READ THIS FIRST:
Hello to those of you watching this story for updates! First off, you rock, and I'm sorry it has taken so long. The reason for this is that pretty much every chapter up to this point has been either added to, rewritten or changed in some way. So before you go on, I recommend rereading from the beginning, or some stuff in this chapter will not make sense.
Those of you who are new, don't worry. You're good to go. Feel free to flame me scathingly for taking up your time in this awful way. That is all.
Title: Metamorphosis
Description: The death of their race was sealed with a single rash action ... and the only thing to come of it had no idea what was going on. G1 (AU), told from the perspective of several canon characters.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. That's why this is fanfiction. All original characters are not to be used without permission, which I will probably give if asked nicely.
Author's notes: Chapter 3 is in da house! Wow holy crap, this took way too long but now it's done. I had a lot of fun with this one and writing characters I haven't had much practice with. HUGE thanks to the earthly muse Ghost of the Dawn, author of some of my most favourite fics and who graciously acted as a sounding board and encouragement buffet while I was undertaking the task of turning a silly OC-driven ficlet into a story I am seriously excited about now. Honey, I hope I done you proud ;)
If you somehow missed the huge announcement at the top of the page ... I'm not kidding. This won't make as much sense if you don't heed. Heed, I say! *shaky finger*
Chapter 3: Fixing It
The fundamental problem with program maintenance is that fixing a defect has a substantial chance of introducing another.
- Frederick P. Brooks, Jr.
This is what I do when I have problems with my laptop, I turn it off and then I ... turn it on again.
- John Sheppard, Stargate: Atlantis
Prowl knew that Jazz had returned even before the other black-and-white broke the code on his office door and crept inside while he was turned to face the communications console. Blaster had commed half a joor earlier to tell him the team was back in radio range and it was completely, entirely and utterly logical to expect Jazz to do something other than simply walk through the door and deliver his report in a normal fashion.
It was also perfectly logical for Prowl to pretend he suspected nothing out of the ordinary and sit back down at his desk as though the Third-in-Command of the Autobot forces and Head of Special Operations was not hunkered down on the other side like a mischievous sparkling. Just as it was logical to lean over and pretend to open a compartment while actually pulling out a pair of magna-cuffs and clapping them around both Jazz's exposed wrist and the leg of the desk.
Prowl straightened and picked up a datapad from the stack on his desk. There was a moment of silence, then ...
"Heard me come in, huh?"
"You might want to work on that," Prowl responded mildly.
A couple of light clicks later, and Jazz stood up with the open cuffs dangling from his hand. "Well, ya might want to get a pair o' these a protoform couldn't escape from," he dropped the cuffs into Prowl's waiting hand and made himself comfortable in the other chair. "That fer me?" he asked, pointing at the cube of energon resting on the edge of the desk.
Prowl nodded once. "I thought you might appreciate it, as I had no doubt you would come here and deliver your report fastidiously before seeing to your own needs," he said. His voice was without the barest trace of sarcasm. It took some effort.
Jazz snickered as he accepted the offering. "Missed you too, Prowler." Swallowing down half its contents, he added, "What else have I missed, by th' way, bein' incommunicado fer almost two orns? Th' whole place is all a-buzzin' over somethin'."
Prowl gave him a level look. He knew his friend and fellow officer well enough to know Jazz had probably put most of the pieces together from whatever he had heard, and was only asking to confirm what he'd already figured out. "I'm not giving you any kind of report until I get yours," he stated flatly.
"Tha's easy," Jazz said, downing the other half of the cube. "Quiet."
Prowl's logic centre buzzed ominously and he quickly did a reboot. "Quiet?"
"Like a church on Saturday night," Jazz clarified, which didn't help Prowl's rebooting software. "Oh, some close-flyin' patrols came in an' out, and the Stunticons went joy-ridin' a couple o' times, an' we intercepted a few coded messages an' all, but otherwise ..." he shrugged. "Quiet."
The tactician's logic centre fully booted up. "They're laying low," he said.
"Real low."
"They're planning something."
"I'd stake my muffler on it, yeah."
Prowl tapped the anonymous datapad absently against his hand. His battle computer was already running through the variables and calculating possibilities, despite not having the full report to work from. "And your team?"
"Mirage took off to th' washracks, and Hound's headed to medbay. He blew a shock on th' trip home," the saboteur leaned back in his seat, a relaxed grin on his visored face. "All in all, a big long borin' mission spent mostly sittin' around inside a hologram, ruminatin' on the meanin' o' life and playin' digital poker over the comm links."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Prowl said wryly. "You should get some recharge. There will be an officers' meeting in two joors. I want the full report before then."
