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Paint Chips

Chapter 3: Stitches and Decaff

Bumblebee hated driving past the encampment on his way to the base. Lurking among the vast mish-mash of canvas and polyester tents were some of the worst humans he had ever encountered. Prime and Prowl insisted they be ignored, despite Red Alerts pleading that they take out a restraining order against the entire organization. The VW Bug revved his engine and tried to merge into the inside lane of the highway. If he could pull up beside the semi ahead of him, it might be possible to sneak by.

Whistles and bells began to blare as the guards patrolling the camps perimeter spotted the large red Autobot patch on his hood. Men, women and children alike rushed to the edge of the road, rotten fruit and large rocks clutched in their hands. Bumblebee tried to merge once more, but the heavy five o'clock traffic made it impossible. The impromptu weapons took flight, smashing against yellow paint and metal. Bumblebee winced as a rock cracked the corner of his windshield, closely followed by a barrage of brown and bruised tomatoes.

Behind the Autobot, someone slowed and waved him into the inside lane. Honking his horn in thanks, Bumblebee merged and hit the gas, speeding past the encampment and towards home. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he really, really hated those humans.


Jane was beginning to see stars, and they weren't the good kind. Brice tightened his grip around her waist, doing his best to keep her upright as they trekked through the base. The medical bay was in the center of the compound, well protected from any type of enemy attack. The sergeant wished he had asked Prowl to send them a ride; the bleeding had slowed but hadn't stopped, and despite her insistence that she was fine he was getting worried.

"Hey, we're here," he gently shook her shoulder, shifting her weight so he could knock on the door. It slid open as soon as his knuckles brushed against the orange steel.

"If you're not dying then get out," Ratchet snapped, not turning from his workbench.

"Be nice, doc," Brice chided, helping Jane inside the doors. They swept closed behind them with a whoosh, locking them in the med bay with the infamous Hatchet.

The medic dropped his tools and sighed. "Primus above, Brice, what did you do to yourself now?" Wiping his hands on a rag, he turned and paused his rant. "Oh. Who's this?" He crossed the room, already running intense scans over the bleeding human.

"This is Jane, our newest officer. Jane, this is Ratchet, the Autobot medic."

The woman tilted her head back, and back, and back until she could see his face. Her eyes widened for a moment beneath the gauze pressed against her forehead. "You're…very tall."

"And you've lost a lot of blood. What happened?" He crouched down before the two officers.

"She fell down the stairs of the trailer. For some reason Red Alert began to yell in Cybertronian. Nearly blew my ear drums out," Brice grumbled.

"Hn," Ratchet reached out and scooped up the two humans. Jane jumped, every muscle in her body going rigid. Brice merely grabbed a digit and held on. The medic gently deposited them on the nearest berth. "Sit down and hold still," he demanded, flexing his fingers.

Brice sat behind Jane, keeping his hands on her shoulder. "You might want to close your eyes," he suggested quietly. The woman did as he said, her oddly heavy eyelids falling closed quite easily. She didn't see Ratchet's optics magnify, or the tips of his fingers split into basic medical tools.

"Don't move," he warned, picking off the gauze pressed against the gash. The cut was deep and ragged, and a few wood splinters had adhered to the blood. Swiftly, he medic produced a damp cloth and wiped away the sticky residue, clearing the splinters and dirt from the wound. A needle appeared alongside the tweezers holding the cloth, tailed with a thick black thread. Ratchet carefully lined up the needle and, within a minute, was done. The three inch gash was neatly sewn closed; the stitches equally spaced and exactly placed. He stopped back, fingers folding together.

"Alright, I'm done." He returned to his work bench and rummaged through one of the drawers. After a moment he produced a sleeping bag wound tightly around a pillow. "Here," he dropped it into Brice's awaiting arms and glanced at his newest patient. Her eyes were open, and she was carefully running her fingers over the stitching. "Don't mess with it," Ratchet snapped, catching her attention and making her jump. "Lie down on the sleeping bag and get some rest."

Jane frowned and began to protest, "But I still have to meet with the Second in Command today!"

Brice shook out the sleeping bag and laid it away from the edge of the berth before neatly adding the pillow. "Prowl won't mind waiting until tomorrow. You need to lie down for a while. Let your body make up some of the blood you've lost."

Jane looked from Ratchet to Brice and saw to chance of them changing their minds. She sighed and sat down on the soft nylon, "Fine. You're as bad as my mother-in-law."

Brice chuckled and patted her head. "Take a nap, Jane. I'll come get you when it's time to leave." She fell back on the impromptu bed.

"I'll keep an eye on her," Ratchet promised as he lifted Brice off the table and set him on the ground.

"I know," he patted the medics' hand, "I'll be back in a few hours."

"No hurry," Ratchet smirked, "Don't want your ugly mug scaring my patients."

"Too late for that Hatchet," Brice made a hasty exit. "You're ugly face scares them far worse than my pretty features!" He escaped into the hall. Ratchet shook his head and checked on Jane. She was fast asleep, deaf to their playful banter.


