hock for his car-fund weren't exactly present-time-adaptable, they were still interesting. She didn't know what she was going to do with a pair of glasses from the late 1800's, but they were cool enough just with the short story she knew, and if he ever changed his mind and wanted them back she'd make double her money. Hey, she was his friend, but fair was fair!

Three texts seemed to ring it at the same time, all from him.

I don't know, Chlo, I'm a little worried about your mental state if that never crossed your mind…

And hey, if you ever wanna climb a tree to replace Miles as my best friend, I'll be there to cheer you on.

I'll even throw stuff at him to slow him down. I'm just that kind of friend.

A laugh escaped her abruptly, but with the librarian glaring, she winced and apologized.

Closing the webpage, she gathered her things and left the computer station, moving further away from the librarian's hawk-like gaze. Spreading her books out on the table, she leaned back in her chair and texted him back. While I appreciate the offer, I've already promised my bff bracelet to Mojo… Good luck with Miles though!

He didn't reply right away and though disappointed, she ignored the feeling and tried to focus on her studying. Reading into her feelings for Sam could prove a little too deep for her to handle. She was seventeen and it seemed like every time she made a male friend she went and fell for them. She didn't want to deal with the fall-out of what that could mean for her and Sam. He was all she really had here and she wasn't going to risk that for a few butterflies in her stomach. Still, even though she knew she should keep her nose in her books, when her phone vibrated she grinned helplessly.

Beat by my own dog… If he wasn't so handsome, I'd be hurt!

I'll forgive you this time! Obviously I just have to prove myself…

Me and Mojo, tree climbing contest, best two-legged human wins.

She smothered her amusement and shook her head. Don't beat yourself up too much. Mojo's just got a certain je ne sais quoi… Maybe if you're lucky, we'll let you hang out with us… He might even share his doggie treats if you're nice.

The rest of the period, she made little effort to study, instead spending her time thinking up witty replies to his texts.

Was she far gone? Maybe. But she was also the queen of denial.

…

When Sam walked out of his last class, he was on cloud nine. So his Family Genealogy Report wasn't exactly what his teacher, Mr. Hosney, was looking for… but he was good at talking him out of the B-minus he was leaning toward so he could get the A he needed. When the bell rang, he was rubbing his hands together and racing out of the school. He knew Chloe had already taken off; finishing her history exam early, but he texted her the good news as he ran across the front lawn of his high school toward his dad's waiting car.

When he was close enough for his dad to hear, he shouted, "Yes! Yes, yes!" He tossed his bag in the backseat and then pulled the door open. While Chloe always bugged him about hopping through the window, his dad might actually kill him for trying.

"So?"

He sat down in the soft leather and told him, "A-minus. It's an A, though." He showed the paper to him excitedly.

"Wait, wait, wait," he said, leaning his head back and squinting his eyes. "I can't see." Finally, looking it over, he nodded, "It's an A."

"So I'm good?" he asked anxiously.

He nodded. "You're good."

Cheering, he drummed his hands against the dashboard.

"Hey! Hey!"

"Sorry," he said, wiggling in his seat and dragging on the seat belt. "I'm just happy."

"All right, well, just don't take it out on my car…" He glanced at the dash, frowning.

As they pulled out onto the street, Sam's phone buzzed and he pulled it out to read Chloe's text. He grinned at her reply. I always believed in you… But just so you know, I lied, I never knocked on wood… Also, don't forget I called shotty!

He snorted, plugging in a response. By the rules of shotty your lie cancels it out, Sullivan, I'm afraid I'll have to let Miles have the front seat!

"Who's that? Who are you calling?" his dad wondered.

"I'm not calling anybody; I'm just texting Chloe… I told her I got the A, she says she wants front seat when I pick her up tonight."

"Who said we were getting your car tonight?"

"Dad…" he whined, staring up at him. "You're killin' me… You said I was good! I held up my end of the bargain!"

"Yeah, and we never put a date and time on when we were getting your car…"

His brows furrowed, worried now. "I thought that's why you picked me up…"

"A dad can't pick up his only son from school?"

He stared at him, blinking.

Ron laughed. "All right, okay, I'm teasing… Let your girlfriend know you'll have a car before sundown."

He sighed, throwing his head back. "Dad, I've told you, Chloe's not—"

"Why?" he cut him off, turning to stare at him at a red light. "Gimme one good reason that girl isn't your girlfriend." His eyes widened. "You'd be lucky to have a girl like that date you."