Jazz sighed, spinning the empty cube on his finger. "Slave driver."
"Jazz."
The saboteur looked up to one of Prowl's rare smiles. "It's good you're back. Let me fill you in on what's been going on here since you've been gone ..."
"And that's pretty much what happened."
Ratchet's drawl might have made anyone else think he was either hung ove, or simply bored with the conversation. Wheeljack knew better.
"Primus," he giggled. "I woulda loved to see the look on Prime's face. Ha-hah ..."
"I fail to find this funny, 'Jack. I warned them she couldn't handle it."
"You programmed her," he reminded the medic. "I'd say you did a bang-up job, all things considered," he chortled, faltering when he caught the dirty look the medic was sending his way. "Ah, lighten up, Ratch. What else happened?"
"Nothing," Ratchet inspected the parts laid out on the berth between them with just a little too much professional detachment. "She shot a few sparks and froze up like a crankcase in December. It was lucky Ironhide caught her before she hit the floor. I put her into stasis again soon as we got her back here."
"Hmm," Wheeljack mused, his well-worn fingers ghosting over the seam in a piece of silver plating. He had hammered the metal as thin as he could without compromising its durability, but the parts still looked bulky next to the little femme's tiny frame. "Well, do we do this while she's still out? I kinda want to see how they restrict her movement ..."
"She's still twitchy. We'll keep her out. Is anything actually ready to be put on her now?"
The engineer stroked the base of his blast-mask. "Most of the base plating is ready to go. The heavier stuff is gonna need to be sized properly, especially for the weight factor." He tapped the green plating with a metal digit. "We have here a 'bot made almost completely out of custom parts."
Ratchet's systems made a strained noise. "Don't remind me," he rumbled. "At least you were able to make do with galvanized human steel instead of melting down the entire slagging spare parts bin. I just hope she never needs a full overhaul."
Wheeljack's eyes crinkled over his mask. "As the humans say, 'knock on wood'."
Ratchet looked like he was going to ask, then thought better of it. "Mute it and hand me that soldering gun. We'll equip these while she's out, then bring her online for sizing the rest. If I can get her to fragging sit still for it."
Selecting some of the more delicate silver-grey pieces, Ratchet began laying them out on a small table next to the prone figure. The berth itself had been tilted upright at a 70-degree angle, partly to make the work easier and partly because of the multitude of cords that once again connected her to Teletraan's medbay console. The little frame barely filled half of a berth designed to hold a model type of Ironhide's stature.
Ratchet had fitted a thin piece of plating to her upper arm and was soldering the seams together with intense focus. His systems had not stopped rumbling. "Careful not to weld the rotating seam," Wheeljack reminded him.
The rumbling increased. "You want to hold my hand while I do this?"
Wheeljack only chuckled at his friend's acerbic temper. "You know, those panels she came with were some piece of work. I never saw anything quite like that circuitry."
Ratchet grunted.
"I think I know what it's for, but I want to run the specs by Grapple first. He knows more about this kind of thing than me."
Grunt.
"And then maybe I'll modify 'em into wake-surfing skiis and we can catch the next solar storm to Saturn. I hear the weather's great this time of stellar-cycle."
"Be careful of its moons," Ratchet said mildly, "I hear there's some potent crystal formations on one of them." He quirked a optic ridge at the inventor. "Yes, I am listening. Were you going somewhere with this?"
"Naw." Wheeljack continued to examine the pieces of armour and plating. "It just occurred to me ... you and me, we see all of this stuff as couplings and screws and bits of code on the monitors, 'cause that's how we're used to lookin' at it. But Prime," the inventor tapped a finger on the lime-green panel and pointed to the prone figure on the berth, "Prime sees all of this when it's put together, and thinks of where the whole thing fits in. Where all of us fit in, you know what I mean?"
Ratchet paused in his work. "Be that as it may," he said slowly, "there's something to be said for seeing the bits and pieces and actually knowing how it works. And what I saw yesterday," he finished tersely, "was a complete personality lockup. I wasn't expecting it, I don't know what caused it, but I mean to find out and I don't mean to let her out of this room again until I fix it."
"Isn't that a little extreme?"
"You want her to turn out like the Dinobots?"
Wheeljack frowned above his blast-mask. "Hey now, that was under completely different circumstances."
The soldering gun clattered to the table. "I'll tell you what," the medic said. "Why don't I go work on the programming, and you take care of this? Then we can avoid any extremities."
