Dominant.
"What's this, Bluestreak?"
The Datsun turned his head with a weighted languor that Bluestreak hoped would make his weariness clear. The three words – four, if you considered one had undergone elision – had been the permanent, unrelenting distraction of the past megacycle.
"That, Fireflight, is a cassette player. You know – like Blaster?"
"Oh." Fireflight obviously had not noticed the exasperation choking Bluestreak's vocaliser.
"Don't touch it. It's delicate and might break. Spike will show you how it works." He went back to watching the security monitors. Fireflight ignored him and found a way to accidentally push the 'play' button. The other Aerialbots gathered around it and listened to the tiny, tinny sound coming out of the headphones.
"What's this music, Bluestreak?" Air Raid asked. "I kinda like it."
"That's 'rock' music. Go find Spike and he can tell you the name of the song." Unfortunately for Bluestreak, the Aerialbots did not follow his advice. They were waiting for Silverbolt to be done with a meeting so that they could go off together as brothers. It was a shame for the gunner that they weren't waiting more quietly.
"What's going on here, Bluestreak?" Skydive was pointing to something on one of the monitors. It was the common room: Ratchet was having a screaming fit at Tracks, who was sourly turning away, arms folded across chassis. Wheeljack, oblivious of his immunity to Ratchets squalling, was tranquilly cleaning some equipment in the table's corner. Cliffjumper strolled in, said something that was unappreciated by the CMO and received a data-pad thrown vaguely in his direction in warning. The thing bounced off the wall, jolted the camera slightly, fell onto the Lancia's workplace and scattered whatever the inventor had been working on. Bluestreak could not see anything out of the ordinary, and he said so. Skydive looked from the monitor to Bluestreak, to the monitor, to Bluestreak.
"Uhh…" It was the first time in many deca-cycles that Bluestreak had seen a mech look so confused and bewildered at once.
"What's this, Bluestreak?" Bluestreak turned to see Fireflight passing him a data-pad which contained the book file that Ironhide had misplaced an Earth-week ago.
"Ironhide's been looking for that. He'll be pleased to get it back." At least someone would benefit from the Aerialbots' inability to leave things alone.
"What's it about?"
"The fictional lives of a group of interconnected people in a civilisation in the past on the other side of the world." Fireflight blinked slowly. "It's hard going. I didn't get past the first chapter."
"What's this, Bluestreak?" Slingshot was pointing to a monitor that he had tuned in to a television station. It was an advert involving a barely-clad human female and the letter 'X' three times.
"…Ask Sparkplug. Or Blaster or the twins." Slingshot was about to take it further when Silverbolt walked in behind them. "Finally!" Bluestreak groaned far too loudly and abruptly to be taken politely.
"Oh, er, hi," Silverbolt murmured, taken aback by the forceful 'greeting' and the pained looks it had produced from his brothers. "Come on guys, let's get going. Bluestreak, uh… see you later?" Bluestreak nodded and waved, elated to see their wings vanishing through the door.
The long, large expiration released from Bluestreak's chest relieved most of the tension that had been building up from the youngest Autobots' presence, but he knew that they would be back later with more questions. When the Aerialbots had first come to the base, they had attached themselves to Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and himself. As time went by and Sunstreaker became more disagreeable and the original allure of showing off had worn away from Sideswipe, Bluestreak had found that the five fliers had been spending more and more time with him. There were times though when he wished that they'd never come to the Ark. Yet that thought made him feel guilty and depressed – they had done nothing wrong and he would never wish harm on them. He just didn't know what to do or say without letting them down or losing their trust. Jazz would know though, he thought. Jazz knew everything. Bluestreak would ask him on his next break.
Bluestreak found the Porsche alone in the rec-room. All of the lights were turned off, apart from the set furthest away from where the special operations officer was dancing to his car stereo.
"Jazz, I need to ask you-"
"I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind…" Oh, Primus, Bluestreak thought. Jazz was singing whilst the gunner was talking – something he only did when he was trying to avoid a conversation. Some mechs believed it was his unique way of trying to tell someone he was not interested without being rude. Of course, some mechs found this indirect approach even more unpleasant.
"Jazz, it's impor-"
"…There was something so pleasant about that place."
"Jazz…"
"Even your emotions had an echo-"
"Jazz!"
"-in so much space!"
"If you could just stop singing at me for a moment-"
"And when you're out there…" Jazz paused and waited for the interruption. This time there was none. "…Without a care, yeah, I was out of touch," he continued happily. Bluestreak folded his arms and settled sternly against the wall. He was not going to leave Jazz alone until he got his answer. "But it wasn't because I didn't know enough: I just knew too much." The average human song, by Bluestreak's estimates, was around three minutes. He would tackle the Porsche then.
The Datsun ignored the music and began tracing his fingers along the grooves in the wall, waiting for the tell-tale silence or presenter's voice. "…My heroes had the heart to put their lives out on the limb, and all I remember is thinking: I wanna be like them." Bluestreak froze. Something struck him: the words reminded him of when he had first become an Autobot – he and Fusion, together – and how great and wise everyone seemed in comparison. Yet it had not been the mighty and near-omnipotent officers that had attracted their awe, but the lowly and more accessible warriors: so similar, yet so much unlike themselves. He remembered their skill and endurance, how they fought side-by-side with a strength and mentality that, back then, he and Fusion had yet to master. When the battle was finally through, these role models kept moving stoically forward, retaining all the life and vigour that most eventually lost. Bluestreak's thoughts back then had been: 'I wanna be like them' and he got as close as possible, hoping to learn their ways.
Without saying a word to Bluestreak, Jazz had given the Datsun the answer.
"I think Bluestreak got angry at us, earlier," Fireflight whispered to Air Raid as they tip-toed past the sleeping quarters.
"Oh, you think?" The other mech replied, giving a cursory glance to his other brothers behind him. "But he had no right to get so angry. I mean, come on! How are we supposed to learn anything if we don't ask que-" He cut off abruptly when he saw the subject of his annoyance sitting on the floor outside their quarters. "Uh… Bluestreak?"
"Oh, hey guys!" He stood up with a bounce and put both his arms around their shoulders. "You guys aren't tired yet, are you?" Silverbolt, Slingshot and Skydive stopped a few paces away from them.
"No," Slingshot replied for them, a hand on his hip as always. "Why?"
"You wanna watch a movie with me?" It had been a while since he had seen such wide grins on their faceplates.
"Sure!" With that utterance, they gave up all attempts at keeping quiet and made their way to the converted cinema, waking no less than four mechs as they went.
Jazz had once been a 'bot that Bluestreak had held in that strange 'role model' position. Bluestreak realised that, in a way, he still was there. In kind, it seemed right then that he had given him the answer.
Let them get close: all they wanted to do was understand.
End.
A/N: That is the first and last time I'll ever put song lyrics into a story; I can never take it seriously and this experimentation has not changed my opinion. This is also the first time I've broken 'technological continuity' by putting a song back by about two decades. My standards are obviously slipping.