Finding Home

Chapter 31

By Voodoo Queen

XXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: Hello, Dear Readers! First and foremost, I want to apologize for how long it took me to get this chapter posted. It's been sitting on my iPad about 3/4 of the way done for months. Unfortunately, my schedule got all switched around and it's a lot harder to find the time to write. I'm hoping it'll be better now. We'll see. I appreciate all the messages I've got from you guys, checking to see if I'm still alive and breathing. I am! Thank you to all that have added this story to alerts and faves. Extra special thanks to my wonderful reviewers: SunnyandSidesFemme17, Sweet Sprinks, KayleeChiara, ElleGirl19, Edges05, adelphe24, DaLadyofSouls, Annie, jojoniles, SolusPrimeLightblast, Guest, Lioness32, Nox Clara, jgoss, MrsSparkle1, sakurawriter, Pixiekatt, Ashleen May, TitanFire, maria-ioanna984, Deimoss, Dawn Racer, o-dragon, the everchanging, Moontigerz, jellybeanz513, kvanausdoll, Shiracchan, LaurenA007, RedwoodGinger, GrimmaulDee, Desert Vulpes Zerda, Ekeifer, Rosmund Chadwick, poppycakes, kingcounty1

If I've missed anyone, I'm sorry. Thank you soooo much for your patience and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Love,

VQ

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, just my own original characters and plot.

XXXXXXXXXX

"She's still not answering," Sideswipe paced the floor inside of the motor pool maintenance garage they'd been herded into once they'd reached their final destination and had gotten off the plane. "I've tried six times. Why isn't she answering?"

"Maybe she's still working," Sunstreaker snapped. He was trying his damnedest not to appear worried but, honestly, between the nagging 'missing' feeling in his spark and the blunt ache of frustration perusing Sideswipe's 'research' had left him with, he was feeling a bit on edge. "Primus, give her a chance to get settled first."

"Its after 4 o'clock Diego Garcia time, almost five." Sides shook his head, "Jazz never keeps her this late and it isn't her duty night."

"She could be eating chow," Sunny argued for the sake of his own sanity. "Or in the shower. Or doing laundry. Or doing a million other things she hasn't had a chance to do because she's been spending all of her free time with us. Give her a few minutes and then we'll try her again. You're driving yourself crazy. Pit...you're driving me crazy."

Sideswipe vented worriedly and continued to pace.

Bumblebee whirred in sympathy. He knew first hand how difficult it could be to be responsible for the welfare of a human. Although, he was certain it was no where near as nerve-wracking as worrying over someone you cared about intimately. That had to be on a whole other level judging by the twins' behavior. As long as he'd known them, he'd honestly never seen them care about anyone as much as they fussed over the little, blonde human. It was a strange phenomenon to witness. Nice...but strange. He searched for something supportive to say. "I'm sure...she's...just fine," he managed to patch together. "You can...make it up...to...her...when we...get back."

From across the room, Ironhide made a gagging sound, grumbling something about not believing how casual everyone was being about interspecies fraternization.

Sunstreaker's head whipped around to glare in the mech's direction. He was already irritable and the mech's constant stream of snide comments about his and Sides' personal life wasn't helping. "I've about had it with all your quiet, self-righteous slag, Hide. You think we haven't noticed? If you have something to say, you come over here and say it to our faceplates."

Ironhide snorted, "Its nothing you two clutch munchers would want to hear."

Sunstreaker growled, "Then shut your mouth and keep it to yourself, slagger."

"I could say the same to you two," Ironhide rumbled. "No one wants to hear about your disgusting flesh fetish. I'm amazed Prime has let this perversion go on as long as he has. Spark exchange, my aft...more like an excuse to try and frag the local fauna without any repercussions. Figures you two would be the ones to concoct some elaborate scheme in order to try it."

Sideswipe stopped his pacing to stare at the battle-hardened mech with a mix of surprise and shock. "Hide...what...?"

Sunstreaker, however, felt a surge of rage wash though his systems, "The Pit did you just say? If you're implying what I think you are, I swear to Primus I'll..."

