She listened in on conversations, she watched, she observed, and she learned.
She saw what no one else did; she saw the sorrow in the red one's gaze, the adoration in the scrawny flier's optics as he gazed at the large one, the large silver one's longing glances towards the silent one, the silent one's uncontrolled love of music, the one opticed one's affection for the scrawny flier. And him. Large and fierce and strong and brave, with piercing optics and clear, loud voice, he had captured her attention instantly. While the others were just what they were, he had been unpredictable. She couldn't predict what he would do next. He never acted like the others. He didn't grovel. He didn't lose his temper and beat on others. He never really let on to what he was feeling. He wasn't the gossiping type. He didn't show interest in the others or what they did. He followed orders loyally but always had a shine of curiosity and suspicion in his optics. He had many secrets.
He was a puzzle for her to pick apart, and she loved the challenge. She observed him daily, whenever she had the chance. When he went to battle, she couldn't follow, and would stay in one place and meditate until he returned; then she would start following him again. Once and awhile, she hacked private comm. links and listened in on his conversation with the one opticed mech. She had learned everything she could from merely observing him while he was at "home". So when he left, she followed as discreetly as possible. She found out, on the first day, that he loved to watch the sun go down. He loved to write poems while inspired by the fading light of the sunset. He, while alone, ranted and screamed his frustration into the semi-cold air; where no one would hear those screams of rage turn to sobs of pure, spark-breaking sorrow.
And, no matter how much she wished for it, she never showed herself, never approached him, and never gave her cover away. For if she did, she knew, in her spark that it would only bring pain and more sorrow; to both her, and him. So she continued to watch, even after she had learned what she could about him, even after he had, finally, spoken into the empty, quiet air and question himself and reality. After he had asked her what she would do. He couldn't know, and she knew he didn't know, but it was nice to hear him seemingly ask her a question. So, she sat in the shadows of the rafters, a faint smile on her lips, and looked down at the recharging form of the predacon king.
((might continue
I own nothing except for my OC (who's name is yet to be known). Review please.))