A/N: My thanks to Ladydragon76 and lb82, and chaitea16, you guys rock! This chapter is being posted courtesy of Ladydragon, because RL has officially turned to HELL. And I just want to continue to say a huge THANK YOU! to all of you for the continued faves, alerts and reviews. They really inspire me to keep going! ;)
~ Chapter 5 ~
Two Weeks after Maggie's Arrival, Same DayRatchet leaned over the worktable, watching Mikaela as she worked on the large component. Completely absorbed in her task, she gave no sign of being bothered by nearly two tons of living metal hovering just over her head. Mikaela split a large bundle of wires and clamped one section to the side and out of the way.
"Like this?"
"Yes, just like that. Keep going."
"I need another clamp."
Large fingers extended a tiny clamp, and Mikaela took it with a murmur of thanks.
Ratchet watched her progress as she continued, humming under her breath. She made quiet, pleasing sounds while she worked. Ratchet found them to be soothing.
Mikaela paused to look up at him. "Can I see that spec sheet again?"
"Not memorized yet? That was yesterday's assignment."
Mikaela looked back at the component. "I know, and I can visualize almost all the steps, except for right here. I'm drawing a blank."
Ratchet leaned closer. Warm air puffed over her. "I would rather you try without seeing it again. You won't always have access to datapads, or me, so you'll have to rely on your own memory." Ratchet's fingers lifted her arms into position over the component. "I want you to backtrack a few steps through what you've already done, and we'll see if that helps to fill in your blank spot. Unless you've reconsidered my offer to install a memory module."
Mikaela laughed. "I'll get back to you on that."
Ratchet's low chuckle reverberated the plates just behind her head as Mikaela set to work again.
Thirty minutes later, with a little swearing on her part and a little patient coaching on Ratchet's part, and the component was ready.
Mikaela crowed with delight. "I did it!"
"You did it," he agreed, "congratulations on your first refurbish." Ratchet extended a finger to her and Mikaela looked torn between hugging it and patting it. She ended up doing both, and he smiled at her exuberance.
She stepped back and Ratchet activated his anti-contaminant field. The air shimmered around the unit as dust and trace elements were removed.
"Who gets this one?" she asked.
"Ironhide."
"Again? You just replaced one not that long ago."
"That was a secondary unit; his design has several redundant systems. The main one is showing some signs of wear. I'll need to take it out to repair it."
Ratchet picked up the component and ran another scan over it. Wires and cabling began extending from ports on all sides, and then retracted again. The ports vanished, leaving a smooth, featureless block of metal.
"It's ready. I'll let you help me with the installation when Ironhide gets here."
Mikaela's mouth dropped open. "You think he'll let me?" Ironhide barely tolerated Ratchet's medical ministrations.
"Certainly. He needs this unit and you need the training." Ratchet's optics glinted. "I'll bolt him down if necessary. Let's get everything organized now. A good medic always cleans up as soon as the job is done."
Ratchet took out a cloth and began wiping down the work surface, listening to Mikaela hum as she began cleaning her tools. Very pleasant. He paused and looked towards the door.
"They're here."
Ratchet observed them carefully as they entered, scanners registering the telltale signs of stress in the small femme and her large guardian.
Not a proper guardianship at all, and painful to watch, the way Sarah was still uncomfortable with him. She rarely looked him in the optics, or spoke to him other than necessary communications. The small flinch as he stepped past her and into the medbay revealed her discomfort. Ironhide, for his part, revealed nothing at all, yet the insistent prod of guardian instincts demanding the bond be completed had to be goading and frustrating him no end. It was taking its toll; Ratchet could hear the strain, the deep, almost angry hum of tension in his systems.
"Any progress?" Ratchet ran a cursory scan over Ironhide's main system.
"No," Ironhide replied curtly, his attention focused on Sarah, where she stood next to the door talking with Mikaela. Annabelle was on the floor next to her in the carrier, sleeping.
"You need to spend more time with her," Ratchet told him. "Let her get used to you."
"She spends her time in the house," Ironhide said. "Want me to tear the roof off and go in after her?"
Ah. Tension, indeed.
"Hardly," Ratchet replied. "A better idea would be for you to work off some of your frustration. Go out to the target range and blow things up for a while. I'll check Sarah and Annabelle, and finish up with you later."