Bumblebee, sensing an imminent confrontation, quickly stepped between the two brothers and Ironhide and made a calming gesture with his hands. "Easy, fellas..." a voice with a southern twang drawled from the mech's speakers. "We're all friends here...ain't no need to go gettin' all rowdy..."

Ironhide merely shrugged, "I told you you didn't want to hear it."

"Wait..." Sideswipe shook is head, "You think we're making all of this up so...so we can interface with her?

"Wouldn't be the first time you two glitches have found a way to manipulate regs to get what you want." Ironhide smirked, "I know you two. I know your game."

"We're not playing a game," Sideswipe insisted. "She's walking around with a part of our spark, for Primus' sake. I'd think you of all mechs could understand that..."

"She's an organic," Ironhide argued with a look of distaste firmly plastered on his faceplates. "It isn't possible and if it is, it shouldn't be."

"Hide-" Sideswipe began to protest.

"Save it, Sides. Don't waste your time. He's doesn't understand a fragging thing about what's going on," Sunstreaker rumbled dangerously. "What he needs to do is start watching the slag spewing out of his mouth before I go over there and start watching it for him."

"Right," Ironhide scoffed at the yellow front liner and rolled his optics. "I'd hate to offend the human since you two selfish, conniving, self-centered glitches obviously care so much about her. Give me a break..."

"With pleasure," Sunstreaker snarled as he shoved Bumblebee out of the way and lunged at the larger mech.

"Sunny, no!" Sideswipe, in turn, made a grab for his brother, catching him around the waist and trying to haul him back away from the angry Weapon Specialist. He whispered frantically in Sunstreaker's audio, "Not worth it, bro. We'll be sent straight to the brig when we get back. The brig means no Ames..."

That seemed to get Sunny's attention, if only slightly. He and Sides had come to an agreement to try and stay out of trouble to the best of their ability for just that reason. He pushed at his brother, "Get off me." Sunstreaker shook his twin off, jabbed a finger in Ironhide's direction and growled, "Don't think this is over. It's not. Not by a long shot."

Ironhide snorted in amusement.

"Uh...S-sir?" A side door had creaked open to reveal a timid-looking Private. The soldier sent to retrieve the 'man in charge' looked exceedingly nervous having just walked into what appeared to be a tense standoff between giant alien robots. He cautiously addressed the Autobot's Weapon Specialist from a safe distance, "The...the Colonel sent me to let you know we're ready to pack the shard for transport if...if you'd like to come and, uh, supervise..."

Ironhide glared at the twins for another long moment before turning and addressing the human. "Yeah," he grumbled, "I could use the fresh air. It's a little too crowded in here for my liking. Lead the way."

The twins watched as Ironhide stomped out. Sideswipe wore a look of concern whereas his brother was simply angry.

After a long moment, the yellow front liner vented, "Try calling the Squishie again, Sides. I'm going to comm Jazz.

XXXXXXXXXX

"What do ya mean she isn't answering?" Jazz's face was a picture of concern as he listened to Sunstreaker's hurried explanation of the situation over the comm.

Sunny vented in exasperation, "Sides has been trying to call her ever since we landed. It rings through to voicemail every time. She's not picking up."

The SIC checked his internal chronometer and made a worried sound. "D should have made it back to the barracks by now. She wasn't feelin' very well earlier today so I don't think she would be out somewhere-"

"Not feeling well, how?" The front liner demanded. "Why didn't anyone let us know she was sick? Is she alright? Has she seen Ratchet? Is it the spark connection?"

"I'm sure she's fine," Jazz tried to ease the mech's processor. "She said her head hurt and that she thought she was catchin' a cold. She's probably just sleepin' it off." The TIC spoke confidently but felt genuine worry pull at his spark.

Sunny growled, "If anything's happened to her while we're stuck over here, I swear..."

"I'm keepin' an optic on her, Sunny, I promise," Jazz assured. "D's my girl. I wouldn't allow anything bad to happen to her if I could help it. You know that." The mech glanced up at the SIC that sat perched on the corner of his desk listening to the conversation with a concerned frown of his own, "Prowl's here in the office with me overseein' construction. I'll ask him to drive over to the barracks and check on her, aight?"

There was a moment of silence over the comm before Sunstreaker vented heavily. "As soon as you know something comm us. Better yet, have the Squishie call us."