Bumblebee managed to sneak back into the base without being seen. He avoided the cameras and the commons, making a beeline for the medbay. For a moment he considered going to his room and allowing his self-repair system to take care of the cracks and dents, but the thought of facing Ratchet's wrath made him reconsider. After sending Jazz a message explaining the situation, he ducked into the medbay.

Ratchet took one look at Bumblebee and felt his good mood evaporate. He pointed to the berth closest to his work bench and gathered up the tools he would need to fix his youngest charge. Bee pulled himself onto the nearest berth and stared at his feet.

"It's not your fault," the medic reassured, noting his crestfallen expression. "Those humans don't understand what's going on.' He took a cloth and wiped away the dried tomato juice that was smeared across Bee's Autobot Symbol.

"Why do they hate us so much? We're trying to help them." He voice sounded very young and forlorn.

"I know," Ratchet flicked a piece of mango off the yellow mechs shoulder, "But they've lost people in the crossfire. They have a right to be angry. They're just angry at the wrong side."

Bee made a disappointed noise in the back of his throat. "We've lost friends too. Why can't they see that?"

"Humans are notoriously short-sighted," the medic began to remove Bee's cracked windshield for repairs, "and grief is a dangerous weapon."

The yellow mech's frown deepened as he watched Ratchet work. After a few moments of silence he couldn't take it anymore. "Damn those humans!" He slammed his fist down on the table.

Ratchet shot the minibot a glare. "Hush. You're not my only patient today."

Bee looked around the bay in confusion; he hadn't seen any of his comrades-in-arms when he came in. A blue and brown lump on one of the berths caught his attention. "Oh, that's Brice's new officer, right?"

"Mhmm," Ratchet carefully knocked out the glass from the windshield frame. "She cut her head but Prowl wouldn't let her go to the ER."

"You are the ER," Bee watched as the woman stirred, "I think she's waking up."

Ratchet paused and ran a scan over the sleeping bag. "You're right. Can you get some of Spike's water from the cooler?" He pointed to the white freezer in the corner of the room. Bee hopped off the berth and retrieved one of the bottles, pinching it carefully between his fingers. Spike and Sparkplug had installed it after they began their medical training, and Ratchet always made sure it was well stocked with water and Gatorade.

Bumblebee set the bottle beside Jane and hopped back upon his own berth. The woman stretched her arms above her head and sat up with as sleepy smile.

"How are you feeling?" Ratchet asked. The woman jumped, eyes flying open, hand automatically reaching for her Glock. She paused, partly because she had no gun, mostly because she recognized the medic.

"Oh, uh, hi," she looked from one mech to the other, hands falling into her lap. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"How are you feeling?" Ratchet repeated slowly.

Jane scratched the back of her head. "Um, dizzy. And thirsty. Really thirsty."

Ratchet nodded at the water bottle. "Drink that. The whole thing.' He turned back to his work. The woman picked up the chilled bottle and shook it curiously.

"Um, this isn't something weird, is it?"

Bumblebee laughed. "It's just water," he reassured her, "Nothing alien about it."

Jane unscrewed the lid and sniffed it before taking a careful sip. It was just water, and she took a deep drink that emptied nearly half the bottle."So, I know Mr. Ratchet, but who are you?"

"I'm Bumblebee," the spy introduced himself. "I do a lot of patrols with you guys," he swung his legs back and forth, a big smile on his face.

"I'm Jane," she drank another fourth of the bottle. "Um, are you alright? You look a little roughed up."

Bee brushed a hand over his dented shoulder. "Yeah," he grumbled, sounding depressed once more. "The Antibots got the jump on me during five o'clock traffic."

"Antibots?" Jane finished off the bottle and toyed with the cap. "Are those a type of Decepticon?"

Ratchet laughed bitterly. "They're much worse than any of the cons," he reformed the edge of the windshield frame, "They're humans."

"Um, should I be insulted?"

Bee shook his head. "No, that isn't what he meant. The Antibots are a group of humans who don't want us here on Earth. Some of them are religious, some have lost friends and family, others just want someone to blame for this planet's problems." He sighed, shoulders slumping. "They have a camp just outside the patrol routs. You'll see them a lot."

"Great," Jane shook her head, "From one gang of idiots to another."

"You've deal with gangs before?" Ratchet asked curiously, turning from his work.

She snorted. "I'm from the Virginia Mountains. We had to deal with skinheads every other day."

"Skinheads?" Both mechs focused their attention on her.

"Skinheads are a group of white supremacists," she explained carefully, "They believe that only white people with certain religious beliefs should be in America and be able to have money and power. They follow the teachings of Hitler, the German leader from World War II. Basically, they're a bunch of redneck racists." She crossed her legs and propped her chin on her fists. "Like Charles Manson, only less organized."

"I thought America was supposed to be a 'melting pot' of all different races and cultures." Bee looked confused.

Jane grinned. "Just 'cause it's supposed to be a culturally acceptable country doesn't always mean it is. Practices do not always follow theory."

Ratchet shook his head. "Trust me kid, we know that all too well."

"You're giant mechanical beings from a highly advanced planet. What do you have to be prejudice about?"