Ironhide nodded and moved towards the door, when a small squealing sound made him pause and look down. Annabelle was awake, and squealed again, reaching tiny arms up as Sarah bent to lift her. Only Ratchet noticed the way the little femme's eyes tracked Ironhide as he left.
Ratchet opened his comm link to Optimus.
:Are you still planning on speaking to Ironhide?:
:Yes. Is he done there?:
:For now. You can catch up with him out on the target range, and I'd like you to do something for me while you're there:
:What's that?:
:Normally, I wouldn't be suggesting this, but this is Ironhide we're talking about:
:Go on:
:When he's done shooting up the range, I want you to fight him:
:Fight him?:
:Sparring, hand-to-hand, pick a fight with him if you have to, some physical activity will do him good. Help him work off some of that frustration that's playing havoc with his systems:
Silence from Prime's end. Ratchet could almost hear the processors straining.
:You're right, this isn't something I'd expect you to suggest: Prime finally replied.
:He needs it, Optimus:
A soft chuckle across the link had Prime's attention riveting on Ratchet's next words.
:And I have a feeling you're going to need the high-grade I'll have ready and waiting, courtesy of Jazz, after you're done slagging each other. For purely medicinal reasons, of course:
:You think I'm out of practice?:
:Oh, Jazz thinks you can take him. I think you'll be lucky if Ironhide doesn't kick your aft into next week: was Ratchet's cheerful rejoinder. :Have fun, Optimus:
Optimus snorted and transformed, heading out to the target range.
Prime waited silently as Ironhide lined up his shot. The massive black plasma cannon charged with a deep hum, then fired. The target disappeared in a hail of debris and a cloud of smoke, the loud blast echoing from the detonating ordnance.
Perfect.
Prime turned to see Ironhide watching him.
"Are you here to practice or lecture me?"
"Practice." Prime stepped up next to Ironhide and raised his own impressive cannon. "I thought we might talk too."
Prime's first shot was slightly wide of the mark.
He heard a faint, amused sound from Ironhide.
"You need to get out here more often."
"Mmm," Prime agreed, and recalibrated his weapon. "How are your charges?"
"Not good. They are no longer engaged in negotiations; even their fights have stopped. They speak about their offspring and nothing more. The Captain spends a good deal of time with his team, preparing for their next mission."
"And you?"
Ironhide shrugged. "Frustrated. Neither of them understands my role.
In my opinion, you'd have been better off placing a watchdrone in this position."
Prime pondered this as he sighted his weapon again. "It's true their concept of guardian is limited compared to ours."
"Extremely," Ironhide added dryly.
Prime's next shot took out another stack of old ordnance with a resounding boom.
Ironhide nodded approval.
"Better," he said, and Prime lowered his gun and turned to face him.
"Are you sure you want to stay on as guardian?"
"You gave me a job, Optimus. I'm just trying to do it."
"It wouldn't be the first time you told me what I could do with a job either," Prime said.
A huff of amusement from Ironhide. "If not for Barricade sniffing around, I might have told you just that."
"But he did," Prime said, "and now you're a guardian again, or trying to be, and I'm wondering if this is the right course of action."
Ironhide's optics narrowed. "Do you have a problem with how I'm handling things?"
"Not until last week. I gave you this task because I knew you could keep your head no matter how trying the circumstances. You're an experienced guardian, Ironhide, but this situation is not normal. It is not your ability I question, but your timing last week with Captain Lennox. By rebuking one of their own, in public, you put your guardianship in a negative light to allies who don't understand us yet. Please be aware of the delicacy of our situation here, and try to avoid a repeat."
Ironhide's response was an irritable blow of air, along with a gruff, "Understood."
Prime looked him over carefully, wondering if Ratchet might have understated the problem.
"Your guardian protocols are not fully engaged, your systems are stressed and Ratchet is worried. So am I. Let me assign Jazz instead. You don't have to do this, 'Hide."
"No, I want to remain as guardian," Ironhide said.
Prime felt his optic ridges rising in surprise. At his look, Ironhide sent a stream of data images.
