Chapter Seven

Maybe Similar

Ratchet's tires spun effortlessly on the asphalt, faithfully pulling his bulk through the city. His scanners were on full alert, searching for anything thing that might be the missing human. He felt a tickle from his passenger seat as the turtle shifted lightly.

Mikey stared out the window, watching the buildings rush by. They were headed to one of the Safe Houses deep within the city's centre. It wouldn't take them long to reach it yet Mikey spaced out willingly.

He was running on less than three hours of sleep and he was still suffering from blood loss. His body was beginning to protest moving, soreness seeping deep into his bones. The gashes and various other wounds he had gained from the fight the night before were really starting to hurt on top of him being tiered, sore, and hungry.

Mikey did not want to be riding in an alien robot car. He did not want to be driving through one of the busiest parts of the city. He did not want the constant images of April's mangled, torn and massacred body flashing through his head.

He let out a defeated sigh, sinking lower into the seat.

Ratchet turned his sensors inwards and scanned the humanoid for the cause of its sudden stress. Organics could be so troublesome at times. Yet as he scanned it, Ratchet found himself in silent admiration of the terrapin. Even a seasoned Autobot warrior would be staggering on his feet if they where suffering from such exhaustion and wounds.

"You should recharge."

Mikey looked at the steering wheel blankly. "What?"

"You should recharge. Shut down your systems. Rest."

Mikey blinked slowly. That single word sounded so sweet to his pounding ears. He could feel his eyelids droop from the mere thought of sleeping. He shook his head, looking back out the window for something to keep his attention. Anything to keep him awake.

"Can't," he murmured lazily, "April…need to look for her…could be hurt…" He struggled to keep his eyes open, focusing on counting how many different neon light colors he could see as they sped through downtown.

The heater rumbled to life, letting warm air rush into the car.

Mikey felt his body relaxing and his head rolled back exhaustedly onto the headrest.

"Sleep kid. I'm not going to let anyone work themselves sick." Ratchet turned the heat up slightly and angled his heat vents directly towards the fatigued humanoid. He watched Mikey sink deeper into his passenger seat, mumbling softly about needing to help the human they were tracking.

"I'll search. You sleep," Ratchet coaxed one last time in a low rumbling voice. Satisfyingly, his passenger drifted off to sleep, curling up slightly into his door.

Ratchet turned his focus back onto the road. He was slowly gaining respect for the organics of this planet. They always seemed to prove him wrong at every turn with their courage and improvising.

Especially these new creatures. He could see that this particular one had been through a fair share of battles and hardships. He was used to pain and pushing through fatigue. He wondered briefly about the battles the turtle must have seen.

Ratchet's engine revved angrily. So many scars on a creature so young. It was like meeting Bluestreak all over again.

The young gunner had been the only survivor of Iacon, a marvelous city destroyed by a Decepticon raid, and had also been so very young. Only a few years older than a sparkling when he joined the Autobots.

The Safe House came into view. It was an old apartment building with boarded windows, obviously having been left to the mercy of the elements long ago. Several areas of the roof was beyond decrepit and had caved in on itself, taking with it several areas of the surrounding walls.

Ratchet shut off his headlights to keep his presence as hidden as possible. He rolled quietly to the entrance and slowly scanned the area. He picked up a few organics, mostly rodents and insects, but nothing even remotely human.

He let air his out through his vents like a sigh. Nothing human was anywhere above, below or around within the confines of the Safe House.

With a soft click, he radioed Prime.

"Prime, nothing at location one. Nothing has even been disturbed to indicate human activity within the last twenty-four hours."

He heard Optimus sigh. "Very well Ratchet. Return to the turtle's base. You need to recharge."

"The…turtle's base sir?"

"Yes. Their leader Splinter has offered to lend us sanctuary within their home. The place we found Sam and Michaela is right above their lair."

"Ah. Very well Optimus." Ratchet glanced inward at the sleeping humanoid. "Um, Prime Sir, please tell their commander that this one is in deep recharge. He will need to be cared for as soon as we arrive."

Optimus chuckled softly. "I will tell him. Thank you Ratchet."

Ratchet rolled back and drove back the way he came. He kept to the human laws of speed, only allowing himself to go five miles over the speed limit. Languidly, he flipped through the radio stations.

