Time to thank my lovely reviewers! Teddy Bear 007 (oh, but he's rapidly going to find out... hee hee), Muirgen79 (the title of that chapter was this close to being The Matrix Has OPINIONS because it so does), Sunny Sides (we love the fluffs, oh yes we do), Answerthecall, Himelove22 (welcome, first time reviewer!), liv cahill (he'd have such an easier time if he wasn't so immune to hints, wouldn't he?), Teletraan-1 (LOVE your new name, and yes, a friendly, fluffy Ratchet would be a terrifying thing indeed, the Autobots would run so hard, and this chapter title is at least partially your fault), MaddySan5926, HeartsGuardianSol, YoungScribe (thank you!), SusantheRedhead (always so thrilled to hear from a new reviewer, so from one redhead to another, thank you!), lubieogorky (you are saved!), guest (hmm, wonder just who's gonna blink first? hee hee), and Amelia St. Claire! Thanks again to everyone who takes a few seconds to review, you are all rock stars!
Have I disclaimered on this yet? I own nothing but Anna and the plot. The Transformers belong to Hasbro, and I'm making no money off this. And now, on with the show!
.
Bumblebee departed less than an hour later to continue his search for clues to the location of the Allspark. Anna watched with obvious awe as he transformed into an old Camaro, and the scout humored her by transforming back and forth a few times while she gaped in wonder. When she returned to the barn after he left, she couldn't stop talking about it. "So you can be anything?" she asked Optimus, watching from atop her work table as Ratchet worked on him.
"Not quite anything," Optimus replied, choosing to ignore Ratchet's steadily darkening look whenever he answered her questions–and she was full of them. Ratchet was pretending he didn't hear anything she said, but Optimus didn't want to be rude. Just because his own medic was here to care for him now didn't mean that it was necessary to completely shut her out. Besides, none of this was actually giving her technology and therefore didn't technically fall under Tyrest guidelines, so he saw no harm in humoring her. "It must be of an appropriate size, and it has to fit our function. Most of us settle on one alt-mode and stick with that."
She looked at Ratchet. "You should be an ambulance, then," she said, and when he pointedly ignored her again, she glanced at Optimus with a mischievous glint in her eye. She seemed as determined to get a reaction from the medic as he was not to give her one. "Or maybe an ice cream truck–ooh, no, a clown car. Something cheerful and light that brightens the hearts of all who hear its joyous tunes. You're just so happy and chatty, Ratchet."
Ratchet frowned when Optimus searched his new internet connection for an images of ice cream truck and clown car, then promptly choked on a laugh. "I'm trying to concentrate here, human," he grumbled, answering her for the first time since she'd returned to the barn.
"Then you should ignore me and concentrate," she said innocently, and Optimus failed to stifle his laughter this time because the medic was trying his damndest to do just that, and failing miserably.
It wasn't entirely the medic's fault, Optimus thought. Anna was just impossible to ignore. Everything about her demanded attention.
"Can you please not encourage this?" Ratchet asked him in Cybertronian.
"How am I encouraging it?" Optimus protested, and the medic gave him a stern look.
"You're laughing," he said, making it sound like a dirty word. "And every time you do, she gets this look and keeps going."
"That's hardly my fault," Optimus said, but he was grinning now.
Ratchet frowned at him and started to speak again, but something pinged off his shoulder and he turned to give Anna an incredulous look instead.
"No fair talking about me when I can't understand you. How am I supposed to decide how offended to be?" she said, lifting another tiny screw from a bin on the workbench and tossing it in her palm. Then she put it down and spread her hands. "If you want me to stop bothering you, you could put me to work. I'm good at this kind of thing, Ratchet. Let me help."
"However good you are with your primitive Earth robots, you are in no way qualified to so much as touch one of us, and I don't want or need your help," Ratchet snapped, but when her face fell and Prime gave him a disappointed look, he sighed. "If you're truly determined to do something for us, why don't you go help Ironhide or Jazz find alt-modes to scan instead of nagging me? That would actually be useful."
"Jazz already scanned some little car that drove by and Ironhide scanned my truck," she said, and Prime watched her smile warmly at the big warrior. She was still a bit hesitant of Jazz–getting held at gunpoint would do that, apologies about the misunderstanding or not–and seemed determined to annoy Ratchet, but she clearly had no problem with Ironhide. Then again, of all of his Autobots, he'd been the most respectful to her. "I'm going to have to be careful which one I take to work. That is really the coolest thing I've ever seen."