"Will do, Sunny," Jazz readily agreed, adding a, "I'm sure she's fine," for both their benefit before ending communications.

As the comm dropped, Prowl was already rising from his seat. "I'm on my way, Jazz. I'll comm you when I find out what's going on."

Jazz nodded even as his spark churned with unease, "Thanks, Prowler. I owe you one."

XXXXXXXXXX

Prowl made a slight detour as he left the bunker. Instead of heading straight to the barracks where Petty Officer Doe stayed, he swung by the med bay first. He had a bad feeling about the current situation. More than that, his calculations had determined a high statistical probability for warranting medical attention given the data available. As was often the case, he hoped he was wrong but liked to be prepared.

He found the CMO in a storage room mumbling to himself and taking inventory of his equipment. He cleared his vocal processor to get the mech's attention, "Ratchet."

The medic's head jerked in the direction of the doorway, surprise evident in his optics. "Prowl," he greeted as turned to face the mech. "I didn't hear you come in."

Prowl got right down to business, "Are you terribly busy?"

"No," Ratchet shook his head In the negative, "With the Twin Terrors gone and not wreaking havoc all over base I've finally got some down time to take care of some of the housekeeping tasks I've been putting off. Did you need me for something?"

"I do," Prowl gave a sharp nod. "I'm afraid we have a potentially troubling situation that does involve the twins."

"Of course it does," Ratchet released a long-suffering sigh. "Pack them up and send them to the other side of the planet and they still manage to strip my wires. What've they done now?"

Under different circumstances, Prowl may have found the resigned look of perpetual irritation that warped Ratchet's features to be amusing. At the moment however, all he felt was worry. "Sunstreaker contacted Jazz just a few minutes ago to let him know he and Sideswipe have been unable to reach Petty Officer Doe by phone. They've made several attempts and all have rang through to her voicemail. Earlier today she wasn't feeling very well and informed Jazz and myself that she was going back to the barracks to rest once her shift was over. As far as I'm aware no one has spoken to her since then."

"Prowl," Ratchet scowled, "you know very well that my signing off on allowing the twins to go on this mission was contingent on me being kept up to date on Miss Doe's physical status! Any changes in her health were to be brought to my attention immediately! Why was I not made aware that she was ill?"

Prowl at least had the decency to look chagrined. He may have been the SIC but the CMO's orders overrode even those of Prime where the teams safety and wellbeing were concerned. They'd promised the femme they wouldn't make a fuss over her condition but that was no excuse for negligence. There was never an excuse for negligence. "This was a gross oversight on the part of myself and Jazz and I do apologize. It will not happen again."

"Fragging right, it won't," Ratchet snapped at the mech as he elbowed his way by to gather some supplies. "How long ago since you last saw her?"

The SIC checked his chronometer and felt a renewed sense of urgency. "Jazz and I last saw her little over two groons ago."

"Two groons!" Ratchet's optics widened and his frame stiffened in both anger and disbelief. "The poor femme is infused with spark energy that could potentially kill her, separated from the mechs she shares it with, becomes ill, and you wait two whole groons to bring it to my attention?" Ratchet cursed as he shoved human first aid supplies into subspace. "And you want to know what the astounding thing is? It took a comm from that yellow menace to get you two off your afts to check on the girl. Primus, Prowl, you and Jazz are supposed to be the responsible ones in this situation!"

Prowl really couldn't argue with Ratchet's logic and so simply nodded in concurrence.

"Well?" Ratchet glared at the SIC once he'd finished stuffing his subspace compartments. "Don't just stand there, let's go find the femme!"

XXXXXXXXXX

They reached the other side of the island in record time. Their alt forms helped immensely given humans' seemingly natural inclination to move out of the way of speeding emergency vehicles. By the time they pulled up in front of the barracks building and transformed, it was nearing six o'clock in the evening. Most of the personnel stationed on base were off duty by this time except for essential personnel and those making up the day's duty roster. Those who were not burdened by work, seemed to be out enjoying the balmy ocean breeze. A quick perusal of the area confirmed that Amy was not among them.

Ratchet vented, "Do we know even which room is her's?"

