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: Number four: erm... those of the male persuasion may wish to look away.

Timeframe: Before the attack on Bluestreak, after Evelyn has settled into life aboard Metellus.

On The Care And Feeding Of Humans

Reproduction
(No, not like that, you perverts!)

Why do they call it PMS? Because Mad Cow was already taken.
- Lefty, A Prairie Home Companion

When Evelyn did not emerge from the private 'bay room after the lights had returned to their normal brilliance, the signal that it was the beginning of a new day cycle, Ratchet was curious. He looked in on her briefly to find that she was still in the storage container that had been converted into a small recharge berth, a fold of one of the towels pulled over her to cover her from head to toe. Ratchet tapped into the medbay sensors, reading her vital statistics: heart rate low, but not dangerously so; breathing slow, but within normal parameters; temperature... slightly higher than normal, but again within acceptable range. He dismissed the anomaly as unimportant and went to his office for a cube of energon.

When he emerged several breems later, Evelyn still had yet to emerge or, according to the medbay sensors, even move. Ratchet absently perused the human-related files still available in his memory banks (the important things: feeding, sleeping habits, common health problems, appropriate environmental factors), but nothing related to an extended recharge could be found that was not also related to things like dangerously high core temperatures and malfunctioning fuel-processing systems or the various human versions of a full systems crash.

He entered the room, tapping lightly on the doorframe as he did so to announce his presence. Humans had such strange practices. To his olfactory sensors, the air in the room smelled vaguely musky, but the human shed various organic liquids and particles so much that it was only to be expected

"Evelyn?"

The lump within the box made a low, grumbling noise. The medic's optics narrowed.

"Evelyn?" he repeated.

The lump shifted slightly. "G'way."

"Are you malfunctioning?" He moved over to the table and altered his optical programming from visual light ranges to heat radiation. His sight flickered to black before rebooting to reveal a room painted in shades of purple, blue, and green with one hot-spot of yellow, orange, and red registering from upon the table. He studied the human-shaped blob, noting the curled position. One flame-tinted arm shifted to cradle the lower abdomen, and he frowned. "Evelyn?"

"I said," came the muttered response, "go away."

"What have I told you about ordering me around in my medbay?" Reverting his optical software to visual light ranges, he reached out and pinched one corner of the towel covering the human, pulling it away from her cranial unit, and he pulled back slightly in surprise.

It had taken him quite a while to be able to decipher her multitudes of facial contortions with any sort of accuracy. It did not help that she had a habit of changing colors at odd times, mostly to various shades of pale red.

This was a glare... a very intense glare.

"Get. Out."

Ratchet wavered between concern and irritation. "What's wrong?"

"How many times do I have to say it? Get out! Scram! Beat it! Make like a robot and get your rear in gear and get out!"

As was his nature, he was steadily tipping nearer to irritation. "If you're trying to make me angry, you're doing a bang-up job. Now tell me what's going on before I drag you down to the lab and work it out the hard way."

Two small, pale hands had latched onto the towel and were trying to tug it loose from his fingers. He tightened his grip. The human yanked at the fabric, wiggling it from side to side, face becoming tinted with red. She gave one last almighty, ineffective yank before slumping, breathing- and heart-rate somewhat above normal.

"Please." Her voice wavered and cracked strangely. "Please, just leave me alone."

And to Ratchet's bemusement and consternation, her optics began to leak.

Ratchet stood outside of the private room that held the unstable organic, out of the human's range of sight, and waited impatiently for backup to arrive. He listened –intrigued, apprehensive, and irritated all at once– as the little femme's voice filtered faintly through the open doorway.

"... isn't exactly a picnic for me either, you know! You think this is fun? I want to go home!"

A short pause.

"Yeah, I bet you're wishing you left me on Earth, now! You think it's bad normally? Wait until you get the full joy of it: no Tylenol, no tea, no bubble-bath, or..." Another pause, and she said, sounding horrified, "No chocolate. Oh, dear God, no chocolate."