Once again, anyone else might have thought he had just been royally snarked off. But Wheeljack had known Ratchet since before the red-and-white mech had become Prime's CMO, back when he'd been just a battlefield medic and had forcibly recruited the engineer to help him bring back wounded from across enemy lines. It was frustration and not anger that had sparked the other 'bot's temper.
"Maybe it wasn't a lockup," the inventor suggested, taking up the soldering gun while the other 'bot moved to the medical console. "Maybe she was just tuckered out. It was a big day, after all. The programming's probably fine, Ratch."
Ratchet's expression told him he should have known better. "Shall I spell it out? She randomly processes recognition with no pattern," the medic ticked off on his fingers, "she switches between different behavioural aspects with little reason or warning, and she froze up completely after a period of slightly elevated stress. Does any of this sound like it might need fixing to you?"
"That could just be her personality, couldn't it?"
At first Ratchet didn't respond. Then, "How many protoforms have you been around, 'Jack?"
It didn't sound a loaded question. There seemed to be genuine curiosity behind it. "A lot," the inventor answered warily. "I did an internship building protoform shells for one of the Iacon City assembly lines, back in my Academy days. You knew that."
"But how many protoforms did you see sparked?" Ratchet pressed. "How many did you actually give their initial programming?"
Wheeljack blinked. "I, uh ... none, actually. I was involved in doing secondary upgrades later on, but that's ..."
"Not the same." Ratchet's fingers drummed on the console. "Maybe it wasn't a lockup," he conceded. "Maybe there really is no glitch. Maybe it'll be fine if I don't change anything. Or maybe it won't," he said pointedly. "There's a difference between having one's personality quirks develop over time, and having them hardwired into the processor," he tapped the side of his helm. "So call me crazy, but I want to make sure this one has at least a chance of developing semi-normally, even if it means I lose a little recharge. Or you do."
Something about the medic's tone piqued Wheeljack's curiosity. "You really know a lot about this stuff," he remarked.
The other barked a laugh. "It's my job, isn't it?" he said. "Between you and me," he added, suddenly back to his wry self, "I'm going by my fragging backseat here. So throw me an energon goodie once in a while, will you?"
Wheeljack laughed, and actually did pull a box out of his shoulder compartment to toss at the medic's head.
Even before he reached the doors to medbay, Hound knew something was already going on inside. Next to Jazz and Blaster, he had the best audios of their entire company and from the sound of it, "the Hatchet" was in full force today. He was wondering if maybe Wheeljack were available for some body-work instead when he was distracted by the sound of very small, very distinct footfalls down the halls.
"Well slap me with a bumper sticker," he grinned as the slender female human rounded the corner. "I'd know that cute little face anywhere." The army Jeep leaned down on one knee closer to the smaller figure clinging to the woman's hand. "Hey Daniel, how's your mom?"
Carly Witwicky laughed as her son ducked shyly behind her leg. "Hi, Hound. It's been a while, hasn't it?"
It was a token to how used to this world he'd become that Hound didn't even have to remind himself that 'a long time' to humans was hardly any time at all to an Autobot. "It sure has," he agreed. "Look how much bigger he is!" he said wistfully at the small human, who was taller than his mother's knee. "You were still carryin' him around last time you were here."
"They grow fast at this age," Carly smiled. "Don't worry, it'll slow down soon. He'll take years to become as old as Spike and I were when we met you."
A few years to an Autobot were really nothing, but Hound had begun to break down time differently since waking up on Earth. Days, months and years were replacing orns and vorns in his internal chronometer. "That's good," he told Carly. "We don't get to see you guys as much anymore."
"We try to make time to bring Daniel here," Carly said, tugging the boy's arm so he swung back and forth between he hand and his grip on her leg, which he seemed to enjoy. "Especially now that he's a little older. But between my parents living in Michigan, Spike's job and my work at the University, it's getting hard to find a day free to make the trip. Where are you headed, if I may ask?"
"To Ratchet's. Want a lift?"
"Love one."
Still grinning, the green Autobot cupped both hands together for Carly to sit on. She plunked Daniel down in her lap and held him firmly as they were lifted up. The boy squealed and bounced excitedly as the floor vanished below them.
Hound laughed at the little human's antics. He remembered first seeing Daniel only a few days after he'd been born. All he'd been able to do then was stare up at the scout and make gurgling noises. Watching him grow and change over the past couple years, after having watched his parents grow up already, Hound could almost see ahead to the person he'd eventually become. The process held no end of fascination for him.
"Is he talking much more?"
"Some." Carly took one of her son's hands from his mouth. "Say hello to Hound, sweetie."