Groaning, he shook his head. "No, okay, look, yes, Chloe is awesome… And yes, I'd be lucky to date her." He nodded. "But we…" His eyes darted away. "We just don't…" He frowned. "And she…"

Okay, so the only real reason he had for why him and Chloe weren't dating…?

Mikaela Banes.

Yeah, right, so she was the hottest and most popular girl in the school… And she'd never talked to him. But now he was gonna have a car, freedom, and he was going to make his move. He was! Just as soon as he got the opening…

"Yeah, sure, great answer," his dad snorted, shaking his head. "You're my son and I love you, but you're making a big mistake on this one."

Sam decided to ignore him, instead opening his phone when her text buzzed back to him.

My shotty and my lie weren't directly linked, Mister Witwicky. By the laws of shotty, of which I'm an expert, I'm completely not liable for any loss of grade should I have not knocked on wood…

And given you got your grade, I could argue that by not knocking I actually helped you!

He bit his tongue, laughing. All right, all right, since you're throwing the book of shotty at me… I'll see you tonight!

His dad was looking at him with that knowing expression on his face, but instead of arguing the merits of dating Chloe again, he instead told him, "I got a little surprise for you, son." He slowed down then and started turning right.

"What kind of sur—" He cut himself off as he looked up and saw the sign for the Porsche car lot. "No. No, no, no, no!" he cried excitedly. "Dad! Oh, you gotta be kidding me!"

Ron Witwicky grinned at him, amused. "Yeah. I am. You're not getting a Porsche," he laughed, driving straight on through.

Frowning, Sam glared out disappointedly and then looked over at him. "You think that's funny?"

"Yeah, I think it's funny."

His dad pulled out onto the road again and headed for a used car lot.

"What's wrong with you?"

"You think I'd really get you a Porsche?" he asked incredulously. "For your first car?"

"I don't want to talk to you for the rest of this whole thing," he grumbled, scowling as they passed a cheesy clown holding an arrow sign pointed at the used cars.

"Oh, come on. It's just a practical joke," Ron said, chuckling.

"It's not a funny joke."

Ron pulled over, parking by Bobby B's Used Cars and they started the search for Sam's first car.

…

Chloe sat on the porch of her house with a glass of sweating lemonade balanced on the arm of the chair-swing. Sam had already texted to let her know he got his car and he'd be over within the hour; if she took a little time to dress up, it was only because the heat had her sweating and her clothes from school felt sticky… Never mind the fact that she'd done her hair and put on a little make-up. It was technically the first night of summer, even if school was still on for another month, and she wanted to do something fun. Since Sam had his new car, she figured they'd be out until curfew just driving around. It wasn't exactly exciting but then again, she was used to the meteor-freak of the week back in Smallville. These last two years had been a nice change from she was used to. Sure, sometimes she missed the adrenaline and mystery, but she'd finally found evidence that her neighbor was right, her nephew was filching her pot off her, so that was one case off her hands. It wasn't exactly mind-blowing and there certainly wouldn't be any big name newspapers knocking down her door to get her on their staff, but she'd make her way there eventually. She still had one more year of high school left and then she'd be heading to the city for college and eventually she would get a job as an investigative journalist. It was all in the plan!

But plans had a way of changing. Like how originally she'd always thought she would live out high school in Smallville before moving to Metropolis, getting an internship at The Daily Planet, and eventually settling into city life there. Hopefully with Clark Kent at her side, at whatever capacity that might be. Her feelings for the nice farmboy had long passed, however. Two years of only occasionally talking to him, the majority of that conversation touching on his feelings for Lana Lang, as usual, and she'd grown out of the crush she'd had on him once upon a time. She wasn't the fifteen year old girl who would do anything for him to look at her anymore that left Smallville with her heart broken. No, instead she was a seventeen year old girl on the verge of being a woman, avoiding the fact that whenever goofy good-guy Sam Witwicky so much as texted her she felt like her entire body vibrated with excitement.

Maybe there was a condition called falls-for-boys-who-want-pretty-and-perfect and she was a carrier…

Sighing, she took a long drag of her lemonade and swung her legs back and forth beneath her seat. Sidekick was in her nature and she knew that if Sam somehow got the attention of Mikaela she would support him. It was just who she was. She'd paste on a smile and give him a thumbs up, even if on the inside she was crumbling. She just wished she'd stop getting stuck in these repetitive cycles. With a groan, she threw her head back and promised herself that she would stop feeling this way. She would give up on Sam and she would either focus on her future or find somebody else, without the ability to break her heart, to put all of her attention on…

Maybe if Miles managed not to climb anything in the near future, she could convince herself he was her summer-before-senior-year fling…

…

Washington, D.C.

