A/N: Wow! The feedback I get on this is awesome! Thank you all so very much! And thank you to Silver Fox from Metellus Cursor group for the free advertisement. lol. I can't believe this reached 100 reviews! Awesomeness. Thank you everyone!
Phase six: Sanctuary
Chapter Eleven
"No," Fixit said flatly.
"Oh come on Fix! It's just one time!"
"I said no, Stakeout."
"What if I gave you five credits?"
Fixit snorted.
"Ten?"
"No."
"Alright, fifteen, but that's my final offer."
"Stakeout, I think you're missing the point."
The blue Micromaster huffed, splaying his arms wide in gesture, "What point? That you're being a frag-head?"
"Grow up, you protoform."
"C'mon bro! Just once! All I need is a few breems and it'll be over and Prowl will be non-the-wiser!"
"If I wanted to risk my life over pointless pursuits, I'd hang out with Sideswipe. Besides, I have a patient to look after."
Brea watched the two Micromasters curiously from top the counter, peeking over the edge, as they bickered below her in Cybertronian. Neither of them seemed have to notice her prying and she certainly wasn't one to inform them. Watching them banter back and forth was entertaining, and only God knew how much she could use a good laugh.
The new one, Stakeout, was apparently one of Fixit's brothers (the other two were motioned in passing but their names escaped her). And apparently, Stakeout was one Mech who favored delinquency. The blue armored Micromaster had stormed into the room, begging Fixit to call a special meeting with someone named Prowl so Stakeout and some others could use the halls as a racing circuit without getting into trouble. Why? Because they was bored.
From the way Fixit refused, Brea had the impression that he was probably the more mature one of the two and possibly the whole of them.
"It's funny you should mention 'Sides," Stakeout grinned, "He's the one who came up with the idea."
Fixit growled. "Of course…"
It was then that the red and white Micromaster noticed the two human eyes peering over the edge of the counter down at them.
"Oh, Brea!" He smiled up at her, switching from Cybertronian to English. "We didn't wake you did we?"
Brea raised her head and looked down at the pair. "No," She said, "I was already awake."
Stakeout studied the human girl above him curiously. "So is this the new one Blue brought in?" he asked.
"Yep," Fixit replied. He looked back up at Brea, "How's your hand, kiddo?"
Brea lifted her bandaged left hand for the Mech to see. "It's a little better. Still hurts though."
"Caleb fixed the ice-box, I'll bring some up later and we'll see if we can get that swelling down a bit OK?"
Brea nodded timidly. "Ok."
"Go on and get back into bed," He told her, "You shouldn't be walking around just yet."
Brea frowned down at the Mech.
"But I'm tired of sleeping," Brea argued. It was true. Sleeping was pretty much all she had done since waking up. That and eating and drinking and other…natural processes.
Stakeout snickered while his brother sent an unamused frown up at his patient. "Get in bed before I call Ratchet and have him weld you in."
"And he'll do it too." Stakeout a half told/warned her with a smirk as one arm rising to point a finger at her.
"Doctor's orders," Fixit told her, pinning her with a 'do it or else' look.
Reluctantly and with a sigh, she rose from the edge of the counter, body aching resentfully, and hobbled back to her box bed. As she settled in, she overheard the two brother strike up another conversation, their voices drifting up to her from the floor level.
"So what's verdict on that one, then?" She heard Stakeout ask.
"She's dented and dinged, but otherwise alright. She came in with a dangerously low core temperature, but we were able to bring it back up. Her prognosis is looking good, but it might be too soon to make predictions. She's only been here for eight joors and she's only been online for three and a half of them."
"So what'd Ratchet say?"
"She's restricted to the infirmary for another ten joors to finish recovering and for observation," Fixit replied, "Then we'll bring her around and get her use to the place and start the assimilation process. She's domesticated so we'll need to take it real slow."
"Domesticated. Ha. None of these humans are anywhere near domesticated. Did you see Rodney tackle Seawatch last orn? It was hilarious!"
"Domesticated doesn't mean their tame, Stakeout. It's a term we use to describe humans who're brought in as pets. Y'know… like Kimberly."
A pause.
"Ah. Right."
"They can have a lot of psychological and social problems. Most of the domesticated ones are kept solitarily with little to no social interaction with their own species and kept under total submission. After a time, it starts to mess with their heads. We don't know when or how long she's been captive so we won't know the extent of the damage until later, after we see how she reacts to the group."
"So why aren't the others like that then?"
"They were kept with other humans during captivity. We're not entirely sure how human minds work, but we do know social isolation is very detrimental to their psychological stability, especially for the younger humans like Brea there. And stress only makes it worse. Humans are social creatures, they need other humans for support."
"Maybe we should organize some sort of social gathering then," Stakeout recommended slyly. "Like a race. All we'd need to do is distract Prowl for few…"
She heard Fixit sigh in aggravation. "No Stakeout."
"Oh come on!"