The boy removed his other hand and said, "hi, hown'," before promptly sticking his fingers back in his mouth.
The Jeep laughed in delight. "Hey there, Dano. Careful not to swallow those."
Carly tilted her head, and Hound realized they were close enough to the medbay that she could hear the noise now too. "What's going on in there?"
"Beats me," he shrugged, adjusting his hands so it didn't jar his passengers. "Sounds like I may have to wait my turn."
The door to the medbay was closed. The medbay was never closed unless some kind of important or delicate operation was going on inside and from the sound of it, whatever 'delicate operation' was currently underway was not going according to plan.
"Maybe we should come back," Carly suggested.
Hound was inclined to agreed, but curiosity got the better of him and he elbowed the door chime anyway. Almost right away, the doors slid open and a disgruntled Ratchet nearly stormed straight into him.
The medic did a quick backstep, but the snarling sound emanating from his engine sputtered when he saw who it was. "Oh, it's you. Prowl said you were on your way. You're walking, so you can fragging well turn around and —" His optics fell to the scout's passengers. The sputtering was replaced with a surprised rev, and the medic's glower with a genuine smile. "Carly. Primus, it's good to see you again. How are you?"
The medic had gone from twitching time-bomb to quiet composure in the flip of a gyroscope. Hound bit back a laugh. He had forgotten Ratchet had created that subroutine that kept his temper in check around Spike and Carly's offspring. That meant no elevated voice levels, no sudden movements and absolutely no throwing things so long as Daniel was anywhere near. It even kept some of his legendary snark in line. Hound was suddenly doubly grateful for their unexpected visit, and quickly filed away a reminder to do something really nice for Carly sometime soon.
"Hello, Ratchet," she smiled at him. She knew about the subroutine as well, and was always very appreciative. "Is this a bad time? It sounded ... active in here."
"Ah ..." he gave afurtive look behind him and snorted. "No, no, just ... busy with something. Don't just stand there, Hound," he drew back to let the Jeep pass. "You can come in, but you'll have to wait until 'Jack and I are finished here."
"That's alri —" he started to say, when the sight inside the 'bay threw the words out of his processor.
Wheeljack was seated on one of the medical berths, a collection of outer plating in various sizes and shapes strewn around him. He was holding up a piece of the lime-green armour and looked to be measuring it against the ... something that was clinging with all four limbs to his other arm.
Hound set Carly and Daniel down on one of the empty berths. "Is that ..."
"The piece of salvage we pulled out of the wreckage three weeks ago? Yes," Ratchet snorted. He looked up from his datapad in sudden suspicion. "How did you know about that? You were in radio silence when that happened. Did I miss a briefing?"
Hound shook his head, still watching the odd scene before him. "The comms were buzzing about it as soon as we got back into range," he said. "I didn't quite know what to think ... but I wasn't expecting this." He had honestly never seen anything quite like this little construct. What were those cables sprouting from its head?
Ratchet muttered something about turning Blaster into a toaster oven. Wheeljack finally looked up.
"Heya Hound, hey Carly," he said cheerfully, setting aside one piece, picking up another and holding it up to the little 'bot's exposed shoulder joint. "Long time no see."
"You look a mite incapacitated, 'Jack," Hound remarked, grinning. On the berth beside him, Carly held Daniel and watched in complete fascination. She knew, of course, exactly what wreckage Ratchet was referring to, but whether she had any more information than he did, Hound couldn't have said.
"Aw, this is no problem," the inventor waved his free hand. "Ratchet's new programming specs went a little haywire, that's all." He winked at the medic. Wheeljack was also aware of the medic's parental subroutine and its effect on his colleague's disposition.
Ratchet growled, tapping away at the datapad with his stylus. "Those programming specs were supposed to take care of the shyness."
"Apparently they turned her from shy to space barnacle." Even with half his face covered by the blast mask, Wheeljack looked utterly amused.
"So I may have overcompensated. I'll fix it."
"Take your time," 'Jack said happily, picking up another piece of plating. "She's sittin' still for this. Ain'tcha?"
It was a 'she', Hound marvelled. Half her face was hidden behind Wheeljack's arm as she gazed up at her captive, clearly loving the attention he was giving her. She chirped in response.
Looking as though he were grinning from audio to audio behind the ever-present blast mask, Wheeljack gestured to the scout. "Hound and Carly, meet Dirtbike. She's been online ... oh, about a day or so."
Ratchet made a sound not unlike an overladen load-bearing crane. "I wish you wouldn't use that name, Wheeljack."
