"You wished to see me, Sir."

"You have no need to be so formal, my friend. I know you got back some time ago, but as you can see," the Prime tapped a datapad, " I've been busy."

Ultra Magnus relaxed his posture slightly; was that also reference to Elita's recent return? He decided not to dwell on it. "With all due respect Sir, it is no trouble."

"How goes the search then?"

The leader of the Wrecker's faceplates were grave. "Incomplete."

"Did you find anything while you were out there?"

"No."

Surely the keeper of the Matrix had sensed his lie. But Ultra Magnus was loathe to tell him about Draft; the child was simply better off here, even if his own motives were selfish.

"Courier has given me another set of coordinates since you embarked." Optimus said, instead of calling him out like he expected. None of the mysterious Council, the eldest of their race, would ever come in person with things as they were. They sent a trusted messenger from wherever they hid instead, who was simply known by the designation Courier.

Ultra Magnus nodded curtly. "Of course. When do we leave?"

"As soon as possible; we must find it."

"Understood."

"Very well. You're dismissed." Said Optimus, holding back a chuckle. Magnus could play the formality game all he liked, that didn't mean he had to. The way the mech flinched at the conjunction of "you" and "are" was definitely worth it.

Optimus rubbed his optics once he'd gone, getting back to the mountain of paperwork he'd yet to scale; leaders weren't all glory on the battlefield. The fact that Ultra Magnus of all people had just lied to him was...unsettling. Very unsettling. But if the Matrix wanted to conspire with his Fourth then who was he to stop them? Primus alone knew his will.

Meanwhile Ultra Magnus exited the office, which changed location every week depending on Red Alert's mood. He considered: what to do with Draft? He was responsible for him whether they liked it or not, and couldn't very well take the sparkling with him; he needed to stay here and integrate with the troops. But he couldn't stay alone.

Making up his mind as he got in a lift, he commed his mechs,

/Twin Twist, Topspin, Roadbuster, Broadside: Optimus has given me another set of coordinates. Pack and meet in my quarters in a joor, we leave today./

/Yes Sir./ Broadside immediately answered, the kissass. Whirl wined,

/What am I, spare parts? I thought we had something special 'Magsy./

/While we're gone, you can have something "special" with Draft./ Ultra Magnus informed him. Whirl was...the only suitable choice; an unfortunate but acceptable reality. Perhaps keeping track of the idiot while he was away would put them both on a shorter leash.

/Ha! Babysitting duty!/

/Poor Draft./

/Poor Whirl!/

/But Sir!/ Whirl pleaded among the jeers. /You can't leave me with that lunatic! Can't Impactor-/

/Currently on a mission./

/Well surely when he gets back-/

/A long mission./ Ultra Magnus growled. /Just make sure he's taking his rations and functional when I return./

Twin Twist' voice drifted over the comm, /Jeez Magnus, he's not a turbohound./

/You're right, he's worse than a turbohound! That kid is a trouble magnet! Why me?/

/Because I order you to./ Ultra Magnus said with finality. Still Whirl insisted,

/You didn't say Springer. Springer, buddy, my mech, you gorgeous hunk of metal you, you're good with kids. I know deep down you really wanna take this assignment, so out of the goodness of my spark I think I'll let you have it./

/Unicron wouldn't take this assignment./ Springer snorted. /Besides, it looks like I'll be busy with Hot Rod for a while, so you're on your own./

Hot Rod was the sparkling the femmes brought back to base; he'd taken a liking to Springer, and to be honest, it wasn't like the gruff mech hadn't fallen in love with him himself. Though he'd never admit it.

/I swear, we're nothin' more than a babysittin' service./ Whirl lamented, accepting his fate. Draft didn't like him. Like, he really didn't like him. The feeling was mutual.

/Come on, we'll only be gone a groon, tops./ Topspin assured him.

/If that little slag gets me in trouble…./

/That would be hilarious./ Roadbuster chuckled. Ultra Magnus, having given his orders and because Whirl was still talking and generally existing, had already signed off the comm.

/Ooh, ooh, if you're his caretaker, does that mean he gets to call you 'Opi'?/ Topspin sniggered.

/Pretty sure that's an interphase slur on Dirt./ Broadside said, and the chat erupted in laughter.

/Frag you./

/No no, it means you're supposed to frag him. I think. Humans are slaggin' weird./

Whirl huffed, /Hey, the guy's five, even I have standards./

/Please, Perceptor couldn't find your standards with his microscope./ Broadside retorted.

/That's not the only thing he wouldn't find./ Twin Twist teased, and the chat filled with laughter again at Whirl's expense.


Soon.