Having been forcibly bed-ridden by her new Cybertronian care-takers, Brea was resigned in spending her time watching the two medics work.
Fixit had brought her some ice for her wrist and after a little while, the swelling went down and they re-bandaged it, setting it with a metal brace that encased her wrist. The bruising was still there, but she could see an improvement. It still hurt like the dickens though.
It was curious to watch how the two interacted with one another when considering their size difference. She assumed that this would pose some sort of problem. Fixit was a fraction of Ratchet's size, but the larger Mech never treated his assistant in anyway that even acknowledge that there was a size difference between them; except whenever Fixit needed help getting onto high places like the counter or a table, but most of the time he used the strategically placed chairs or boxes to reach his desired goal. They seemed to have a smoothly operating system between them that appeared to be working.
Ratchet was fiddling around with some strange apparatus of unknown function while Fixit gathered and sorted seemingly random pieces of mechanical paraphernalia from various drawers situated in the wall above the counter that seemed to have been set there for his use.
Their attention however was diverted to the infirmary door that hissed open automatically as a presence drew near.
Sound of clanging foots steps that accompanied larger Mechs' strolls reverberated softly in the air. Brea heard the newcomer before she saw him due to Ratchet's bulk blocking her view and she canted her neck to the side in an attempt to see.
"Ratchet," A mild voice said, stepping into Brea's line of vision. The Mech was the same height as Ratchet, but his chest was more prominent and two large panels jetted out from behind his shoulders like wings while pristine black and white metal covered him from tip to toe. Brea blinked when she looked into his face and noted that he too was adorned with a horn-thingy (chevron, Fixit had called it) like Ratchet and Bluestreak. And like Bluestreak, the Mech's chevron was colored red, giving it a stark contrast to his otherwise drab paint job. "How is the intelligence retrieval progressing?"
The medic snorted and returned his attention to the counter.
"Nonexistent," He replied frankly. "She's still recovering."
The other Mech's eyes narrowed slightly and the panels on his back twitched.
"We need any information the human may have. Its situation is unique to the others in our care and could give us the upper hand in this issue. Information retrieval and analysis is our most pressing concern."
The medic's internal systems made a sound akin to a car revving its engine, causing Brea to start. She sent a nervous glance Ratchet's way but no one seemed to be paying attention to her.
"Upper hand or no, she's needs to rest and get settled in before we start interrogating her. Our most pressing concern is her health."
"We haven't evaluated her condition in depth yet," Fixit told the new Mech with a more persuasive tone, "We don't want to scare her or she won't be able to tell us anything. It'll be easier once she's recovered a little and gotten use to this place. It just takes some time."
The winged Mech seemed to take a moment to consider the other two Mechs' words and sighed. "We need the information as soon as possible."
"I realize that, Prowl, but we have to be more delicate with the domesticated ones," Fixit replied, "For all we know she could be mentally unstable. We don't want a repeat of what happened to Kimberly."
Mentally unstable? Brea thought indignantly.
The dichromatic Prowl looked resigned and nodded.
"How long until it is cleared for questioning?" The Mech asked, tone more appeased.
"If all goes well, she should be good within the next orn," Ratchet replied. "If anything goes wrong however, it will be longer. Until we know how she'll respond upon being introduced back into a somewhat familiar social setting with her own species we can't give any specifics. I will keep you up to date with all available information."
"Please do."
Brea couldn't help but feel a little offended at the way they spoke about her, as if she wasn't even there and she was some frail little thing who would break into pieces if they asked her something. She had half a mind to tell them off, in Cybertronian too, but something made her decide against it and to keep her little secret just that; a secret. She might need some leverage in case something went sour.
These Mechs seemed nice and more pleasant then any she'd had any previous encounters with, but if she had learned anything since arriving on Cybertron, it was that nothing was as it appeared. She wasn't ready to jump on the bandwagon just yet. But they had said something that peaked her interest. Other humans. The thought of being around her own kind again sent her spirits through the roof. She really wanted was to talk to another person, to interact with someone her size she could related to and maybe share their experiences. Had she been around another human at all during her captivity, maybe she would have had an easier time coping. Being cooped up in that office for so long, she wondered if maybe they were right to be cautious about introducing her to the other humans. For all she knew she could suddenly break down in tears and hug one of them and refuse to let go.
She muffled a giggle at the resulting image, preferring not to draw the Mechs' attentions. Nevertheless, Fixit glanced her way and when he found her watching them all, he smiled at her.
"Sorry Brea," He apologized, "We were just talking business. This is Prowl; he's the top administrator here. Prowl, this is Brea."
Brea blinked and glanced over at the Mech, sending him a cheerful smile in a half hearted attempt to cover up the fact she had been listening in. His stoic eyes watched her from across the room and she was unable to keep her proverbial devil from popping up on her shoulder and snarking.
He looks like an administrator…I bet he's a jerk.
And then her proverbial angel popped up and put her two cents in.
Oh, hoo-ha. I'm sure he's perfectly pleasant.