Ironhide reaching out to examine his smallest charge. Sarah placing herself between Ironhide and her offspring, pushing against a hand as big as she was, Ironhide moving her aside, but the little femme came right back and got in his way again, refusing to back down.
Prime caught the edge of astonishment, and a slow, almost reluctant admiration from Ironhide, coming along with the data.
"She's brave," Prime remarked. "No weapons or armor, but she stood against you to protect her child, with no thought for her own safety."
Ironhide resumed his stance, lining up another shot. "The femme's got some metal in her backstruts, I'll give her that."
"We'll leave things as they are then, for the time being," Prime said. He cleared his vocalizer and Ironhide lowered his cannon to look at him.
"Ratchet says I should help you work off some frustration."
"Oh, really," Ironhide said. "And what was his suggestion for doing that?"
A smile flickered across Prime's face. "He said we should fight."
"Really," said Ironhide again.
Prime nodded. "The rules of engagement will be as follows." He raised one hand and began ticking them off. "Number One, No Cannons. Number Two, No-"
Ironhide's tackle took him out at the knees.
Sam stared out the window, not even pretending to drive.
He should have known it was too good to be true, those first days and weeks after Mission City. New car, new girl and a brand new alien race all rolled into one huge rush of excitement. The high was incredible. The crash that was threatening now was going to hurt like hell.
Mikaela spent most of her time in the medbay. She had found her niche, her purpose in life, and it wasn't that Sam didn't want her to be happy, but he
couldn't help feeling left out.
They didn't have a lot in common. In fact, Mikaela probably had more in common with the Autobots than with him.
Shit.
He was going to lose the girl. He knew it. Mikaela probably knew it too. It was just a matter of time.
Sam reached out and touched the steering wheel in front of him, running his fingers lightly around the curve.
At least he still had Bee.
He sighed and looked out the window again, his Autobot's engine a deep, soothing hum in the background.
The visit to his parents had gone about the way he'd expected. It was almost a script by now.
Mom: Oh just look at you! Are you eating, Sammy?
Dad: Are they feeding you, son?
Mom: Of course they're not, Ron! What would giant alien robots know about feeding a boy?
Himself: Yeah, mom, dad, I'm eating, there's plenty of food.
Sam leaned his head against the window.
Plenty of food at his parents too, and he choked down what he could, though the thought of eating made him feel sick, made the bile rise up in his throat, made him swallow hard, repeatedly, to get it back down.
Oh… shit.
"Bee! 'Bee! Pull over, now!"
The bright yellow Camaro swerved to the side of the road. The passenger door was flung open, and Sam bolted out, staggering a few steps away before falling onto his hands and knees and vomiting into the dirt. The sound of Bumblebee transforming behind him was drowned out by his own violent retching.
Sam's stomach heaved several more times, before finally deciding it was done torturing him. He crawled away from the mess that had been dinner---look Sammy, I made all your favorites---and collapsed onto his back, panting, his eyes closed to block out the sunlight.
Hundreds of images assaulted him; the harsh chop of deadly blades as he ran for his life, the floor exploded two steps behind him, the roof fell away beneath his feet, Lennox grabbed him and hauled him up close, You're a soldier now!---but I'm not a soldier, I'm not. Prime shouted, an alien voice screamed in his mind as he pushed the Cube into the monster's chest, Bumblebee's chestplates opened and Sam fell headlong into brilliant blue light and disappeared…
A shadow fell across him. He opened his eyes to see his giant guardian hovering above him, calling his name. "Sam, Sam." The low, hoarse voice strained through static, the vocalizer still far from normal functioning. Sam looked up into Bumblebee's bright blue optics and shivered. His Autobot's hand reached for him, a finger touched Sam's cheek. Sam gasped and flinched away, the sudden bite of pain zinging through him like cold metal against an exposed nerve.
"Don't touch me!"
Bumblebee's hand jerked back.
"Sam, what is it? What's wrong?"
"I… don't know." Sam gritted his teeth against another wave of nausea. His body flashed from freezing cold to burning up in an instant. He heard the faint sound of Bumblebee's scan.
"Sam, you have a fever."
A fever, just a fever. He could deal with that. Probably just the change in the weather. Lots of people getting sick this time of year. Sam sat up with a groan, then got to his feet, shaky and a little dizzy. Bumblebee's hand lifted again, wanting to touch, to help. Sam could see the fingers twitch.