Pentagon

John Keller stepped into the back room, shrouded by a curtain from the rest of the conference area and noted a familiar face as a man approached him.

"Steve," he greeted, shaking his hand.

"Hello, Mr. Secretary."

He turned a grim expression on the packed seats. "They're so young…"

An officer at his left replied, "They're the top subject matter experts, sir. NSA's recruiting right out of high school these days."

Sitting in wait, an analyst leaned forward, his eyes wide. "Guys… That's the Secretary of Defense!"

"I am so underdressed," a shaggy-haired male next to him muttered.

Steven stepped forward then and called for their attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Secretary of Defense."

As everyone stood in recognition of him, Keller circled around to stand at the center. "Please be seated. I'm John Keller." He looked around at the many faces staring back. "Obviously, you're wondering why you're here, so, these are the facts… At 1900 local time yesterday, the SOCCENT Forward Operations Base in Qatar was attacked… So far as we know, there were no survivors. The objective of the attack was to hack our military network…" His eyes surveyed them starkly. "We're not sure exactly what they're after, but we do know that they were cut off during the assault, which would lead us to assume that they're going to try it again… Now, no one's taken responsibility for the attack. And the only real lead we have, so far… is this sound." He pointed to a screen behind him where the voice pattern was shown and played for them.

The screeching electronic recording had the room staring in befuddled surprise and confusion.

Keller crossed his arms in front of his waist and frowned. "That's the signal that hacked our network... NSA's working at full capacity to analyze it and intercept further communications but we need your help to find out who did this!" He waved an arm meaningfully. "Now, you've all shown considerable ability in the area of signals analysis…" He frowned grimly. "We're on a hair-trigger here, people. The President has dispatched battle groups to the Persian Gulf and Yellow Sea. This is as real as it's ever gonna get. Now I'm gonna leave you to your officer-in-charge. You'll break up into teams and you'll start your work…" He lifted his chin and gave a short nod. "Good luck… To us all."

…

Burbank, California

"All right, Mojo," Sam called, twirling his new car keys around his finger as he entered his room. "I got the car. Now I need the girl." He made his way to his computer, taking a seat and typing in his eBay link. "I need money to take out the girl is what I need," he muttered to himself. "Zero bids." He exhaled disappointedly. "Great. Broke."

Mojo barked at him, lying on a chair with his broken leg wrapped in a small white cast.

"No, you're right… Chloe said she'd gimme thirty-five for great-great-gramps' glasses…" He chewed his lower lip. "It's not much, but it'll get me somewhere…"

Tucking his pen in his mouth, he stood from his chair and walked toward his bathroom. "Come on, Mojo, you want your pain pills?"

Yapping, he struggled to get off his chair.

Checking himself out in the mirror, Sam practiced what he'd say to Mikaela and then sprayed his mouth for fresher breath. Finally, he grabbed out Mojo's pain meds and walked back to his room to take a seat at his desk. "It's like clockwork. All right, I know you get wasted on these things, but if you piss in my bed again, you're sleeping outside. Okay?" He held the pill out for him to take and fed it into his mouth. While the Chihuahua chewed away, he held up a finger, "That's it for today. No more. Crackhead."

Making his way downstairs, he brought Mojo down with him and then left for the backyard, where his parents were fixing up the yard. Mojo ran off across the yard while he Sam crossed the back porch, wiggling his car keys at his parents and laughing excitedly. Hopping down onto the grass, he started toward the back driveway.

Ron sat up from his hunched position and sighed. "Ah, Sam..."

He stopped, confused. "What?"

"I do not like footprints on my grass." He threw his spade down into the lawn.

Sam looked down at the grass. "What foot— There's no footprints!"

His dad motioned toward the path leading from the stairs. "That's why I built my path. So why don't you go from my grass onto my path, okay?" he asked irritably.

Moving to the laid down cement blocks, he told him, "It's family grass, Dad."

He nodded sarcastically. "Well, when you own your own grass, you'll understand."

Crossing to his mom when he saw Mojo hanging out in his doggy penthouse, he sternly told her, "This, this, I can't do it anymore."

Judy smiled at him. "What?"