That single word was all Draft could think of. During the visor surgery, First Aid said he'd given him something that would speed up the repair nanites in his processor - eww - so his stay went from another week to three days. On the second day, Ultra Magnus actually made an appearance (get it, 'cause now he could see?). But he had Whirl with him, of all people.

"I see your recovery is going well." Was the first thing he said, not commenting on the visor. Did he know?

"Yeah." Draft grunted. Ultra Magnus hadn't otherwise visited him this whole time; "guardian" of the year right here. He dimmed his visor at Whirl. "What do you w-want?"

"Nothing to do with you…". He thought he heard the cyclops mutter, but Ultra Magnus talked over him,

"I have a very important mission to complete. Whirl is in charge until I return."

Draft blinked slowly. Then remembered he was wearing a visor.

"No."

"Yes." Whirl giggled, rubbing his pincers together like every cartoon villain ever.

"You can't b-be serious." Draft pleaded. Now of all times the guy grows a sense of humor?

"Why not?

"Because he's crazy!"

"Then you'll get along nicely." Ultra Magnus growled. "You don't have to like it, you just have to live with it."

"Um, that's the p-problem, I'm pretty sure he's going to kill me." Draft said nervously. "Ultra Magnus, please!"

"Hey, I will not kill you!...Much." Whirl said, offended.

"Do you even know what that word means, moron?" Draft hissed. Whirl leaned in closer.

"Would you like to find out?"

"That's enough. Both of you. Draft, stop using that idiotic language." Ultra Magnus snapped, already able to tell this was such a splendid dea. He unsubspaced a stack of datapads and put them on Draft's berth. "I expect these to be finished when I get back."

"What are they?" Draft said. Ultra Magnus raised an optic ridge.

"You still have vorns of schooling to catch up on, or did you think I would forget?"

"Kinda hoping you w-would…."

"I'll be back within the groon." His guardian said, ignoring the grumbled comment and leaving, lest Ratchet come back from the distraction he'd ordered Springer to create and see the three of them.

Draft glared at Whirl when he was gone. "How long even is a groon?"

Whirl winked - or maybe blinked, it was hard to tell on a guy with one optic - and purred, "Long enough." Then he skipped out of the medbay after Magnus like a freaking gazelle.

Great, Draft thought. I'm going to die.

Draft got to dwell on what was likely in store for him because other than that, no one else came to visit, as usual. He decided to distract himself with a hardy game of Tetris. If, no, when he got back to Earth, he decided, he was going to be the Tetris World Champion.

Draft paused some time later when he felt something watching him. He minimized his game of Tetris, only to find there actually was a person watching him. A tiny person.

"Hello?"

The miniature Cybertronian standing in front of him. Alrighty then.

"How are y-you?" Draft tried again, still only receiving a blank stare in return. Okay, getting kinda weird. Then something clicked.

"Are you a...s-sparkling?" He gasped. Didn't what's his face - Rotor-something - say there was a sparkling on base now? So this was what...what a sparkling was. What he was supposed to be. Someone his age, or at least in the ballpark.

Why was this kid just staring at him? He wished he would stop.

"Sorry about that, he's not bothering you, is he?" A white 'bot said, coming over and scooping the sparkling up. Draft shook his head no, then said,

"It's okay. What's his na-designation?"

"Bluestreak" The strangely petite 'bot - at least compared to everyone else he'd met - introduced, shifting him in his arms. "I'm Starwish."

"Draft." Draft said. He thought 'Starwish' was kind of a dumb name for a robot, but he wasn't about to say anything considering his real name was in English. He noticed the shoulder guard insignia. "Are you a medic, or…?"

"Just in training; I was placed under First Aid."

"You r-really lucked out then," Draft told him. "I don't know about the other m-medics here, but he's a good t-teacher."

"Thanks. Are you an apprentice too?" Starwish said, curious.

"N-Not unless being the p-patient counts." Draft smirked. "I'm not smart enough for that." That was the understatement of the corn. No, err, vorn. He didn't even know how his species reproduced.

"So what's wrong with you?" Starwish asked, eyeing him. The grey flyer didn't look injured, though he was kind of cute. What was wrong with his vocalizer?

"Nothing?" Draft said. "W-What's wrong with you?"

"No no no, I meant, um, why are you in the medbay? Sorry I-"

"Kidding." Draft said. "I had accident w-with a tampered datapad, it fried my pro...cessor. What? I got betta'." Draft grinned, though he knew this guy wouldn't get the Monty Python reference. What a shame.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Is that what happened to your vocalizer?"

The flyer blinked. So far no one had called him out on his atrocious Standard to his face. Well, except for Air Raid.

"Yes." Draft sighed. "That's w-why I talk like this."