"Personnel records has her listed as staying in room 3-B." Prowl cross-referenced the information with a blueprint schematic of the building. He pointed to a window on the third floor facing the street. "Which would put her in there."

"Call her," Ratchet ordered.

Prowl nodded, going silent as he did as the CMO asked. After a moment, he shook his head. "No answer. As Sunstreaker said, it goes straight to voicemail. Her voicemail box is full so I'm assuming they haven't been able to reach her either."

"Slag it," Ratchet cursed. He wasn't as close to the woman as, say, Jazz or the twins but, the impression he'd got from her during the time he had spent with her was one of a responsible professional. He couldn't picture her blatantly ignoring calls from concerned colleagues. He certainly didn't believe she'd blow off the twins, not unless something was preventing her response. His processor whirred as he tried to work out the best way to access his patient as there was no doubt in his mind that something was not right.

About that time, the doors to the barracks flew open and a young man wearing a pair of Navy sweats and a t-shirt came bounding down the steps. He seemed oblivious to his surroundings which could have been due, in part, to the earbuds he had shoved into his ears. They blasted a cacophonous racket that was still just audible over the the typical base noises. If he hadn't had other concerns front and center in his processor, Ratchet would have cringed at the thought of the damage the man was most likely inflicting on his ability to hear properly.

"You there," Ratchet pointed at the man, stepping in front of him, and blocking his path.

The man startled, one hand flying to his chest in surprise while the other grabbed the cord for his earbuds, yanking them out. "Jesus Christ, man!"

"Apologies." Ratchet continued hurriedly, "Perhaps you can help us. We're in need of some assistance."

"Uh," the man looked from the medic to the SIC standing nearby and swallowed hard. He nodded slowly. "Sure, alright, uh, what do you need?"

Prowl stepped forward, "What's your name?"

"Monroe," he answered, adding a hesitant, "sir."

The SIC pressed on, "Do you know Operations Specialist Doe, Monroe?"

All the color seemed to drain from the man's face and droplets of sweat began to bead across his forehead. Monroe threw his hands up in a defensive gesture as he backed away. "Look man, I already told your friend that I didn't mean anything by it. It was just talk, alright? I haven't laid a single finger on her and I've kept my distance. I have two younger sisters and was raised by a single-mother. I have the utmost respect for women and OS2 in particular. I've already apologized. I'm not sure what else I can do. I thought we were cool..."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're babbling about." Ratchet frowned, "Do you know the femme or not?"

"Uh…" Monroe looked confused but hesitantly nodded any way, "Yeah, I-I do…"

"Good. We're concerned that she may be unwell," the medic advised. "We're here conducting a welfare check since we've been unable to contact her by phone. Unfortunately," he gestured to himself and Prowl, "our stature prevents us from going up there ourselves."

"So…" Monroe's eyes shifted suspiciously between the mechs. "You want me to go up there and knock on her door or something?"

Prowl nodded, "Its very important that we speak with her. If you could go ask her to come down we'd be most appreciative. We need to see her."

"Okay," Monroe, sensing their urgency, reluctantly agreed. "I can do that but first I want to state for the record that it's ya'll asking me to go up there so I better not get any shit for this later."

Ratchet shot Prowl a puzzled look but the other mech merely shrugged. Ratchet shook his head, "You have our word. Time, however, is of the essence."

Monroe backed toward the steps. "I'll, uh, I'll just go check on her then."

"Ask whomever's on watch for a room key," Ratchet called behind the retreating man. "In case she's incapacitated."

"Right," Monroe muttered to himself as he re-entered the building. "How sick is you, OS2? Got aliens all coming to the house to check on you and shit…"

It took a bit of haranguing on his part, but Monroe managed to convince the soldier on watch to provide him with Doe's room key. He supposed having two anxious-looking Autobots pacing around outside the front of the building helped his argument. Resigned to his task, he'd made his way to the elevator and punched the button that would take him to the third floor. He felt bad for the way he'd been avoiding his fellow sailor and he sincerely hoped the bots were wrong about her being unwell. He liked her and thought she was a pretty cool chick to hang out with but it had been made pretty clear to him that she was a 'no-go' zone.