"What? It's what Ironhide calls her." Wheeljack tapped her on the head with a piece of green plating. "She likes it. Don'tcha, Dirtbike?"
Another happy chirp was the answer. Ratchet snorted and turned around, clearly not amused.
Grinning, Hound took a step closer. "Hi."
He expected another answering chirp. Instead the face turned to look at him, then pulled back behind Wheeljack again. And giggled.
Carly burst into laughter. Even though she was only one berth away, the little femme looked around in confusion before finally noticing the human. Her optics went wide and then narrowed to tiny points of light.
"Hello there," Carly called, leaning forward and shifting Daniel so she could wave with one arm.
"She's not talking much today," Wheeljack supplied. "We can't figure why."
"She's also not listening much either," Ratchet quipped over his shoulder. "Are you almost done, 'Jack?"
"Just about."
"Then do you mind entertaining Carly for a bit while I deal with Hound's shocks? I've run enough fr– ... blasted diagnostics today to make my optics fritz."
"Oh, you don't need to Wheeljack," Carly said, still holding onto Daniel (Hound figured it was safer, considering how high off the floor the berth was). "I'm happy just to watch."
"It's not a problem," Wheeljack assured her cheerfully. The inventor slid off the berth, his passenger willingly coming with. Undeterred, Wheeljack reached around her with his other hand. "Hold on a tick," he said, pressing somewhere in the mess of wires on her uncovered back. She gave a little twitch and suddenly lost her grip on his arm.
Carly looked alarmed. "That didn't hurt her, did it?"
"No," Ratchet said, as Wheeljack set her down, optics flickering in surprise, on the floor. "Just temporarily interrupted her motor relay." He turned to Hound. "Well, what are you waiting for?"
Obligingly, the scout slid onto an empty berth. There was only so far he was willing to push the limits of that subroutine, after all. "Has it been like this for very long around here?"
Ratchet's engine grumbled. "Oh, don't get me started."
"You've picked a rather eventful time to visit us," Oprimus Prime said.
Spike Witwicky looked up at his boyhood hero and couldn't help cracking a smile reminiscent of his younger self. "So I've been hearing. The media is tearing you guys apart right now. That's kind of why we're here." He kept a brisk pace alongside Prime, knowing the red and blue Autobot had deliberately slowed his walk through the corridor to accommodate the human who stood barely half as high as his shinguard.
"Carly said she wanted to bring Daniel back to visit again," he went on, "but she's been strongly hinting we should become more ... officially involved in this."
Prime rumbled. "I appreciate the support, my friend."
"But." The word didn't have to spoken aloud for Spike to hear it.
"But, I'm not certain it would do any good." They reached the lookout that peered out over the entrance to the base and across the forest that sprawled at the base of Mount Saint Hilary. "And if the recent event in Portland is any indication," he continued, "I'm afraid it would put your family at unnecessary risk."
Spike leaned on the edge of the wall-sized lookout opening and shrugged. "Never stopped us before. And the Autobots have been without a human liaison since Daniel was born."
"Hmm," Prime chuckled. "Not for lack of trying. I know the Twins took great pride in driving off anyone they considered 'unworthy' for the position." He sobered. "I could not impose this on you, Spike, or on Carly and Daniel especially. Your family is very important to us."
The human chuckled. "We need to redefine the term 'imposing'. You have to admit, it would make things easier for you guys right now, to reopen a formal embassy in the Ark. Patch up some strained relationships with the human race, ease some of that political tension ..."
"It would," Prime agreed.
"Seriously, Optimus," Spike said, and suddenly Prime caught a flash of that curly-haired teenager, excitable, steadfast and eager to please. The man before him, with the brown tie and jacket and the shadow of a beard, still bore that expression of dependability. "Say the word, and we're back. I know dad wouldn't mind a bit, and as for Carly ... well, you know where we all stand. That's all I'm saying."
"I understand, and thank you, Spike."
Spike sighed. "But?"
Optimus looked out from the mountainside and would have smiled if he'd been able. Despite the bite in the air, the landscape was still the deep green of late summer. Off in the distance, a dust cloud signalled the return of a patrol team. Realizing he wasn't going to answer right away, Spike followed his gaze and they stood in thoughtful silence.
"It is a very strange thing," Prime said eventually, "something more than the simple creation of a new being. It is ... less tangible. You, Carly, Daniel ... all of you together have become something that did not exist before. It reminds me that we, who have stayed the same for eons, have also become something else since we woke up here. This kind of change is wondrous ... and extremely precious."
"Yeah," the human said quietly. "Yeah, it is."