"Uh…Hi…" Brea said with a little wave.
The Mech only glanced her way briefly before turning back to Ratchet.
"Please contact me when we can begin the information retrieval process."
And with that, he turned and left the room. The devil giggled and turned to the angel.
What was that about being 'perfectly pleasant'?
The Angel glared. Ah, shut up.
"An accident?" A voice bellowed, startling Brea from a sleep she didn't remember falling into. "Accidents are results of unpreventable circumstances. This was very preventable!"
"I assure you Ratchet, it was—"
"Quiet! And hold still."
Brea sat up and blinked blearily around her for moment as the world came into focus. Glancing over to her left towards the various large tables situated throughout the infirmary, she saw Ratchet hunching over another Mech who was laying atop one such table. Sparks flew from where Ratchet was focusing his attention, but she couldn't make out exactly what with him blocking her view.
She studied the Mech lying prone on the table and saw white and blue. From the medic's posture, she assumed he was welding something. Said thought then brought up a shiver when she imagined how painful being welded would be.
But they are metal…maybe it's like getting stitches…But then again, stitches hurt too.
The Mech didn't move at all, but Brea guessed that if she saw his face he would probably be grimacing against the pain. If there was any at all.
She stifled a yawn and stretched.
The sizzling hisses of Ratchet's welding torch died away and the Mech stepped back to examine his work.
"You're aim may be off for a little until we can get more supplies and I can replace that transition cog, but it'll do for now," The medic turned to put his tools away. "It won't matter much seeing as you won't be shooting anything for a while anyway."
The Mech on the table sat up and sung his legs over the edge, turning his head down and examining his shoulder. "I may be needed to—"
"You won't need to do anything. Blue can take over for you."
"I do not mean any ill towards Bluestreak when I say this, but he is not capable enough to do my job."
"I'm not arguing with you on that, but it is better then nothing."
The Mech frowned.
"I disagree. He is far too young and undisciplined for espionage. He'd kill himself and compromise the security of the compound. What about Jazz?"
"He's needed here until Prowl can find some more volunteers. Optimus has been asking some of the old crew if they'll donate some of their time or even come on full, but most are needed where they are or don't have the monetary cushion to volunteer. Prowl seems to think we may be able to persuade Hound, but I'm not betting any credits. The entire thing's been going to the pits. We might not be able to stay a secret for very much longer."
"How long until we can secure supplies?"
"Who knows. We were supposed to get some more last orn, but Jazz had a close call and couldn't rig their inventory kiosk. And we don't have the funds to buy off the market right now. We're scrapping by right now until he can figure out their new security protocols. We need to thank Annie for that garden idea of hers. That little mud patch bought us some time."
"She is rather insightful. Makes you wonder how they could even think of euthanizing her."
Ratchet snorted and shook his head.
"A lot of stuff makes me wonder. It's sick what they're doing to the poor slaggers," Ratchet sighed."If you could have gotten into Xeon's office a little sooner, things might have been different. We might've been able to save a lot more humans and none of this would have to be so…underground."
Brea felt her insides drop and the sickening feeling rise again.
"We cannot dwell on what might have been. It was too much of a risk at the time with Xeon's security protocols in place. We had to wait."
Oh god, please no…
"Still, Mirage. You could've talked to her and explained what was going on. Get her on our side or something. I doubt he'd managed to brain wash her that much. Even Sideswipe managed to convince Kimberly to escape and she's the most fidgety little glitch I've ever met! Besides, I--," Ratchet turned towards the counter and stopped mid-sentence when he saw Brea there, her eyes focused on his face plate. He stared back, the look of imploring denial and absolute horror on her small face bemusing him. His optics narrowed. "Brea? What's wrong?"
The blue and white Mech, Mirage, turned his head and his blue optics studied her for a long moment, seeming to recognize her instantly. It was funny, a small part of her brain realized, she imagined seeing the mysterious Mech who had helped save her would be a joyous, exciting reunion of sorts. Instead, she felt ill and digusted…at herself.
Mirage was not slow on the uptake and his face softened in remorse. Brea turned to look at him, sending him the same look she'd sent to Ratchet.
Please…she thought, shaking her head. Please tell me that stuff isn't true…oh god please…I didn't…
The medic turned to glance at Mirage with a look that asked 'what do you know that I don't?'
"She heard you," Mirage answered Ratchet's silent query, his voice soft and apologetic.
Ratchet stared incredulously at the Mech, "…So?"
Mirage glanced at him and elaborated, "She can speak and understand Cybertronian, Ratchet. She heard you."
Ratchet's body stiffened and when he turned back around to face Brea, he saw organic eyes piercing into him from across the room and he couldn't help but feel a swell of guilt.
"It's…all my fault," She breathed as thin streams of liquid dripped from her wide eyes. "…it's all my fault…"
A/N 2: Poor Brea. Man the stuff I put my OCs through. I wonder if I'm liable for abuse.