Starwish suddenly looked up. "Comm." He explained, motioning to one of his triangular audio fins. "I have to go. It was nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you." Draft repeated, watching him go. There was something weirdly feminine about that mech. Whatever it was, it niggled at the back of his processor as he watched him walk away with Bluestreak in tow.


"Is something wrong?"

Draft snapped out of his momentary stupor, having forgotten First Aid was there. Which was impressive, considering the medic was literally right next to him.

"It's nothing." He said lamely. T-minus one more day to go.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Thanks?"

They were walking laps around the medbay, First Aid's hands hovering near in case he decide to take a spill. But Draft felt confident he wouldn't, and First Aid had to keep telling him to slow down because Ratchet didn't like people running in his medbay.

Draft rolled his shoulders as he took swift, steady strides. "Come on, can't I just walk around the base a little? I only have a day left anyway."

It had been two days since he got his visor.

First Aid was silent for a minute, though no less attentive. Decided to say, "It's not like you're technically confined to the medbay, since thanks to me Ratchet barely knows you exist. But what could you do out there that you couldn't in here? Besides the running, which you're not ready for anyway."

"What are you talking about, I am ready for running. Just watch me."

But before he could take off and prove his point in the most annoying way possible, First Aid grabbed his arm. "Do you want him to watch too?"

They both (totally subtle) looked over at Ratchet, who was attending to a green mech across the 'bay. Draft shook his head.

"Point taken. Still, don't you guys have a gym or a private t-training room, or something?"

"First Aid, Blaster busted his shoulder in his quarters, don't ask me how. Go check it out!"

"Yes Sir!" First Aid called automatically, not even glancing up, suspecting that his mentor hadn't bothered to look at him either when he spoke. It wasn't that they like being rude to each other; that was just how Ratchet operated, and First Aid was used to it.

Draft flicked his wings restlessly as First Aid herded him back towards his berth. "Hey, can I come with you?"

"What? No."

"Whyyyyyyy nooooooooot." Draft pouted, sitting down dramatically. First Aid canted his helm.

"That was rather sparkling-like of you."

"M-Make up your minds." The Earth-mech muttered, glaring to the side. It was always Ultra Magnus telling him to stop being a sparkling and then someone else reminding him that he was. The only thing he was right now was bored.

"...Okay."

Wait, what? "Really?"

"Yeah, come on. But don't say much. In fact, it would be best if you didn't say anything at all." First Aid relented, feeling too sorry for Draft. Poor kid was probably bored. And this was probably a mistake.

"Why not?"

"Blaster is a communications mech, and he shares quarters with Jazz, so he's good at picking up on things." First Aid explained, though he knew for a fact that Jazz never used them, it was only an alibi Blaster would back up when needed.

"Oh."

They got in a lift, and Draft eyed the buttons before turning around to watch through the window. He could make out the city in the distance, or what was left of it. People said this base was in Iacon. Was that Iacon?

"It must have b-been beautiful." The flyer said, remembering the destroyed metropolis he'd visited on his like, one patrol off base. He needed to get out more.

"What?"

"That." Draft repeated, pointing out the window. "Is that Iacon?"

First Aid turned to face out like him. "Yes." He said. "And yes, it was. Iacon was our planet's capitol. People called it the "Jewel of Cybertron" for good reason."

That only made Draft sadder. Then he shoved the feeling away; he'd been "born" during this war (however that worked), so it wasn't like he would have gotten to see it anyway. "Did you live there?"

"No, but Ratchet did."

The lift stopped and they got out. Draft noticed there were a lot more doors down the grey hallway than usual. "Where are we?"

"The barracks. Normally you would have been assigned one with another mech or two, but Ultra Magnus felt you might expose yourself."

"Yeah..." Draft hated to agreed, since he hated Ultra Magnus, and eventually First Aid stopped in front of one of the doors. Draft nearly knocked but then remembered again that Cybertronians didn't do that. First Aid was probably pinging him. He was proven right when the door WHOOSHed open to reveal...huh? Another sparkling?

The navy and white sparkling was maybe half again as tall as Bluestreak, and sported mods that could give even Ultra Magnus's bigass shoulder guards a run for their money. He also wore a an orange facemask like First Aid. He was actually kind of cute when you thought about it, like a mini-First Aid, and Draft kneeled down to get more on his level.

"Awww, h-hi little guy! You are soooo cute!"

It took him maybe 2.5 seconds to realize First Aid and the mech were just staring at him in abject horror, and was smart enough to ask, "What?"

First Aid shoved him out of the way, hastily blurting, "I don't think he's ever met a cassette before and we just found out the femmes brought back sparklings. Draft, Eject is an adult."