"Your first responsibility, our first responsibility, is to preserve that," the Autobot leader said softly. "I have already seen so much lost or damaged beyond repair. We need to protect what is new, to give it the chance to grow. Someday, it will heal what we've broken."
Spike had no answer, and so they stood together and watched the dust cloud grow nearer, eventually forming into a pair of Lamborghinis swerving back and forth as they raced each other back to the base.
"You know," the human said with a smirk. "You like to segue an awful lot."
"I'm good at it."
"If you change your mind?"
"You'll be the first to know." Prime bent down on one leg and rested his arm over his knee. "Now, it has been far too long since I've seen you, my friend. Tell me more about your family."
At Carly's scream, Ratchet let the tool he held clatter right into Hound's innards and spun around.
It was a klik before his processor caught up to the scene before him. A few moments before, Wheeljack had taken a seat on the floor with Carly and her son, and Dirtbike had somehow been persuaded not to wrap herself around any of Wheeljack's limbs again. As he'd begun work on Hound's injury, Carly had managed to get her attention and had engaged the little femme in a game of 'patty-cake'. The inane singsong and bubbling laughter had been suddenly interrupted by a sound halfway between a gasp and a shriek, and it only took that klik for Ratchet to realize why.
Dirtbike was holding Daniel.
Ratchet's motor hitched. The little 'bot clutched the boy in both hands and was emitting excited, high-pitched chirps, not unlike when she'd been clinging with all her strength to Wheeljack's arm.
The medic was two strides across the medbay floor before anyone could even twitch. Dirtbike let out a startled yelp when his fingers jabbed into her back with practised precision, his other hand curling around to catch the child as her arms went limp. Carly gasped again, this time in relief, as Ratchet cradled her son safely in the palm of his hand, the other firmly latched onto Dirtbike's exposed shoulder struts.
Wheeljack, who hadn't dared move while still in her line of sight, let out a heavy vent of air. "I ... I don't know where that came from," he said, sounding thoroughly shaken. "She just ... grabbed him."
Ratchet held Daniel out for Carly, who gratefully scooped her son back into her arms and proceeded to give him a thorough pat-down. Gripping Dirtbike like a human would a cat, Ratchet yanked her to her feet and dragged her back across the 'bay, away from the humans and back to the berth she had occupied before. His systems were practically grinding in fury and it was only that subroutine, installed for Daniel's sake, that kept him from verbally tearing her apart from up one side and down the other. Regardless, right now he was going to put her straight back into stasis, strap her to that berth and keep her there until he found whatever bit of fragged-up glitch code that had possessed her to try such a ...
"Ratchet!"
Carly's voice snapped him out of his furious haze. Her face was still pale, but he could see her heart rate was rapidly lowering. She held her son tightly and stared at the medic, aghast. Hound, on the nearby berth, was also staring as well as he could around the bulk of his own chest. Wheeljack still hadn't moved from the floor.
"Ratchet," Carly said again, her voice strained. "What are you doing? Let go of her!"
He stopped in his tracks. Dirtbike struggled frantically in his grip, her tiny hands scrabbling at his fingers. "Primus, what does it look like I'm doing?" he sputtered, the heat from his snarling engine making his vocalizer crackle. "She could have hurt Daniel! If it were anyone else, I'd've torn their motor relay out!"
Carly straightened to her full height, which seemed more imposing than it had a right to be, considering the scale of her surroundings. "Daniel is fine," she said gently, cradling the boy firmly in one arm and striding forward until the medic had to crane his head down to look at her. "Let her go, Ratchet. You're hurting her."
He was about to protest that he was doing no such thing, when a second, higher-pitched whine reached his audios. Dirtbike was squirming and tugging frantically at his grip, squealing in distress. His hand snapped open in reflex and she went sprawling to the floor. Scrambling backwards until she hit the wall, she curled up and huddled against it, her systems making pathetic little hitching noises.
He did a quick surface probe with his built-in medical scanners. "She's fine," his said gruffly, his systems beginning to cool. "Just agitated. I need to put her in stasis."
Carly frowned. "What? What do you need to do that for?"
"What for? To find out what just happened!"
To his surprise, Carly laughed. The sound was quite sudden and strained. She held Daniel a little closer. "It was a mistake, Ratchet. We should have been watching her more carefully."
Ratchet's optics narrowed at her calm, if shaken, tone. Daniel was indeed fine; he'd done a split second scan the moment the boy had been in his hands and aside from some elevated excitement, he was unaffected by the entire ordeal. Still, the medic thought Carly of all people ought to understand just how badly that 'mistake' could have ended for her tiny, squishy offspring.