Ratchet quickly referenced the mentioned objects. Tylenol, a kind of pain-receptor disabler. Tea, a drink made from organic growths boiled in water. Bubble-bath, a type of cleaning solution. Chocolate, an edible substance made from ground organic seeds. None of this gave him any idea what could be wrong with the human femme.

"I have just found my personal hell. Outer space, giant robots, cramps, and no chocolate... You utter bastard. I hope Ratchet rebuilds you as a Roto-Rooter!"

Bluestreak was stopped in the entrance of the medbay by an irritated-looking Ratchet.

"You're walking under your own power," said the medic flatly, "so you obviously don't need my services. Until further notice, the 'bay is off-limits to anyone and everyone not in immediate peril of deactivation. There should be an announcement going out any breem now."

The gunner tried to peer around the other mech's boxy frame. "I, uh, I just came by to see Evelyn. Jazz and Hound and 'Bee and everyone are in the rec room, and we thought she might like to sit with us, you know, just to pass the time. Is everything okay, Ratchet?"

The medic's eyes narrowed. "Perfectly, practically prime," he replied. "Now get out."

"But what about Evely—"

A red hand shoved Bluestreak in the chest, forcing the gunner back out of the 'bay, knocking him into Wheeljack as the inventor drew near the entrance.

"Whoa, there, Blue." Wheeljack steadied the gunner. "Ratchet, what's going on—?"

"Took you long enough," snapped the medic. He reached out and grabbed the inventor by the shoulder, hauling him into the medbay. "Primus! Did you stop to recharge along the way?"

The 'bay doors hissed closed, a low ker-lunk noise indicating that the lock had been engaged, leaving a confused Bluestreak standing alone in the hallway.

Wheeljack set a tray of fuel cubes beside the femme's small berth. The human was still in the storage container, seated in a slumped position with a fold of towel drawn around her shoulders. She glowered up at him.

"I'm not hungry. Not for that, anyway."

"We need to stabilize your systems somehow," he explained. "Fuel helps that, doesn't it?"

"I'm not sick," she said. "As a matter of fact, I'm healthier than I have any right to be. Lucky, lucky me." She heaved a sigh that seemed far too large to come from her tiny frame.

"Your behavior is erratic," said Ratchet, "and your systems are running at a higher temperature than the recorded normal range. Obviously, something has changed."

"I am not sick!" snapped the femme. "I'm miserable. There's a difference. Now, unless you can create an acceptable replacement for Midol in the next three seconds, you can do me a huge favor and get out."

Ratchet latched onto the unfamiliar word and searched Metellus' databanks of Earth-related knowledge. His optics widened.

"You're menstruating," said the medic. The human's face-plate reddened noticeably, her glare increasing by several increments. "Your hormones are in flux, causing your uterus to shed its lining, an occurrence often accompanied by abdominal pain and emotional—"

"Hey! If you don't have one, you don't get to talk about it!" The human's slumped position deepened, her arms crossed over her belly. "I'm living it. I don't need the play-by-play, alright?"

Ratchet was digging deeper into the database. "Don't you need supplies of some sort? I don't know what we can produce out here."

The red shade of the human's skin deepened. "I've... got it covered. There was a first-aid kit in my bag. Of course, Dick would have given me a kit without any Advil or Aleve, but at least there were bandages... why am I telling you this? I might be a professor, but there's no way in hell I'm giving the pair of you PMS 101. Sideswipe is bad enough!"

"But... that's it?" asked Wheeljack, surprised. "All of this is part of your life-cycle?"

The human sent the inventor a startlingly malicious look. "No uterus," she said, "no opinion."

End Reproduction

Roto-Rooter - the patented name of a plumber's snake, a flexible auger used to clear clogged sewage lines that cannot be cleared with a plunger

Midol - an over-the-counter medication indicated for menstrual cramping and other effects related to premenstrual syndrome and menstruation (source: Wikipedia)