"I should take you to Ratchet," Bumblebee said, still hovering.
"I don't need to, it's just fever or maybe a cold. No big deal. Let's just get home, 'Bee."
Bumblebee looked stubborn and ready to argue, and Sam withheld a sigh. His guardian had an overprotective streak a mile wide.
"Please, 'Bee, I just need some sleep." Sam didn't need to fake the whine in his voice or the tiredness that was creeping over him. He swayed on his feet and Bumblebee relented with a worried look, transforming into his alt-mode. Bee-as-Camaro looked worried too, and how he managed to do that, Sam had no idea.
The driver door popped open and Sam sat down wearily. His seat was reclined, belts secured him, windows were darkened. The car pulled back onto the road to the Base, and 'Bee's voice whispered around him in the dim interior.
"Alright, Sam, but if you're not better by morning, I'm taking you to Ratchet."
"Fine," mumbled Sam, already half-asleep.
Bumblebee continued his scans as he drove, interior sensors trained on Sam as he snuggled deeper into the seat and dozed off.
Prime's deep chuckle greeted him, Ironhide's rumble, Ratchet's lighter laugh. A gathering of old friends he hadn't seen in too many vorns.
"Well, this brings back memories," Jazz said. He unsubspaced cubes of high-grade and set them out on Ratchet's workbench. "So who won?"
"I assumed it was a draw, when I saw Ironhide holding his shoulder and Optimus limping into the Medbay." Ratchet handed two cubes to them.
"I got the first strike in. Down on his aft in one hit." Ironhide's optics gleamed with satisfaction. Bringing Prime down was no easy task.
"Only because you didn't wait for me to finish with the rules," Prime pointed out.
"Rules, huh? You think the 'Cons are going to wait for you to read them the rules?" Ironhide huffed.
Jazz sipped his high-grade. His keen optics missed nothing. Prime was calm, Ratchet was relaxed, and the tension torqueing Ironhide's frame into knots was conspicuous by its absence. A relief, to be sure, but only a brief one. The situation between Prime and Ratchet, and Ironhide and the Lennoxes, had no easy resolution.
His own restless need prodded at him. Jazz finished his high-grade and dispersed the cube with a flick of his fingers. "That's it for me. Gotta date with two lovely little femmes. Later, my mechs, boss."
He strolled out the door, leaving the three staring after him.
"Well, that was brief," said Ratchet, running a last scan over Ironhide's new module.
"What's a 'date'?" Ironhide asked.
"No idea," Prime said, rubbing one finger along a jaw servo. "And what would the femmes have to do with it?"
"It's Jazz," Ratchet said. "Do you really want to know? Now who's for more high-grade?"
"One more for me, then I need to get Sarah home." Ratchet handed a cube to Ironhide, and offered one to Prime.
"Like old times, " Optimus said, accepting the cube with a smile of thanks.
It would take time to adjust to this new world of theirs. That's what they all needed, and thanks be to Primus and the death of Megatron, they were getting it. A true gift. Prime's optics lingered on Ratchet, watching the quick, easy smile, the flush of high-grade through his systems brightening his optics.
Ratchet had simply forgotten the way things needed to be, in the long vorns they spent apart, but he was calmer now, happier. He was settling in, he would be fine. They had both forgotten how to be together, how to make this work.
"To old times," Ironhide said, raising his cube, then downing half of it.
Time, it would take a little time, but things would balance out again. Ratchet would adjust, things could go back to the way they were, and Prime could do his job a little easier, having his friend with him again.
The high-grade was heating his systems nicely. In no way had Jazz lost his touch there.
"To old times," Prime repeated and Ratchet echoed the sentiment. Prime raised his cube and smiled at him. Ratchet returned it, optics warm and content.
Quiet and completely dark out behind the Autobot Base, with no moon to dim the holoimages. No brooding, either. Not for him, not tonight. Jazz was on a mission.
He sat and watched the two girls watching his display. Prime approved; Maggie was here to stay. They were celebrating, and Mikaela had begged for one of his light shows.
Processors whirred busily, accessing files gathered over millions of their years and projecting holoimages against the desert backdrop.