"Carly," he said, deeply serious. "If there was a mistake, it was mine. I underestimated her programming defects. I should have put her back offline the moment you two came in. I'm sorry."
Carly stared at him, mystified. "'Programming defects'? Ratchet, what are you talking about?"
He made an effort to fully calm his agitated systems. "I don't think you understand," he explained gently. "I didn't get a chance to explain. She needs a lot of work done on her processor before she can be considered normal. Right now she isn't functioning like the rest of us, like ..." he gestured in frustration, grasping for a suitable comparison. "Like a human with a mental deficiency. Her mind isn't working the way it should be."
Carly's mouth formed a small 'o' of surprise and, and for a moment he was satisfied she understood him. But then her face melted into an expression of utter disappointment and she slowly shook her head. "Oh, Ratchet," she said with deep admonishment. "She's not deficient, she's a child."
Ratchet felt something in his gears grind nicely to a halt. Had this been anyone else, he would have assumed her maternal hormones were getting the better of her. "Carly, Cybertronians don't have children," he said with tightly reigned exasperation. "You know that. We're created through a manufacturing process."
She gave him a sideways look that, when she had been younger, would usually have been accompanied by an indignant 'duh'. "Of course I know that," she huffed, "and that isn't what I meant. She's what you call a 'sparkling', isn't she?"
His optics narrowed. "It's not the same thing."
Wheeljack chose that moment to jump in. "A sparkling is a newly sparked protoform," the inventor supplied. "They're fully functional, but they tend to be a little ..." he trailed off when Ratchet glared solidly in his direction.
"She's not that either," the medic argued. "Protoforms are fully completed on the assembly lines before they're even sparked, for Primus' sake. All they lack is task-specific upgrades and experience. She didn't even start out with basic programming routines. What do you think I ... we've been doing for the past three weeks? It's going to take months of work to get her up to spec."
The woman shook her head. "You're missing my point, Ratchet. It doesn't matter how she was made, it matters that she's still growing."
The medic fought the urge to grind his dental plates. "She'll be growing via a system of periodic upgrades and information packages, not through a process of cellular reproduction."
Carly sighed. "Potato, potahto. Hold Daniel."
Ratchet's hands were waiting to receive the boy almost as soon as she held him out. As much as he would have blamed the subroutine for that, he was intensely fond of the Witwicky family and Carly's unflinching trust in allowing him to handle her child never failed to evoke that response. He curled his fingers securely around the infant and watched in apprehension as his mother walked calmly across the floor to where Dirtbike still huddled against the wall.
Wheeljack stood and came closer, just in case, and both of them stood ready for the first sign that their human friend was in danger. Hound kept his optics on the scene, though knew better than to try and get up with his chest cavity exposed and Ratchet within hurling distance, Daniel or no Daniel.
Carly ignored all of them. She reached up to gently stroke the hands the little 'bot had clasped over her head, murmuring in a low sweet voice. The words would have been muted to human ears, but Cybertronian audios picked them up clearly. They watched as she continued to reassure the small femme that everything was alright, she wasn't in trouble, no one was mad at her ...
Frowning, Ratchet reached for the datapad on the berth next to him, tucking the stylus into the hand that held Daniel. The medbay sensors confirmed his own scanning systems. Dirtbike's stress levels were decreasing steadily.
Another sound distracted him and he looked down at his other hand. Daniel was happily chewing on the end of the stylus, which was roughly the size of a baseball bat to him. Ratchet glared petulantly at the child's innocent face. That particular stylus already bore marks from a much larger set of teeth.
Carly cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. She stood at his feet again. Dirtbike was still crouched against the wall, but she had uncurled herself and was watching him with very large, plaintive optics.
"Alright," he conceded. "You may be onto something here."
She smiled and shook her head ruefully. "Why, thank you, Ratchet," she said sweetly. "Now apologize to her."
There was a very long, silent moment while Hound and Wheeljack watched the medic digest that statement. "What?" he finally said.
Carly crossed her arms. "You," she said, "will apologize," she enunciated the word carefully, "to her."
She pointed to Dirtbike, who shifted her optics from him to the yellow-haired human and back again.
"You must," Ratchet bit off, "be joking."
If she had looked disappointed before, her face now eclipsed that entirely. "I am very serious, Ratchet," she said. "You've upset her terribly. Now fix it."
He caught himself sending a furtive look to Wheeljack, who only put up his hands as if to say 'oh no, I'm not getting into the middle of this'. Dirtbike hadn't so much as twitched, but her tension levels were beginning to rise once more.