The two mechs shared a long look. Bee sighed and began to tick off the examples on his fingers. "Mechs against femmes, land forms against flight forms, poor against rich, normal bot against minibot, warrior against civilian, law enforcement against criminals, young against old," he slowed looking at his extended digits, "Autobot against Decepticon."

Jane whistled. "I have a lot to learn about you guys, don't I?"

"You'll learn," Ratchet reassured her. "You're one of us now, after all."

"Yeah," Bumblebee immediately cheered up. "We take care of our own!"

Jane tapped her shoulder, where the Autobot symbol would eventually, hopefully, be sewn on. "I'm not an Autohume yet."

"That's just a technicality," Bee waved his hand, a big smile on his face. "Since we're stuck here, do you have any questions 'bout us?"

"Yeah, a ton," she tapped her chin. "First question, what's a minibot?"

"A midget robot," Brice answered from the door as it slid open to admit him. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Jane prodded the stitches across her forehead. "Mr. Ratchet did a good job."

Brice snorted. "Mister Ratchet?" He looked at the medic. "When did you change your title?"

"I didn't. Jane just happens to have better manners than you." Ratchet graced her with a rare smile, "And she's a much better patient than you as well."

"Tch," Brice rolled his eyes. 'That's only 'cause I never come here. I always go to the general hospital nearby."

"I wish you wouldn't," the medic grumbled. "I don't trust those human doctors. They only care about monetary gain."

"They don't get paid unless they do a good job." Brice stood beside the spies berth. "Hey Bee, what're you in here for?"

The mech peered down at the human with a heavy frown. "The Antibots used me for target practice."

Brice patted his friends' foot. "Don't worry; we're keeping a close eye on those idiots. They step outta line again and we'll haul their ass to jail." He chuckled darkly. "We've got Mirage setting up cameras around the camp."

Both mechs grinned in triumph. "Good going, Brice! Those humans won't be able to sneeze without us knowing."

Jane (who was wondering how a giant robot could sneak around setting cameras without being noticed) sat on the edge of her berth and peered down at her boss. "Doesn't that invade their right to privacy?"

The smile on Brice's face turned positively predatory. "Not if the surveillance is carried out by the 'bots. Prime and his officers have diplomatic immunity." He rocked back and forth on his heels, obviously very pleased with himself.

"We're all very impressed with you Brice, but Jane needs to go home and get some rest." Ratchet interrupted his proud smirking and scooped the woman off the berth. Ignoring her startled cry, he set her down beside her boss. She stumbled, trying to regain her balance after that whirlwind ride. Brice grabbed her arm and steadied her.

"Don't be so rough, Ratchet." He chided, before turning to attention to Jane. "Do you think you can walk back to the entrance?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Both humans ignored Ratchet's disbelieving snort as they left the medbay.


"So tell me about Prowl." Jane looked at Brice expectantly as they entered the now-silent trailer. The sergeant adopted a thoughtful look as he brewed a new pot of coffee.

"Huh, well, he's the second in command of all the Autobots; has been since the beginning of the war. He's very logical and doesn't show his emotions much. He's the army's tactician too. Apparently he's never lost a game of chess, Cybertronian or otherwise."

Jane plopped down on the couch with a tired sigh. "So what does he look like?"

"Big, black and white, blue eyes, rarely every smiles or laughs," He poured the coffee into a travel mug and capped it. "Alright, let's get you home."

Jane followed him outside to the cruiser. "Thanks for driving me around so much. Hopefully I'll be able to afford a car soon. Conner has to use ours to get to work and the hospital."

"It's no problem," the doors clicked open and they climbed in. "The bots can help you out if you need it, too. There's always one or two enjoying the sights in Portland."

"I don't want to bother them"

"You won't. You're one of us now; they won't mind." Brice pulled onto the road leading into the forest. "Let's call it a day and go home."


The cruiser pulled up along the sidewalk outside of Jane's apartment. She looked up at the brick structure with a relieved sigh; it had been an incredibly long day. "Thanks again, sergeant."

"Just call me Brice," he insisted. "I'll pick you up around five tomorrow. Take care of your head."

"Will do," she climbed out of the car but paused when her feet hit the sidewalk. Turning, she gave the car a salute. "Thank you for the ride, Commander Prowl."

"You are very welcome," the tactician felt Brice stiffen in surprise. "Have a good night, officer."

"You too sir. Bye Brice!" With a bright smile and a bounce in her step, she disappeared into the building."

Brice sat back in the drivers' seat, allowing Prowl to drive him home. "How did she figure it out so fast?"

"She's smart; it almost took you two weeks to figure it out." Was it Brice's imagination, or was that a note of amusement in the cruisers voice?


Authors Note: Yay, it's up! I've had this chapter in my notebook for a few days, finally was able to type it up and post it. Darn you homework and job! Had a ton of fun with this chapter; the skinheads section was actually written during my Juvenile Justice class, when we watched a documentary on the Neo Nazi Skinhead Racists that dwell near D.C. It was very interesting.

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3 Sally