Monroe shuddered at the memory.

He honestly hadn't meant anything by his comments. It was just guy talk, nothing really serious. Just a bunch of macho bullshit to pass the time. The concept seemed lost on the psychotic, yellow front liner, however. The mech had threatened to turn him into an oily smear if he caught him so much as looking at the woman wrong. He'd been serious as a heart attack and there was no doubt in Monroe's mind that the bot would make good on his threat if it came down to it. He'd been actively avoiding Doe ever since…just in case.

He didn't know how Doe did it, honestly…working so close with them every day. He didn't think he could do it and stay sane. There was only so much crazy a man could take. He'd always believed his biggest fear had been heights. His time spent at Diego Garcia thus far had taught him that his biggest fear was, in fact, being stepped on.

Repeatedly.

By a giant, perpetually pissed-off robot.

While it's brother watched.

Monroe shook off his thoughts when the elevator dinged alerting him that he'd reached the appropriate floor. He stepped out and headed left in accordance to the arrow sign on the wall that pointed him in the direction of the correct room number. Doe's room was at the very end of the hall on the left. He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. He wasn't sure what he was walking into but sincerely hoped the woman was alright.

"Hey, Doe," Monroe called out as he knocked on the door, "Its Monroe. You, uh, you have some visitors downstairs."

He waited a moment and when there was no answer or sound of movement from within the room, he tried again. "OS2, you home? I'm being so serious right now, there are two big ass robots outside asking to see you so, uh, if you could go down there let them know you're alright that'd be great." The man chuckled nervously, "They scare the fucking piss out of me, to be perfectly honest with you."

Monroe waited another full minute and still got no response.

"Fuck my life," he muttered under his breath, fishing the spare key card out of his pocket. He looked at it for a moment and took a deep breath before sliding it into the slot. When the sensor of the door flashed green, he turned the handle and eased it open. "Alright, OS2, I'm coming in. You better be decent. I don't want to have to explain to your buddies how I saw you in your skivvies."

As the door eased open, Monroe's gaze swept over the rooms interior. Nothing really looked out of place except for a couple uniform items that seemed to have been haphazardly shed onto the floor. Other than that, the woman seemed to be as neat as a pin. However, when his eyes landed on the woman laying motionless and sprawled across the bed, he wasn't even sure if she was breathing or not. "Aw, shit."

"Don't be dead, don't be dead…" He pushed the rest of the way inside the room, approaching her cautiously. "Hey," he whispered. "OS2…you alright?" Carefully, he reached out to gently give her a shake. She looked terrible, pale and drawn. Dark, shadowy circles hung beneath her eyes and even cocooned in a blanket she was icy to the touch. Breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding came whooshing out from his lungs when a quiet groan slipped from between her lips. "Oh, thank you, Jesus…"

Amy's eyes fluttered slightly and she began mumbling something about a light that frankly, to Monroe's ears, made absolutely no sense whatsoever but definitely freaked him out.

"Shh," he soothed. "Just relax, OS2. I got you. We're gonna get you downstairs and everything is going to be fine."

He hoped. This was not how he was expecting his evening to play out when he geared up to go jogging. The only thought in his head was getting the ill woman down to the two robots he'd left waiting outside. He flipped the covers off of her to help her out of bed only to immediately jerk them back over her again

"You're not wearing any pants. Of course you're not," he cursed quietly. "You're in bed. Why would you be?" He glanced frantically around the room, his eyes landing on the laundry bag tucked away into one corner. He crossed the room and dug through the bag, grabbing the first pair of pants he could find which happened to be a pair of blue sweatpants.

Monroe once again flipped the covers back and, as quickly as he could, began dressing the woman. "Alright, Doe, let's make you presentable. If anyone asks, I didn't see shit, alright? This never happened."

As he lifted the woman from the bed bridal style, once it became apparent that she wasn't going to be able to walk down on her own, the cellphone lying on her bedside table began to vibrate. The screen lit up, the caller ID illuminating the very name that had been giving him nightmares as of late. Monroe paled as if he'd seen a ghost and, as fast as his legs would carry him, he hightailed it out of the room and back down the hall to the elevator with Amy in tow.

End of Chapter 31