Ironhide grinned back at her. "You have good taste in trucks. Fits me just right."
"How about you find something for me, then?" Optimus suggested, drawing her attention from Ironhide back to himself. He waved an arm at his body. "I'm not sure what would suit me. I haven't seen many human vehicles that are of a proper size."
She looked him over. "How big are we talking, here?" she asked.
"Somewhat bigger than Ironhide's truck," Optimus replied. "And ground-based. I am no flyer."
Her eyes took on that teasing gleam again. "Yes, I noticed," she said dryly, and he chuckled–actually chuckled at the unsubtle dig about his less than fantastic landing.
"Vicious little thing," he scolded, shaking a finger at her, but he couldn't keep from laughing again at the delighted grin she gave him. Teasing me, he thought, she is actually teasing me. He'd almost forgotten what that felt like.
Ratchet poked him impatiently. "Stop. Laughing," he growled.
"Quit nagging him, you old killjoy," Jazz said from across the barn where he was cleaning his blasters. "When's the last time you heard Prime laugh, huh?"
"That's not the point. These repairs require precision. I can't be precise when his entire chest is shaking like this." Ratchet glared sternly at Anna. "If you can't be quiet, I'm going to make you leave."
She glared right back at him. "Uh-huh, good luck kicking me out of my own barn," she shot back with a flash of that stubbornness she'd showed when Optimus had tried to order her to take care of her wounded ear–which she still hadn't done, incidentally, although Optimus decided he could give her some leeway considering how his Autobots had rather dramatically introduced themselves. Then she looked at the others in turn. "Is he always this cranky?"
"Yes," Jazz and Ironhide answered together. Anna snickered and glanced at Optimus.
"He is currently doing surgery on me. I'm not answering that question," Optimus told her solemnly, and when she all but cackled, he grinned. Ratchet sighed and stopped what he was doing to Prime's chest in order to pick up the scanner and wave it over his head instead. "What are you doing?"
"Checking you for damage to your processor module," Ratchet replied, frowning.
Ironhide made a rude noise. "Oh, leave him alone, Ratchet. You've been telling him to lighten up for years. Now that he's doing it, you think it means he's got brain damage?"
Optimus pushed the scanner away. "The damage was to my memory banks, not my processor," he told the medic, but he took the hint and stopped smiling. He had to admit that Ratchet had a point, and it was one that he had thought himself earlier–he wasn't acting like his usual solemn self. Entertaining as it was to verbally spar with Anna and watch the medic struggle to deal with someone who was very nearly as stubborn as he was, Ratchet was correct that his repairs took priority. "Continue your work, Ratchet. I will cooperate."
"And what about–where'd she go?" Ratchet broke off, looking at where Anna had been and finding the tabletop empty. Ironhide pointed up and Optimus and Ratchet both looked up to see Anna just reaching the top of a ladder and stepping carefully onto one of the heavy rafters. "What are you doing up there, human?" the medic asked, sounding equal parts exasperated and concerned.
"I can't see well from where I was," she said, moving across the narrow beam with a confidence that spoke of past experience.
"A fall from that height would be disabling. Come down immediately," Ratchet said impatiently.
Anna gave him a serene smile and dropped down to straddle the rafter just over Optimus. "You guys sure do like to give orders. Allow me to teach you a human phrase, Ratchet. You're not the boss of me." She kicked her feet, perfectly comfortable on her chosen perch. "Besides, I would've thought you'd be relieved if I fell and shut up permanently."
Ratchet scowled. "Well, obviously, but I don't want to have to clean up the mess. Organics are so squishy," he grumbled, then glared at Optimus when he laughed again. "I thought you were going to behave."
Optimus waved a hand, hearing the worry beneath his bluster. No matter what Ratchet said, he didn't want to see her hurt. "She grows on you, doesn't she?" he replied, and the medic's scowl deepened.
"Like a rust stain," he growled. He looked at Optimus–who was trying very hard not to snicker as Anna laughed at the insult–and switched back to Cybertronian. "I was blocking her view on purpose, Prime. Do you really want her seeing still more of how we work?"
"She's not going to use the knowledge against us," Optimus replied, unsure how he knew this but absolutely sure that it was the truth.
"Not all of us have a hotline to Primus. Forgive me for being cautious about revealing our weaknesses," Ratchet said, and when he went back to work, he leaned over Prime's chest in an effort to continue blocking her view. "You're not usually this trusting. In fact, it's been millions of years since I've seen you act anything like this. If I hadn't scanned you myself, I'd say you were drunk. Maybe you should let someone else's read of this situation guide you, just this once."
