Saturday.
Ratchet used to hate Saturdays.
Humans, for reasons that the seasoned medic could not fathom, lumped seven of their solar cycles into a unit of time called a "week," the first five cycles of which were mostly devoted to education, work or a combination of the two. The last two cycles of the week, colloquially known as Saturday and Sunday, seemed to function as a sort exaggerated holiday, whereby the humans would, on the whole, abstain from work or school and recreate in various ways.
Jack, Miko, and Rafael-the human children who had, inadvertently, stumbled into the middle of their millennia-old, civil war with the Decepticons-were no different from other humans, except that their recreational activities spanned the gauntlet from quiet calibration assists-as was often the case with Jack-to Miko's cacophonously irritating "music."
The latter of which there was no escaping given the layout of their base, a former missile silo.
Ratchet's research required solitude, long periods of quiet contemplation whereby he could focus his intellect. One couldn't very well manipulate ancient Verio-wave equations, or ground bridge vorticity-flux simulations while distracted.
The humans, in his optics, were a potential liability; a veritable petro-thorn in one's carapace. They were small and weak, gnats in a war between giants. By protecting them, they were putting their own lives in danger. Was a human life honestly worth more than that of a Cybertronian?
Before the scraplet incident, he would have vehemently argued for the later.
Now, the medic condescended to tolerate their presence.
For the most part.
WHAM! CRA-THUNK!
The ground rocked violently beneath Ratchet's trods, as if someone had just spike-lobbed an entire aircraft carrier.
A round of riotous laughter followed, human and Cybertronian.
Gritting his dental-plates, the medic narrowed his optics and tried his best to refocus on the equation that he'd been working on for the last two weeks-a recipe for synthetic energon-though it still shook wildly along with the rest of the computer.
This was going to be a long weekend.
"Hey, Ratchet!" Miko's voice called out after several blessed minutes of silence.
The medic sighed. "Yes, Miko?" He replied after a moment, his optics still glued to the computer screen.
"We're playing a game."
"Yes, I've noticed." He replied with a sarcastic chuckle.
"Would you like to play?"
"No."
"Aww, you're no fun."
"That's right." The medic replied absently, pouring over a new batch of calculations.
"Hmph, fine."Miko stumped off in a huff, her footfalls heavy enough to imitate Bulkhead.
Ratchet smirked and then shook his head. At least she stormed off somewhere else, he observed dryly.
For a time after, much to Ratchet's surprise, the humans and their guardians were remarkably quiet, except for an occasional-yet tolerable-din of merriment.
The console beeped faintly as another set of calculations appeared. Ratchet stepped back from the station and rubbed at his chin plate, cross-checking the numbers with those that he had computed using his own processors. Something was off, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
I wonder if...
"BWEEEEP! BWoooooWWwww!"
Ratchet's thoughts evaporated, as did the equations that he had just been processing.
Gone.
Startled out of him by Bumblebee's sudden, and unexpectedly ridiculous outburst-the electronic sounds emanating from his voice synthesizer translating as "I am the mop king."
More laughter.
Now genuinely angry, Ratchet left his console and stormed out into the open. "WHAT IN PRIMUS' NAME IS GOING...?"
Ratchet's voice cut off in mid-sentence; his optics widened and his jaw dropped.
What he saw, was not what he expected, to say the least.
Bumblebee stood as still as a statue in the open space immediately adjacent to the raised platform used by the humans for recreation. Draped across his helm like some sort of vegetative overgrowth was one of the large mops that Ratchet used to tidy up the floor in the medical lab. Two mops, held motionless in his flattened digits like undersized geroths, made the young scout look absolutely ridiculous...not to mention highly mischievous as he stared up at the old medic with wide, surprised optics.
"Maybe I shouldn't ask..." Ratchet muttered after a moment of startled silence.
"It's a game called 'Truth or Dare.'" Rafael explained, gesturing toward a large, square scrap of metal that had been fitted with a straight length of hose. "It's fun. You should play a few rounds with us." He smiled; his expressive eyes-made seemingly larger, magnified as they were by his large, red-rimmed glasses-beamed hopefully up at the old medic.
Though Ratchet respected Rafael more than he did the other humans-the young boy was remarkably adept with human computer technology-the medic's pride reached his voice box a step ahead of his common sense. "Preposterous!" He exclaimed with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Why would I waste my time with something unproductive like that?"
Rafael lowered his head, and rubbed the back of his neck with a free hand, his lips twisting into a dejected frown.
The expression did not go unnoticed by Ratchet, and his optics widened slightly as the realization swept over him. Silently, he lowered his head and averted his gaze. There was no point in trying to take the words back; they had already been broadcast for all to hear. Instead, he did what he always did in situations like these: buried the regret in a far distant corner of his processor and removed from his steel countenance all traces of emotion.
The humans and his colleagues, undoubtedly, saw him as a crotchety-some might say senile-Cybertronian hard-aft; far be it from him to tarnish that image.
Muttering unintelligibly, the medic turned and started for his console.
Halfway to his destination, he hesitated. Then, turning his head, he looked over his shoulder at the youthful muddle.
Miko and Bulkhead were talking in hushed whispers-even so, the Asian youth still gesticulated wildly as she spoke, pointing in his direction. No doubt they were discussing Ratchet's behavior; they didn't notice him, however. Jack and Arcee were similarly engaged, though the manner of their discussion was much more subdued-delicate, even-like a conversation between close friends.
Or partners, Ratchet thought before he could stop himself. That, if anything was preposterous. And yet...
He shook his head at the incredulity of the thought; he was probably just reading into things too deeply.
Rafael and Bumblebee were another matter, however.
The canary-colored Autobot was crouching next to his companion, his face a strange amalgam of concern and sympathy. Gently, the yellow mech nudged Raf's shoulder; a gesture of comfort in their society.