Carly's foot began to tap on the metal floor, and Ratchet realized with a sinking feeling in his tanks that this was one argument he was not going to win.
"I swear, I have never seen anything like it."
Blaster hmm'd at his friend. "I get the drift," he warbled.
Tracks rambled on. "They just ... swarmed me, like ... like insects," he shuddered. "What could have possessed them to try something like that? As if they could have done any damage to me ...hurling those sticks and stones around like savages."
"Sounds to me like those stones broke a few bones, homes."
The red face pinched into a petulant look at Blaster's easy speech. "It isn't funny, Blaster. What if I'd been a Decepticon? We'd be scraping them up off the street like so much overcooked bacon." He shook his head in irritation. "Idiots, that's what they are. Silly fools, all of them."
"I get it," Blaster drained the last of his cube and tossed the container over his shoulder into the reclamation bin. "We are well and truly in the doghouse with the humans, my friend." He tapped one of his audio horns. "What you think I been hearin' on the airwaves from San Fran' to Louisian'? We are number one on the top ten to hate right now."
"It isn't right," Tracks grumped, morosely swirling the liquid in his own untouched cube.
"Cheer up, brother," Blaster knuckled his friend on the wing. "It'll blow over. Always does. You can't keep this kind of cool off the charts forever."
The Corvette made some non-committal grumble and fell into a gloomy silence, leaving Blaster to focus his attention on the rest of the rec room, which he did gladly. Turning up his audios, Bumblebee's warm, easy laugh reached him from where he sat with Spike, the two of them chatting as though they'd last seen each other only yesterday and not several months ago. Across the room at the gaming consoles, the Twins were arguing about whose high score beat out the other's, Sideswipe's crash record on Twisted Metal 2 or Sunstreaker's kill list on Quake. From the table next to him, Hound, Trailbreaker and Jazz suddenly burst into such raucous laughter that half the room, including Tracks, turned to see what was so funny.
"Did he ..." Jazz wheezed, his voice crackling with static, "... did he actually?"
Hound couldn't stop giggling. "He did, too. I couldn't believe it. She had him by the ... oh, what's the saying?"
"'By the balls'," Jazz supplied, grinning. Trailbreaker guffawed and hunched over his drink.
"By the balls," Hound chortled, raising his cube to Jazz. "That's it exactly. Primus," he snickered.
The three of them let their mirth run its course before settling back down with a collective sigh. Jazz nudged Hound on the shoulder.
"So spill, m' mech," he prodded. "What's it look like?"
"She," Hound corrected. "She looks ..."
A startled shout and a loud clang had every head turn to the open door. Blaster, being at one of he closest tables, got to his feet first. Several others followed to see what the commotion was.
Mirage was backed up against the corridor wall, the blue and white spy holding one leg out in the air. The reason for this, Blaster assumed, was the small green thing that was latched onto the limb and chirping excitedly.
Hound pushed through next to Blaster, and let out a laugh when he saw what was going on. "Like that," he said to Jazz. While the doorway crowded with more onlookers, Mirage sent a plaintive, questioning look to the scout.
Still grinning, Hound gestured to the spy's leg. "Mirage, this is Dirtbike. I think she likes you."
To his credit, Mirage didn't try to shake his passenger off. He straightened, still holding his leg at an angle, his masked face struggling to regain some kind of composure. "How nice," he managed finally.
Running footsteps announced Ratchet a second before he rounded the corner, Wheeljack close behind him holding Carly in his hand. The medic slid to a stop at the crowded rec room door and vented a sigh of relief.
"Oh good," he said. "She didn't lock up again."
"I told you," Carly chimed.
Wheeljack's headfins flashed merrily. "Looks like she made a friend."
Muffled snickers came from the room behind him, and this time Blaster added his own. This was the funniest thing he'd seen in weeks. Incidentally, he had been recording the entire scene from the moment he was at the door.
Mirage stared down at the rapidly chirping little 'bot that had claimed his leg. He started to reach for her, then pulled his hand back, unsure. He looked helplessly at the medic. "Ratchet?"
The glare he got was enough to melt glass. "Keep your transistors in line. I'll fix it."
End Chapter 3: Fixing It
A/N: It consistently annoys me in fics when the 'bots are written as though they are human, with words like "creator" and "sparkling" in place of "parent" and "child". If that's the way the author chooses to interpret it that's fine. But I don't see it that way at all. There is a drastic difference in the two walks of life and Dirtbike doesn't fit into either of them. Thus Ratchet's difficulty in understanding how to deal with her.
Feel free to review if you want to discuss further, or even tell me I'm full of horse ploppins' ...XD