"I'm telling you, we should keep her," Jazz called from outside in the same language.
Optimus ignored Jazz's repeated request to make Anna into their pet and thought about Ratchet's words instead. Again, Ratchet had a point. Still, the Matrix felt decidedly content and relaxed within him, and he had been reading its energy for clues to hidden dangers for aeons. If there was cause for alarm, he was confident that this strange mood wouldn't prevent him from picking up on it. "We have nothing to fear from this human, Ratchet," he finally said, still in Cybertronian. "I would stake my life upon it."
"You are," Ratchet replied pointedly.
Optimus looked up at Anna, examining her as she watched the medic's every move–no matter how hard Ratchet tried, he couldn't fully block her from seeing everything he was doing, and those bright blue eyes were sharp. Every so often, he'd see a flash of understanding on her face, or of surprise. Thinking that perhaps he should listen to Ratchet and try to distract her at least a little, he prompted, "So, have you thought of a vehicle for me yet, Anna?"
She glanced up, looking startled as though she'd been so engrossed in watching Ratchet that she'd forgotten anything else. He'd seen that kind of concentration from his science team many times. In fact, he'd felt it himself many, many years ago, that almost meditative state where information seemed to dance at his whim, easy to manipulate and corral. "Vehicle?" she echoed, and he knew he'd pegged her state of mind correctly. Then her gaze cleared. "Oh! Yes. Well, the only thing bigger than my truck that's street-legal is a semi."
"Semi-what?" Jazz asked.
Anna shook her head. "No, it's not a semi-anything, that's what it's called. I'm not sure why they're called that, actually. I'll have to look it up," she mused aloud, at least partially still in that state of heightened curiosity.
Optimus automatically accessed his internet connection and found the answer immediately. "It is because the vehicle consists of two parts, the tractor and the trailer, and the trailer is exactly half the length of a standard railroad car," he told her, already running other background searches to identify tractor and trailer and railroad car. "Also because the trailer is semi-wheelless, since it attaches to the tractor."
She gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you, google," she said, and he smiled back–another nickname, and he still felt no urge to tell her to address him properly. "It must be convenient to have an internet connection in your head. Now find a picture and tell me if you think that would work."
Optimus did so. "Hmm," he said thoughtfully, scrolling through the different images. Truthfully, he liked the look of the large trucks–intimidating, strong, formidable vehicles. They looked like they had some muscle. "Yes, I do think that would work nicely, but unfortunately I cannot obtain a usable scan from images alone."
She shrugged. "Well, once Ratchet's done undoing my unholy mess, just go down to the end of my driveway and watch the interstate for a few minutes. They go by all the time."
Ratchet rolled his eyes. "Not going to let that go, I see," he muttered as he worked.
"Would you?" she asked, and then added under her breath, "I did the best I could," but Optimus heard her, and it was clear that Ratchet did too. The medic didn't answer her, but Optimus saw his expression–part stubbornness, part regret–and he'd known Ratchet long enough to understand what he was thinking. He had clearly meant it, but had he known it would bother her so much, he might not have actually said it.
"The best you could was very good, and I for one am very glad that you did it," Optimus told her.
"So how's it going with that Energon?" Ironhide asked the medic. Ratchet had scanned the jars of Energon and found that it was contaminated with coolant, oil, and small particulates, so they'd poured it all into his purification tanks and the medic had been running it through his internal filters for the last hour. "Are you going to be able to clean it up enough to make it useable?"
"Yes," Ratchet replied, looking glad of the subject change. "It will take just a little more time. I want to run it through at least twice more to ensure I've separated out all the contaminants. Then we'll see how much we end up with and how much the rest of us need to donate."
"Sorry I couldn't save more," Anna said. "I didn't think of it at first–I was just trying to stop it leaking out. By the time I thought of catching it in the jars, he'd already lost a lot."
"Collecting any at all was a great help," Ratchet replied, and Optimus heard what might have been a hint of very grudging respect in his gruff tone. Anna looked surprised to hear it. "And the rest of us are fully fueled. We've got enough to spare to make up the difference."
"Are you sure you have enough for me to take a sample?" she asked Optimus, looking concerned now. "When I asked, I didn't realize that this is basically your blood."
"If you think there's any chance you can synthesize more, we want you to try," Optimus told her firmly. "There's enough. Take what you need."