The expression of Cybertronian emotion was complex to say the least, even considering the limited facial servos that some possessed, but Ratchet had to bow to the subtle nuances that humans exhibited on a daily basis. No one else in all of the galaxy could possibly manipulate so many muscles to appear forlorn. In fact, with twice as many synonyms as the myriad of emotions they could exhibit, they spent practically all their waking hours emoting something.
And even with Ratchet's basic knowledge of human biology - he would have to verify the ratio of human to Cybertronian facial expressions - he could tell Rafael was obviously upset.
The medic cringed as a wave of guilt bared its steely fangs at him, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't beat it back.
Sighing, he turned away from the comfort of his console and slowly made his way back to the others.
Rafael was the first to notice."Ratchet?" He wondered, a weak smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Look..." Ratchet began meeting Rafael's gaze. "I'll play a few rounds."
"O.M.G! Really?" Miko squeaked, excitedly, cutting him off. "Leave it to Raf to twist Ratchet's arm."
The medic turned his head and glared at her the same way one might glare at someone who had just vented in the middle of a crowded room. "As I was saying," He continued, "I'll play a few rounds, but you must all promise me that afterwards, you'll take your fun elsewhere. And by elsewhere, I mean, outside." He added, quickly, and turning his head he considered each of them. "I'm working on something that requires extensive concentration, and I can't very well focus if you're going to caper around like a bunch of over-energized ruffians."
"I'm all for it." Bulkhead chimed in, a grin deforming his plow-sized mouth.
"Yeah! Rock and roll!" Miko cheered. She and Bulkhead exchanged a high-five.
"I have to agree with Bulkhead and Miko," Arcee concurred, smirking viciously. "It's not every day we get to see Ratchet...unbar."
The medic turned a nervous optic on the blue femme. The tone of her voice and the connotations attached to it warranted explanation. "Just what kind of game is this?"
"Don't let her worry you, Ratchet." Jack interjected calmly. "We don't play it the way some people do."
"That's not reassuring."
"Don't worry, Doc 'Bot, it's easy." Miko insisted with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You see this spinner? Well, someone spins it," with a flick of her wrist, she sent the spinner spinning. After a moment, it stopped; it was pointing at Bumblebee. "Whoever it lands on has to choose 'truth' or 'dare.'" She looked up Ratchet and narrowed her dark eyes. "You following?"
"Let me guess," The medic drawled, sarcastically. "Either I divulge something personal or risk cavorting around with a mop on my head." At this, he cast a sidelong glance at Bumblebee, who merely smirked with his optics in response.
Jack smiled and looked over at Miko. "He follows."
"Fine," Ratchet consented. "But this solidifies your absence." He fixed them all with a stern glare. "Agreed?"
"Agreed!" Everyone else replied in unison.
"Soooo, who's turn was it?" Miko asked, rubbing her hands eagerly.
"Bwwooeep." Bumblebee replied, enthusiastically, pointing at himself.
"Ok, spin it."
With amazing manual dexterity for a creature of his size, the yellow scout set the spinner in motion with a flick of his index finger.
It stopped on Miko.
"Bo-yah!" She exclaimed pumping her fist into the air, enthusiastically. "I choose 'dare.'"
"Why am I not surprised?" Jack commented, dryly.
Bumblebee crossed his arms and tilted his head, his metallic brows drawing down slightly over his optics; a unique whirring sound resonated from his voice synthesizer, his approximation of a contemplative "hmmmm." After several moments of careful thought, the muscle car turned his head, focused his blue optics on Miko, and explained his idea using a series of excited beeps, chirps, chirrs, and expressive hand gestures.
"What did he say?" Miko asked, curiously.
Rafael looked from Miko to Bulkhead, and finally back to Bumblebee before speaking. "It seems 'Bee was watching some old kung-fu movies with Bulkhead the other day. You know," He pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. "Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee kind of stuff. He wants to see you try something like that."
The Asian youth smiled wickedly. "Ha! That's easy."
"Really?" Rafael exclaimed.
"Hey, I'm from Japan, remember." She replied, confidently, crossing her arms over her chest."We, like, totally invented martial arts."
"Uh..." Jack began, but when he saw her raised eyebrow - as if to say, 'you wanna make something of it?' - he wisely held his tongue.
Casting about for another moment and seeing no further detractors, she nodded to herself and got into position. This involved much stretching and a good deal of floor space; she certainly didn't want to inadvertently kick Raf whom she had been sitting next to.
Taking a deep breath, she raised her arms as if she was about to start an Olympic floor routine and then proceeded to flip wildly about from one foot to another, her legs spinning about her head. Bouncing off the nearest wall, she planted a hand on the floor and then somersaulted into a tuck-and-roll that brought her upright and beaming to her adoring crowd.
And they didn't disappoint. Even the old medic gave her some sedate applause.
Bumblebee trilled happily.
"That was great, Miko!" Bulkhead exclaimed, clapping his hands.
The female youth beamed a proud smile up at her guardian before returning to her seat.
"Not bad, Miko." Rafael concurred. "Where did you learn to do that?"
"My school back in Japan." She replied airily, like it was no, big deal. "Gym class."
"Man, I wish they would teach us stuff like that at our school." Jack replied. "Gym would be a lot more fun."
"Yeah, no kidding." Rafael replied, thoughtfully.
"So, who's next?" Miko asked with greedy anticipation, hovering over the spinner as she rubbed her hands together mischievously. Her previous routine forgotten, she ignored her shortness of breath all so she could claim another victim in the name of fun.
Raising one eyebrow, she gave the length of hose a hearty spin.
Eyes glued to the surface, the hose made one languorous rotation and pointed directly at Ratchet.
"Wonderful," he replied with obvious annoyance.