He always wondered what Jazz found so entertaining about Earth's music. It wasn't that Cybertron didn't have its own version of music. It was just that his race never used words in their music. It was all sounds. Each was like a voice of its own, expressing what the musician wanted to be said.

Words were never necessary.

He missed the old songs from the Golden Age. It seemed that no one could remember what exactly pure Cybertronian music had sounded like. When even Jazz had failed to find any remaining sound disks from the Golden Age he had realized the old Cybertron was lost for good.

Ratchet turned off the radio and continued to drive down the street, lowly humming to himself an old sparkling lullaby, musing about his past. Something he hadn't dared thinking about since the Twins— those two slaggers having reminded him the most of his sparklinghood— were separated from their unit vorns ago.

Ratchet rumbled sadly. He would never admit it to anyone but he missed those two bots. They were like his own creations.

"So your scanners work using a highly evolved version of infrared?" Don asked animatedly, mentally thinking of all the inventions he could create and/or improve using the Autobot's technology. He felt like a just hatched turtle at Christmas!

Bumblebee made a twittering thrill, a sparkling version of a laugh. He would never had made such an embarrassing noise if any of his comrades had been around to hear him but with Don he felt more at ease. It was odd, it was the same feeling he had when he was with Sam.

Don smiled at the unusual twitter sound. He could only guess it was a robot version of a laugh from the light tone to it.

"Yeah. You sound like you've never thought of it before."

Don looked offended. "No! I have thought about it! I've just never had the resources to create something so advanced! I would jump at a chance to analyze how your system works!"

Bumblebee flinched as unwanted images of him being jabbed by electric rods held by humans in masks with an S7 on their chests flashed through his processor.

"Ah, well, I'm sure Ratchet would let you see the blueprints. I would rather you not take apart my gun though."

Don blinked in surprise and smacked himself. He realized how his last sentence must have sounded to the alien. He shuddered. He had sounded just like Bishop.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Bumblebee, I'm sorry. I should have thought over my words before saying that."

Bumblebee's radio turned down a bit. "It's fine Don."

The robot's voice was low, timid even.

Don shook his head. "No, it's not. I know what it's like to be somewhere you don't belong and to have the constant fear of someone finding out your secret. I've almost been dissected— taken apart — a few times myself. The fear when I cut it that close is…" he took a breath. "It isn't pleasant."

Silence fell over the two allies. Don's thoughts kept traveling back to when he had been trapped by Bishop along with Leatherhead, Splinter and his brothers. That had been terrifying. Silently, he wondered if Bumblebee had ever been in a situation like that.

Of course he has, Don berated himself. Bumblebee was a soldier, albeit a robot, a soldier nonetheless fighting in an age old war far beyond Don's comprehension. He probably had faced more weapon-powered enemies then Don had seen in his whole life.

Being a ninja, Don was used to close combat. The base rules of keep close, strike fast and get out were all that applied to his fighting style. But giant robots probably had a different way of fighting. Most likely it involved shooting each other from across a battle field or at point blank. Don knew from experience that guns were nasty business. The wounds left were harder to treat then a clear slice from a sword or a hole from a wayward kunai.

"When you fight, do you ever feel afraid?"

Don looked at the steering wheel. He wasn't sure where else to look even though talking to the blank steering wheel made him feel more than a little silly. The question had caught him off guard.

"Afraid…?"

"Yeah…afraid…" Bumblebee felt extremely foolish for asking such a question. Of course Don had felt fear during his many battles, but the Camero was feeling depressed and such obvious and rather sparkling-like questions were bound to slip out of his vocalizer.

Don worked the question through his mind a few times. Here was a giant, amazingly powerful robot caring if he, a simple carbon based life form, had ever been afraid during his battles. The irony of the whole thought surrounding such an idea was laughable. But for Bumblebee's sake, he would answer it to the best of his abilities.

"I feel afraid every time I have to fight." Don looked away from the steering wheel and out the robot's tinted windows. Living with Raph and Leo had made him wary of exposing his own fears, especially regarding the fear in a battle.

"I'm a pacifist. I don't like fighting but I have to fight to live. I need to protect my brothers and father when we're attacked by the Foot or anyone else. So I can't just sit back and let fear keep me from fighting but that doesn't mean I want to or enjoy fighting."