She bit her lip, holding his gaze for a long moment as if trying to gauge his honesty, before nodding. "I won't need much–I just need enough to analyze. Once I can determine the base electrolyte, I can hopefully figure out how to energize it in a stable way. It's just so completely different from any kind of energy storage I've ever used. In something like a battery, there are stabilizing components–your Energon is clearly the energized electrolyte, but without a cathode or diode to direct the electron flow and create the circuit, I don't know how you keep it from just discharging. I assume those are inside you somehow and you adjust the flow between them depending on your power consumption, but if you always have Energon inside you, how do you reset the electrochemical changes in the cathode and diode?"
Jazz had stopped working with his blaster and stared up at her, looking the way Optimus had felt when she'd explained the recharging set-up she'd created for him. Then he looked at Ratchet. "Is that how it works?"
Ratchet didn't pause in his work. "Not exactly. It's less of an electron transmission medium than a form of concentrated potential energy."
"Made tangible?" Anna asked, startled. "I've never heard of anyone making something like that. How do you do that?"
"We don't make it–we find it. If we knew how to create it ourselves, we wouldn't spend so much time looking for naturally occurring Energon deposits to refine," Ratchet replied.
She was sitting straight up now, clearly fascinated. "Is this liquid not its natural state?"
He shook his head. "It is originally found in a crystalline form," he told her, and Optimus didn't dare to show his own surprise that the medic was freely sharing this information with her. Then again, Ratchet had seen more Autobots die of starvation during this endless war than any of them wanted to remember. If there was any chance this human could do something to ensure that he never had to see that again, was it really so surprising that Ratchet would put aside his personal dislike to help in any way he could? "And it's quite unstable and dangerous in that form. We refine it into the liquid you've seen."
Anna drummed her fingers on the wooden beam before her, looking confused now. "But it's inside you. If it has to be refined, and you're the ones who refine it, how did your race even get started? Did you used to run on something else?"
Ratchet snorted. "And now we've left science and entered religion. Don't ask me where we came from, human. I can only tell you about things I've personally seen."
She waved a hand. "I've got no interest in religion," she said, her tone every bit as dismissive as the medic's had been, and Optimus saw that Ratchet was reluctantly impressed by that. The medic had little use for superstition or religion. "I suppose I'm coming at this from an organic viewpoint–imagining humans having to invent our own blood. It's a little brain-breaking." Then she shrugged. "Not important right now, though. Tell me more about this crystal. What kind of environment do you typically find it in? Volcanic, radioactive, hot springs? Is it possibly a spontaneously occurring crystal that absorbs energy from natural sources around it–a kind of natural battery?"
"None of the above," Ratchet answered, and now he was definitely looking impressed. Optimus had to work not to smile proudly, although why he was proud was beyond him. He had no part in her intelligence, after all–all he'd done was crash near her. "We find it underground, usually."
"Hmm. That rules out solar radiation, too, although maybe not the influence of a strong magnetic field," she mused. "Any specific kind of planet?"
"Many kinds. There are a lot of us who default to religion to explain that one, too–knowing we would leave Cybertron, those deposits were seeded throughout the universe to fuel us on our travels, that sort of nonsense–but most scientists believe that it's just common." He shrugged, finishing whatever he'd been doing and gathering up his instruments before sitting back to look up at her. "Like carbon–it's everywhere."
"But carbon is a stable molecule," she pointed out. "Unstable matter doesn't tend to last long enough to be common. Entropy, Ratchet. Things like to be simple. What you're describing to me is anything but simple."
He spread his hands. "If it was simple, making it wouldn't be a problem," he said.
She looked excited by the challenge. "Do you have a sample of the crystal?"
He shook his head immediately. "It doesn't exactly travel well," he said, which was the understatement of the aeon.
"That's going to make reverse engineering it that much harder," she said, but she didn't look like the added difficulty was at all off-putting. "You know a lot about this. Is there a way you could transfer that information into a database for me? I don't want to waste time trying things that have already been shown to be ineffective."
Ratchet glanced at Optimus, who shrugged. "It's an element, not technology," he said. "Sharing information on a naturally occurring substance is not prohibited by the Tyrest Accord."
"What's the Tyrest Accord?" Anna asked.
"An interspecies agreement backed by some of the least forgiving law enforcers in the universe," Ironhide answered, face and tone very serious. "Boil it down to its most basic level and the gist is that everyone keeps their technology to themselves. Those who share get emphatically taught not to."
