Author's Notes: Terribly sorry for the long wait. School is really hectic, what with the assignments, projects, assessments and all…
Many thanks to 1Timberwolf and Starfire201 for reviewing, and to all those who have added this story to your Favourites and Alerts! Hope you guys will enjoy this next chapter.
I do not own Transformers.
New
Chapter 3
[Prowl]
Grudgingly, Galloway had to admit that Prowl did a good job in upping and maintaining the level of discipline of the N.E.S.T. members. After reviewing the inner workings of the base, the SIC had introduced a few more protocols to further improve the standard of operations ("A few?! Have you seen the list lately?! The number of rules has practically tripled!" screeched Sideswipe).
Of course, knowing the Ark crew (more notably a certain pair of twins or two), not everything ran smoothly even with the implementation of the additional rules. Pranks were still played, random explosions still occurred, and Ratchet was still (and forever always) the Hatchet.
Sam and Leo had the epiphany of Prowl and his police cruiser alt mode as they drove back in Bumblebee one night. While Leo dubbed him the "cop-bot" and joked about how much of a stickler to the rules he was, Sam was suddenly overcome with a strange sense of peacefulness with the firm belief that the Autobot SIC was nothing like the Decepticon that attacked him the day he met his guardian.
From then on, it was a whole lot easier to talk to him too.
[Wheeljack]
Ratchet cursed colourfully as the inventor peeked over the debris of the smoking laboratory, smiling sheepishly and waving half an arm. He flinched and yelped in surprise and pain as the medic stomped over, yanked him up by his other arm and proceeded to drag him across the room, out into the hallways and towards the medbay, receiving numerous amused stares as they made their way there.
This made the tenth failed experiment in the month so far, but the inventor was undaunted and instead spurred further to keep trying new ideas. It was not all failures though. Some of his works had their merit.
The Autobots were not inclined to share their weapons technology with the humans, but there was some space for Wheeljack to improve their weapons against the Decepticons. Battles did not produce as many casualties as they used to, and for that, it was the least the humans could do to accept the occasional explosions with an exasperated sigh and defeated shrug of the shoulders.
[Sunstreaker]
When asked about his twin's behaviour, Sideswipe would cheerfully reply that it was normal for him to act like how he presently was, even around him. Several others began to theorise another reason after closely observing the yellow Lamborghini during his patrols.
From his not-so-subtle grumbles and frequent trips to the wash racks, it was concluded that the mech had a vain streak. Earth had been labelled the "mud-ball", and Sunstreaker would not even permit anyone to ride in him, claiming the "organic fluids" that the humans secreted would leave a stench and stain his seats.
It was quite understandable actually. With a nice, flashy alt mode, one would do one's best to keep it looking good and spotless. The only thing was that Sunstreaker took that concept to a much more extreme level. A single scratch or a patch of stain on his finish, no matter how small, would send him back to his quarters for a repaint. This didn't stop Sideswipe from playing messy and dirty pranks on him though. The consequent "brotherly tussle" would seem more like an all-out death match.
[Hound]
Diego Garcia was a nice little island with lots of space for the N.E.S.T. base of operations. Together with the training grounds, the base itself was quite large, but there was plenty of room for Hound to reserve a small spot for his own activities. During his off-shift periods, if Mirage was busy with his own duties, the scout would go off to that little place of his to occupy himself.
The vegetation was sparse in that area, and Hound had made it his job to restore the flora. From transplanting young plants from the more densely forested areas to starting from scratch and digging holes to place seeds, Hound was determined to make his garden flourish.
Over the course of the week, his efforts were rewarded very beautifully with a welcoming, flourishing patch of lush green trees. The newly-planted seeds would take a longer time to grow, but Hound could already picture the colourful flowers blooming and adding more life and vitality to the special place that would belong only to him and Mirage.
[Mirage]
It took time, but that was probably just what Mirage needed, Optimus mused. Time to get used to the new surroundings, their new alliance with the humans, and their new home. Rather than wallow in the unfamiliarity of it all, he had chosen to adapt, like the many others who had slowly learnt to adjust to the new circumstances.
Of course, progress did not happen overnight. It started with joining his comrades in the recreational room during his off-shift periods, though often accompanied by Hound. From there came the conversations with the soldiers, and at times with a visiting Annabelle, little story sessions. The child was fascinated with tales of Cybertron, of the crystal gardens and the parallels in their society to their own. Sharing snippets of the times of peace strangely had a somewhat soothing effect, very unlike the bitter angst that he had expected.
Mirage had been rather surprised at the little place Hound had taken him to, but at the expectant look on the scout's face, he could not help but admit he had done a good job. As the two gazed at the night sky under a tree, the spy thought that Earth wasn't as bad as he first thought it was, not when they were surrounded by the beautiful garden of dancing trees and blossoming flowers, and especially not when he had Hound by his side.
[Bluestreak]
To give Sarah her much earned and needed break from watching their child 24/7, Lennox had often brought the excited girl over to the N.E.S.T. base to visit the Autobots. They would take turns to play with and entertain her during their free time, and Epps had joked about how she had them all wrapped around her little fingers, Ironhide in particular (said Weapons Specialist had sent him an intense death glare for the comment amidst the sniggers that followed).
It became clear very quickly who Annabelle's favourite baby sitter was. Bluestreak would be seen with her most often, the two never running out of things to chat about. They could and would spend hours in the rec. room just talking, and the hours would fly by until Lennox came to retrieve his daughter.
There were also times when (with Ironhide's and Lennox's permission) they would go down to the shooting range where Annabelle would watch in awe as the gunner took down targets with his well-known speed and accuracy. As curious as Bluestreak was to her ability, he had enough sense to gently turn her down when she asked for a shot or two at the drones.
[Blurr]
It turned out that the speedster was a messenger as well as an intelligence agent back on Cybertron. This newfound knowledge served as a revelation to many as to why the mech moved and talked like he did, but was still no help in figuring out how to deal with it.
The other Autobots had long grown accustomed to his behaviour. The humans, however, were not too comfortable, but they hesitated in asking him to slow down. It felt wrong to hold him back when speed just seemed to define him, and they respected him enough to try their best when he interacted and worked with them.
Of course, any nearby Autobot would willingly summarise Blurr's words and "translate" them for the humans, but they were determined to understand him themselves. From such determination came the strategy of "timed-attention", of which each person would listen to only a few seconds of Blurr talking and the next person would take over while the previous one tuned everything else out to decipher his portion. Afterwards they would come together and piece the snippets of information together to understand what he was saying.
It was an absolute mess the first time they had tried, and it took a few weeks, but continuous practice made conversing with him less taxing and a little more enjoyable. Blurr seemed to have fun as well. His optics would flash with amusement and patience as they made out his words, and with pride and gratitude when they were successful.
Author's Notes 2: The next chapter should be the last.
Reviews and/or criticisms (preferably constructive ones) are welcome. Thank you.
Refracted Imagination, logging off.