Bumblebee let the silence settle before continuing the conversation. It was a touchy subject for both of them and he didn't want to force either one of them to say something they didn't want to.

"That's kind of how I view fighting. I hate this war. It's destroyed my home planet and now we're bringing it to earth." His engine rumbled angrily. This pointless war bothered him to no end. "I've been fighting since I can remember. I'm an Autobot but it still feels wrong. We don't even really have anything worth fighting over anymore but we're still killing each other."

Bumblebee fell silent, bitterness and cold anger welling within him. Decepticon's took everything from him and for what? For domination of Cybertron which lay in ruins and now they wandered the galaxies with no purpose and no point for living. It was all so ridiculous.

"How old were you?"

Don's soft question brought Bumblebee out of his angry musings.

"What?"

"How old were you when you joined the Autobots?"

"A little older then a sparkling. Um," he struggled to find the earth equivalent of the age he had been, "In earth years I would have been twelve but that's just a rough conversion."

"Twelve…?" Don shook his head. What a life. Fighting for your home planet since you were twelve.

If he had been in his mech mode, Bumblebee would have shrugged his shoulders.

"That's the life of an Autobot."

Don sighed. He wasn't sure what to say but he took a blind shot anyway.

"I hope your war ends soon."

Bumblebee watched the road slide by sadly. "Me too."

Optimus slightly leaned back against one of the several thick concrete columns that decorated the turtles' base. He was very grateful that the ceiling was rather high. High enough for him to even stand up comfortably. Even so, he was wary about moving around too much. He was too afraid he might damage something belonging to the humanoids that lived there.

So he settled for sitting, his back against a column and legs pulled in as close to his body as his metal joints would allow.

"Are you comfortable?"

Optimus looked down. The father rat seemed to sense his unease and smiled kindly at him.

"I am called Master Splinter. Please feel free to call me such. Or just Splinter." The rat smiled that same tiered yet kind smile.

Optimus nodded. "Very well Splinter."

"And what, honorable mech, shall I address you as?"

"Uh. Oh. Optimus." Somehow, it didn't seem right to ask Splinter to call him Prime. That was his title not his name and usually only his troops used that name.

Splinter titled his head slightly as if processing the name then nodded slowly. Not in an uncomprehending way but in an old, wise way. The way the elder mechs used to nod back at the Academy.

"Are you comfortable Optimus?"

Optimus nodded. " Yes. Thank you. And thank you for offering your home to us. I was not sure where we would bunk after the Foot destroyed our base."

Splinter' eyes squinted a bit as the smile traveled to his eyes. "It is alright. Our home is open to those who need a place to rest. Besides, I'm sure my sons' enjoy you and your men's company."

Optimus smiled at that. He was grateful he didn't have to worry about the fact they were aliens on a foreign planet with this family of organics. It appeared that they too were in a similar situation.

The elevator connecting the turtle's lair to the garage above clattered open. Ratchet' alt. mode rolled from within and straight into the middle of the room. His passenger door swung open lazily and Mikey stumbled out. He sleepily waved at Optimus and Splinter before heading straight to the stairs leading to the upper rooms.

Splinter watched his son go and then turned to Ratchet. "Please, make yourself as comfortable as you can. If you need anything, please ask. If you will excuse me." He bowed slightly then hobbled away towards a room that resembled a Japanese room. Before he shut the door behind him, he turned to Ratchet once more. "You may call me Splinter my robotic friend."

The door closed softly behind him.

After a few minutes, Optimus turned to Ratchet. He searched the old medic's optics with his own looking for the answers he needed.

The medic sighed and glanced away, making Optimus frown.

"Have you found where he is? Any information at all?"

Ratchet shook his head sadly. "No. And from how he fought Bumblebee, I think we're running out of time."

Optimus let out a strangled sigh. "This isn't good."

His hand servos twitched slightly. "As soon as Bumblebee gets back and recharges, I need him to start an all out search for him. We can't let lose him to the Decepticons."

Ratchet nodded. "Understood Prime."

Optimus's optics dimmed. He wasn't sure he wanted to know but he needed to. "Ratchet, truthfully. How much longer does he have?"

Ratchet let air cycle out his vents tiredly. "About one earth week. Maybe less but no longer than that."

Optimus rubbed his facial plates. "We have to find him Ratchet." He looked straight into the medic's optics.

"Tomorrow we find him."