He motioned to the dog lying lazily on the porch of his tiny dog house. "You're putting girl jewelry on a boy dog. He's got enough self-esteem issues as a Chihuahua, Mom."

"That's his bling..." she explained cheerfully.

He rolled his eyes and continued toward the driveway, flicking his keys back and forth. Just as he was pulling the door open, the hinges whining, he heard his mom shout after him, "I want you home at eleven o'clock!"

He slipped into the driver's seat and replied, "Yeah, all right."

His dad reiterated, "Eleven o'clock!"

Pleading, his mother said, "Please, for the love of God, drive safely."

As he turned the ignition, a cloud of black smoke left the tail pipe.

His mom gasped.

"Seat belt on!" his dad ordered.

He rolled his eyes, plugging the belt in.

Pulling out, the cloud crept across the lawn while he took off toward Chloe's house.

The drive was short, ten minutes at best, but he enjoyed every second of it. His smile was so wide it almost hurt. He had his own car! "Whoo!" he yelled, throwing his arm out the window. It was worth all the work he put in to get it. Sure, it needed a new coat of paint… and maybe a tune-up or six, but it was his!

When he pulled up outside of Chloe's house, he was like a proud father, honking the horn and leaning out the window.

It was only a few minutes before she skipped out the front door and down the front steps in sandals, a pink tanktop, and cut-off jean shorts. His eyes widened a little. Wow. He wasn't expecting that.

Don't get him wrong, he knew Chloe was hot. Sometimes, he chose to pretend she wasn't to keep his sanity, or his tongue from rolling out of his head, but it was times like these where that seemed impossible. She walked toward him with a wide grin and her hips swaying seductively. His head tipped, taking in every attractive inch. And when his throat went so dry it burned, he blinked wildly and tried to focus on her face instead of the deceptively long legs on display.

Clearing his throat, he held out an arm and said, "Well?"

She grinned, her eyes wandering across his car. "It's… Unique."

"Right!" He clapped his hands happily. "Dream come true, Chloe. Miracles happen!"

Chuckling at his enthusiasm, she walked around the front of the car, letting her hand trail over the hood. "Camaro? Very nice."

The engine revved.

Circling, she hopped into the passenger seat and reached for the seat belt. "Well? Show me what this baby can do?"

He grinned, but before he could put the car into drive, his eyes were suddenly stuck on her creamy, bare thighs. Mind completely blank, his hands tightened around the steering wheel.

Startling him, the radio roared to life and suddenly started playing.

You are so beautiful to me…
Can't you see…?
You're everything I hoped for,
You're everything I need…
You are so beautiful to me...

Sam's eyes widened and he reached over to hit the radio face with his fist. "What the—?"

Chloe laughed good-naturedly. "Joe Cocker, Sam…? I didn't think you were a fan."

He laughed awkwardly, shaking his head and glaring down at the radio face before shoving the stick into drive. "I'm not… Car's got a radio problem."

"Hey!" She held her hands up in surrender. "If he wants to serenade me, I'm not complaining."

Sam grinned, raising a brow. "He? Really?

She nodded, looking it over. "Looks like a 'he' to me."

"Yeah?" he snorted. "You wanna name him?"

She raised a brow. "You'd let me name your car?"

He shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

"Maybe because you'll have him for who knows how long and I could name him something awful!" She shook her head wisely. "Never just hand the power over, Sam. I might look nice, but I have a devious and creative side to me that would scare you."

"Yeah?" He smirked, nodding at her. "Give me a few examples."

She inhaled deeply, tapping her chin. "Well, there's the obvious… I could give him a girl's name… Something really feminine like… Francesca or… Sylvia."

He frowned. "Okay, so no girls names… Try again."

"What about something like Baxter or Bartholomew?" Her eyes flashed teasingly.

He licked his lips. "All right, I'm just gonna have to break it to you… You suck at picking names." He shrugged. "I'm sorry. It had to be done."

She laughed. "Why not let him show us what he's got and then I pick a name?" She leaned back in her seat and jutted her chin forward. "Drive on, Witwicky!"

With a smirk, he put his car into gear and took off roaring down the road.

And even Chloe, despite making fun of his new ride just a tad, couldn't help but laugh gleefully as they cruised along the streets, en route to pick up Miles.

Excited about his new freedom and filled with adrenaline each time he took a turn, Sam looked at the girl in his passenger seat, smiling brightly back at him, the wind kicking up her riotous blonde hair, and knew he couldn't ask for a better person to be right there with him for this first time experience.

[Next: Part II.]