Drabble 4 - On Earth


On Earth, Optimus was always the first one up. There would be a small, high-pitched whine as power was rerouted to his processor, and his optics would flicker to a gentle blue. He would lay there, staring at whatever was in front him while gathering his thoughts and emotions, reorganizing his mind into something a tad neater, before finally rolling over and nudging Ratchet awake.

Ratchet was much less graceful in his return to consciousness. Perhaps it was old age, or maybe just a side-effect of his acerbic personality, but something in his upper chest always made a loud clanking noise, followed by a series of soft pops and pings and engine revs as his body reluctantly booted up for another day's worth of work. It took longer for him to wake up, a bit more nudging on Optimus' part before Ratchet was willing to give up recharge and acknowledge the world around him. He would - after a series of mumbled protests and inaudible threats - slowly unshutter his optics and peer blearily at Optimus, a look of sleepy accusation written across his face. Optimus would say nothing, but his optics would brighten, his mouth would soften. They would lay there in silence, staring around at the room and each other, gathering themselves, composing themselves, until finally Optimus would rise to his feet and walk heavily out of the room, leaving Ratchet behind to rub at his face and gripe about this and that.

Bulkhead was often the next to wake up. Like Ratchet, he was rarely at his best upon waking, and often went through his morning activities - perimeter check, screen check, cam check, base patrol - only partially alert. It really wasn't until he had returned - when Optimus had finished extracting energon from their precious few crystals and Ratchet had finished updating logs on his hotchpotch computer - that he could really call himself awake.

They'd spent the next few moments together, gathered around around a cluster of trash and spare parts that they affectionately dubbed the 'team table'. Optimus would give Ratchet and Bulkhead their morning rations, cradling a small cube himself, and then they'd sit and talk about whatever came to mind. Bulkhead would update Optimus on his cam and perimeter check findings, and inform both on the weather outside. Ratchet and Optimus would muse about duties and responsibilities, going through an unspoken checklist of daily must-dos, and they'd all mull over possible Decepticon activity. In-between conversation, they'd sip at their cubes of energon, wincing at the crude taste, replete with earth-based impurities and unwanted mineral deposits that - despite their best extraction efforts - persisted in the fuel.

At this point, there was a fifty-fifty chance that Bumblebee would wake up in time to join the conversation. There were nights when the base's noises - the crackling of the earth, the humming of the monitors, the high-pitched ringing of the security cams, the human cars driving past and the scritch-scratch of burrowing animals and nightcalls of insects and the endless creaking noise and Primus wouldn't it just shut up - overwhelmed him to the point of sleeplessness. On these nights, he'd stay up and - like any good scout - record the sounds, noting their origin, their purpose, and whether they indicated a threat. He'd filled endless amounts of datapads with this type of information - every noise, every color, every rock, everything and anything that might trigger his scout programming. It was a compulsive act, meant to satisfy a function-based hypersensitive sensory-network, and assuage a trauma-based paranoia. Unfortunately, it also led to a rather persistent insomnia.

The rest of the team knew this, and usually - barring the occasional skirmish with the opposing side - let him sleep in.