Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.
Because, you know, stealing is wrong.
Title: On The Care And Feeding Of Humans
Summary: Transformers AU. Juxtaposition side story. So you think you're ready for a human all your own, but do you know how to care for one? ... Ratchet and Wheeljack are doing their best to figure it out.
Rating: PG
Warnings: mild cursing
Author Notes: The first oneshot: providing a suitable habitat for your new human.
Timeframe: After Evelyn's second awakening in Metellus, before Sideswipe's 'return'. (Ch. 12-13)
On The Care And Feeding Of Humans
Habitat
God help us. We're in the hands of engineers.
– Ian Malcolm, Jurassic Park
When Ratchet carried her toward the far back wall of the medbay, heading for one of several identical doorways that she had yet to go through, Evelyn wondered how the mech planned to improve on her 'towel-lined box' setup. It's not like he has doll furniture lying around.
She blinked. Oh. Cue weird mental images.
Robo-Barbie. Metal fun for mechs of all ages.
She shook her head to scatter the unwanted thoughts. Christ. I need food.
They passed through the doorway into a much smaller room dominated by a bulkier version of one of the metal worktables in the main 'bay area. Her 'box', her duffel bag, and a varied scattering of other objects rested on the table. Wheeljack stood nearby.
"Table or floor?" asked Ratchet abruptly.
She tilted her head to look up at the white and red giant's face. "Beg pardon?"
"Your new 'habitat'. On the table or on the floor?"
She pondered. She looked at the table, raised nearly twenty feet above the floor, feeling a little swirl of vertigo. She looked at the floor, slightly scuffed from wear.
She looked at Wheeljack's feet, white and square and very, very large.
"Table," she said.
Ratchet quietly rumble-laughed. "All right."
Evelyn frowned. Do giant alien robots read minds?
She glanced toward the table again. "Ah... I'll have a ladder or... something. Right?"
"We'll figure something out." The medic held his hand out over the table's surface, and Evelyn stepped down. As far as square-footage went, the table was as large as her apartment, or perhaps just slightly smaller. She took stock of the objects piled nearby.
Clothes. Bed. Water container.
All I need is a toilet and a fridge.
Preferably, a well-stocked fridge.
A few of the items were beyond her ability to name: an empty, cylindrical container with a large conglomeration of mechanical 'stuff' attached to its side; some sort of squarish tank mounted on a spindly-looking tripod; various bits and pieces of other mechanical things that seemed to be far, far too large for her to do anything with and yet far, far too small for any of the mechs to have created.
Ratchet and Wheeljack were talking.
"—were a completely communal species, they wouldn't have individual dwellings."
"The entire culture is about interaction. Isolation might be detrimental."
"For Primus' sake, 'Jack. It's not like we're shutting her in a storage locker."
"What was that?" Evelyn asked, feeling slightly alarmed.
The medic glanced down at her. "Wheeljack thinks you should bunk with an Autobot, instead of having a private setup."
"I think I'd be more comfortable on my own," she said. "It's not like I'll lock myself in and never come out." She looked at the blinking panel mounted beside the doorframe. "I don't even think I can reach the lock."
"You won't be alone," said Ratchet. "Jazz has already claimed a spot as tour-bot whenever you feel like exploring. Within reason, of course," added the medic with narrowed eyes.
"Of course," she agreed quickly.
"Fast learner," rumble-laughed Wheeljack.
"Ah... well, what are those?" She gestured toward the two unnamed objects on the table. The inventor's head-fins flashed a bright, happy blue.
"Well, Ratchet said you needed some sort of waste disposal unit, so I did what I could." He picked up the cylinder-attached-to-a-cube. He pointed at the cylinder's open top. "Place your waste products in this opening, and this—" He gestured at a switch roughly the size of her forearm attached to the side of the cube. "—activates the suction pump. Waste products are stored in this area, where they are broken down and filtered through to here..."
Evelyn's cheeks were warm enough to boil water. She nodded in all the appropriate places, insides churning with sheer mortification.
It's like having a cat, she told herself. Feed it, water it, and scoop out the litterbox.
At least I won't have to pee in a cube again...
She cut off that thought before it could summon more unwanted memories.
Wheeljack set down the toilet-machine and picked up the tank-on-a-tripod.
"And I read about something called a 'shower', not unlike our washracks—simple enough to replicate. Any time you want, we can fill this tank here with water. We'll place it over a collection dish, and this lever here opens a sluice underneath..."
Wheeljack prattled happily on about pressure and piping and compact nuclear water heaters—
Eh?!
At which point, Evelyn informed him in no uncertain terms that nothing with the word 'nuclear' in its title was to be allowed anywhere near her water supply.
The words 'explosive', 'radioactive', and 'atomic' also qualified.
Wheeljack's head-fins flickered a dull pink. He picked up the shower and mumbled something about superheated electrical coils as a possible substitute. "Back in a little while," he said and walked out of the room.
Evelyn watched him go, stomach squirming uncomfortably.
"I didn't mean to sound ungrateful," she said at last. "I really appreciate all the work you're doing... I just don't want to grow tentacles or extra arms before I get back to Earth."
"Don't worry about it," said the medic. "'Jack doesn't know the meaning of the word 'grudge'." He smirked at her. "Nice self-preservation instincts."
She blushed. "... thank you?"
End Habitat