Oh, snap. Draft felt his cooling fans kick in as he processed what just happened, and his plating heated to supernova levels. "I-I'm so sorry, I t-totally thought you w-were, I mean n-not th-that you really look like, I m-mean…I'll just go kill myself now…."

But to his relief (and infinite embarrassment), the small mech snickered, then giggled, then burst out full on laughing, visor bright.

"It's fine, I got, I get that a lot." He wheezed after a second, still doubled over. "Sometimes. It's, *haha*, fine."

/What did I tell you?!/ First Aid demanded on a private channel.

/Uhhhh...that..Iacon was the jewel of Cybertron?/

/Before that!/

/That in Ultra Magnus's case, it is physically possible to shove a stick up your ass./

/What the- I didn't say that./

/It was implied./

"Come in, come in, Blaster's in the main room." Eject giggled, ushering the pair inside. Draft couldn't help but stare around the well decorated space nearly as big as Hot Spot's quarters, partly out of curiosity and partly because he was too ashamed to look at Eject again. Strange devices he had no name for were arranged on one wall, all the walls of course being painted a myriad of bright colors that weren't exactly easy on the eyes. Wanting to end it all from sheer embarrassment aside, were they sure a sparkling didn't live here? Or at least, had decorated the place?

/What do those things do? Are they weapons?/ Draft asked, too embarrassed to speak Standard anytime soon.

/They're instruments. Don't touch anything. I mean it/

Blaster - whom Draft recognized from the party, he thought the name had sounded familiar - was sitting on the couch, another midget/not-a-sparkling standing on it next to him and messing with his shoulder, practically Eject's twin except that he was jet black. Draft would eternally wonder if facemasked mechs had a face underneath them or if that was their face. He could ask First Aid later.

"Good orn First Aid." Blaster greeted almost apologetically. He grinned at Draft as if he'd heard the blunder outside. "You an apprentice?"

"No." First Aid answered for him. "More like a patient."

/Dude, what's a cassette?/

/I'll explain later, stop distracting me./

/But why are they so small?/

/Shut up./

"Nice to meet ya. I'm Blaster."

"I kno-I mean, I kn-know. I mean, uh, I saw you. At the party. You were good. I'm D-Draft." Draft said haltingly like a complete moron. He wanted to slam his head into a wall. Repeatedly.

"You play?" Blaster asked, having noticed the way "Draft" looked at his collection of (mostly) Cybertronian instruments.

"N-None of th-these."

"What were you even doing?" First Aid interrupted, shining a light into the damaged shoulder components with a transformed finger while poking at it with another. "The joint's completely out of its socket."

Suddenly Blaster's chassis split apart and a yellow, four legged thing jumped out to state, "I'm afraid that part's my fault. We were playing base-trek."

Draft yelped and scrambled back, caught off guard. Was this some kind of practical joke? Was he on camera? What. The. Fuck.

/Draft, relax. You're drawing attention to yourself./

/A cat just popped out of that guy's fucking chest like in Alien! First Aid, it's talking! It's talking! It just said something did you hear that? I can't believe-...!/

First Aid's shoulders were shaking as he tried not to laugh, because he could totally understand where Draft was coming from. Steeljaw did resemble an Earth feline. Though he didn't get what the "alien" reference was about.

"Draft." First Aid said aloud, smothering a giggle. "This is Steeljaw. Another of Blaster's cassettes." The medic turned to his patient. "I'm sorry, he's never met cassettes before."

"That explains why he's looking at me like I just hailed Unicron." Steeljaw said, swishing his tail.

Draft could not believe it was talking.

"It's okay mech, he doesn't bite." Blaster laughed. "Much."

"Only Decepticons." Steeljaw promised. Blaster suddenly flinched when First Aid used the momentary distraction to pop the offending limb back into place. SMACK

"Oww, easy 'Aid. You really are the Hatchet's apprentice." Blaster grumbled, rubbing it.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes." First Aid huffed. "That should do it; but I'd mention it to Ratchet on your next scheduled maintenance."

"Will do. Many thanks."

"Come on Draft. We should head back to the medbay."

Didn't need to tell him twice; this was too freaky. He scrambled to follow First Aid out the door, and when it closed behind them neither of them said anything for a second. That was until Draft made eye (visor) contact, and they both burst out laughing.

When First Aid regained control of himself, he pointed at him. "That's it, you are so "grounded."

"Oh come on! How was I supposed to know? And how come that guy looked like a cat?"

"That's just the way he looks!"

"Well that's just dumb." Draft muttered. Robots that looked like cats? Who came up with this? Might as well have people that looked like birds, or rhinos, or hell, dinosaurs for all the sense that made. They went back to the medbay.


Hello again, been awhile.