A bright star slowly expanded, burning hotter and hotter. Planets vaporized in its blazing corona. The star continued to expand, engulfing everything in its path.
Sam, his AI suggested.
Jazz immediately pinged a negative. There were signs that Bumblebee's interest was extending beyond his guardianship of Sam. There wasn't much Jazz missed, and he certainly didn't miss the little hint of possessiveness in Bumblebee's tone or the fact that he was calling Sam 'his.' He would not welcome Jazz's interest in his charge, nor was Jazz about to interfere in their relationship. Prime seemed to have staked a secondary claim to Sam as well, and Jazz had to wonder just when that had taken place, but he sighed and shrugged it off. Apparently, he missed a lot when he was dead.
A gigantic spiral galaxy appeared next, seemingly frozen in an endless swirl until Jazz set it spinning. The girls chorused a series of 'ooo's' as bright matter streamed from the galaxy's arms.
Mikaela, his AI offered.
A few processors mulled that over, while Jazz continued musing over current affairs on the Base.
Prime had been gone for the entire week, giving Ratchet a chance to regain whatever steady state he was able to achieve in his present position, and Jazz didn't envy him that position in the slightest. Prime was remarkable for his ability to see the big picture, and put the needs of the many ahead of his own desires. He was doing what he thought best for both of them, and fair or not, reasonable or not, Prime had made that decision long ago. It would probably take someone lighting a smelter under his aft to get him to budge now. Prime could be stubborn that way. Whether Ratchet could stand the strain or simply leave again, remained to be seen.
An immense nebula sent out glowing tendrils of cosmic dust and matter, swept with brilliant colors of red, blue, and rosy pink.
More processors whirled and clicked, looking over the latest files his AI provided, and snatching up any and all data files from the internet outside of the AI's search parameters concerning human anatomy, biology, psychology, and their first tentative scientific steps towards integrating technology with their own bodies. Interesting. At their current rate of progress, a few hundred years from now, they would be a techno-organic species.
Jazz regretfully pinged a negative on Mikaela. She could feel most scans and she hated them, a peculiarity that intrigued Ratchet no end. His search to find out why, which of course involved the use of scans, had led to some interesting battles between the two. Even Jazz's stealth scanners made her twitch, and scans were an imperative for something this delicate. He would have to run them constantly. This was going to be challenging enough, and Jazz couldn't imagine a worse mood killer for Mikaela if he tried.
The nebula exploded in a colorful blaze, and high, excited sounds chorused from the little femmes sitting in front of him. More files were accessed, and Jazz began forming the second part of his light show.
A large city built up from the ground. Tall towers stretched up into the night, necklaced with bridges that hung gracefully between them. Thousands of mechs moved along walkways. Silver pods streaked through the night sky. Alien architecture pinnacled and swooped and arched, creating strange shapes that gleamed with gold and silver and jewel-tone colors. Jazz added an aurora borealis shimmering with shades of blue as a backdrop and both girls sighed their appreciation.
Mikaela leaned back against his leg to stare up into the sky at the glowing city. After a moment's hesitation, Maggie followed suit.
"What city is this?" she asked.
"Our capital, Iacon," Jazz said.
Maggie, his AI stated.
Hmmm.
The AI responded to his momentary hesitation with a databurst of information about her, including things Jazz had missed, like the slight intake of air and the elevated heart rate when she saw him each morning.
Nervousness, Jazz suggested.
Interest, curiosity, the AI insisted.
Jazz relayed his doubts. Maggie was new, still adjusting. She might not welcome the added complication.
"That's wonderful," Mikaela said. "Are those alt-modes or little spaceships zipping around?"
"It's beautiful, Jazz," Maggie sighed. "I'd love to go there."
"Both, Mikaela. And I dunno, Maggie, some of those mechs are pretty big," Jazz teased.
Maggie grinned up at him. "I'd take my chances, just to see that city in person."
Curiosity and interest, the AI repeated firmly, things that could be built on to achieve the desired goal.
Alright then, Maggie it is, Jazz decided.
Jazz watched Maggie settle herself more comfortably against him. Long hair tickled pleasantly over the sensors of his leg plating.
His AI signaled acknowledgement and updated the project file.