Anna glanced at Optimus as he closed his chestplate again. "Are you considered technology?"
"Very much so," Ratchet told her darkly. "Why do you think I've been trying my best to keep you from seeing what I'm doing here? You don't want to run afoul of the Tyrest Accord, little human. Believe me."
"Inadvertent exposure is not a capital offense," Optimus said when she looked alarmed. "You acted in good faith to save a life. You're not in danger."
She didn't look entirely reassured. "And what about trying to synthesize Energon? That's not going to put my head on some interstellar chopping block, is it? Because while I do want to help you, Optimus, I really don't want to end up on some kind of intergalactic most-wanted list."
"I would never ask you to do anything that would put you in danger," Optimus told her, a little offended that this had to be said out loud. Then again, she'd only known him for a little over a day, and he'd been unconscious for most of that–and that was a startling thought, because it felt like much longer. She didn't know anything of his reputation. Of course she would be cautious. Concerned that he might be taking advantage of her after she'd already done so much for him, Optimus said, "You don't have to do anything with Energon, you know. If don't want to–"
"No, no, I'm dying to try," she interrupted–another thing he wasn't used to, being interrupted. "If you're sure that I'm not going to violate this Tyrest Accord by doing it, I want to do it."
"Then I should have a sample for you in about three hours," Ratchet said. He looked her over with a critical eye. "You look tired. How long has it been since you've shut down and charged?"
One corner of her mouth quirked up in a little half-smile. "We call it sleep, and not since Optimus crashed. And it's not polite to tell a lady that she looks like hell, just so you know."
Optimus sat up, feeling much better, and then reached up to offer his hand to Anna–Ratchet was right, she looked absolutely exhausted, and he didn't want her to have to climb down herself. "Ratchet has never been known for his excessive politeness," he said, and ignored the medic's offended huff as Anna cautiously scooted onto his palm. "I'm sorry I've kept you awake."
"Are you kidding? Who wants to sleep when there are alien robots to talk to?" she retorted, and he smiled. She wrapped her arms around his thumb as he slowly lowered her to the floor, moving carefully so as not to startle her like he had when he'd snatched her away from Jazz. "But I am tired, I won't lie. Do you need anything before I go to sleep?"
All of them shook their heads. She slid out of his hand and yawned, but then she looked up at Optimus and bit her lip again–he was learning that the little gesture seemed to indicate that she was unsure. "Will you still be here when I wake up?" she asked.
"He won't be able to travel for at least another day," Ratchet answered for him. "We'll still be here, human."
"And even if that was not the case, after all you've done for me, I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye," Optimus promised her, and she looked relieved.
"Thanks. Goodnight, then," she said, smiling at them before walking out. Optimus started to send Jazz after her just to ensure that she made it without trouble, but he didn't have to. Jazz was already moving before he even gave the order.
It's not paranoia, Optimus reassured himself. Spilled Energon could be detected in any number of ways, and they already knew the Decepticons were on this planet. If his Autobots had found this place, the Decepticons could, too. He remembered how small and light she felt in his hand.
How very fragile and breakable.
"We do need to leave as soon as you're able, Prime," Ratchet said once she was gone, shaking him from his thoughts. "Whether or not this human can make Energon, we need to find the Allspark before the Decepticons do. As soon as you're fully recovered, we need to go."
"I know," Optimus replied, and this time he was almost expecting the kick the Matrix gave him. I really wish you'd just tell me what you want, he thought at it, but without much hope of a response. "The Allspark is our primary goal on Earth. I haven't lost sight of that, Ratchet."
"Good," Ratchet answered as he transformed into his alt-mode–a Cybertronian ambulance, just as Anna had suggested–and opened his back bay to release a charging cable. Optimus picked it up and attached it to the port at the base of his skull with the ease of long practice as Ratchet's engine started up. The influx of power was instant and far stronger than Anna's makeshift contraption had been and he closed his eyes in relief. "I know you like this human–she's sharp, I'll give her that. But if you want to really show your appreciation to her for saving you, stopping the Decepticons from taking over her world would be a great place to start."
.
Optimus Prime wishes me to make it clear that he was not flirting with Anna.
When asked if she has anything she'd like to say on the matter, Anna merely smiles and doesn't even try to look innocent.
Ratchet wishes they'd both knock it off because he has no time for this scrap.
Ironhide finds all of the above hilarious as hell.
And Jazz really wants a pet.