AN: Whew, this chapter really got away from me. It was supposed to be MUCH longer, until I realized it was getting TOO long, so I just cut it in half and made two chapters.
Shameless plug: I would greatly appreciate it if some of you lovely reviewers would meander over to my other ongoing story, "The Sum of Our Parts." I would love to hear what everyone thinks of it.
Something I forgot to mention before, but Bluestreaks character is strongly inspired by Kisa, from "Fruits Baskets." Anyone familiar with the serious would have recognized the "waste disposal" scene from the book. :D
Vorn = 83 years/1 TF year
Deca-orn = 20 weeks/10 orns/1TF week
Orn = 2 weeks/1 TF day
Joor = 6 hours/1 TF hour.
Breem = 8.3 minutes.
Klick = less than a second
Ch. 5 – Arrivals
It had been about a deca-orn since Bluestreak arrived, and by and large everyone had gotten used to his shadowing Prowl. Most still found it a little weird, but at least nobody was doing double takes when the pair walked by anymore. Whether it was the rec room, monitor room, supply room, or any place in between, Bluestreak could be counted on to be there if Prowl was.
It should be noted that the training hall had been left neglected by the tactician and de facto security director after one rather…disastrous visit. Turns out, firing guns within hearing range a shell shocked youngling was a Bad Idea. It had taken Prowl nearly a joor to calm Bluestreak down enough to coax the youngling out from the storage locker where he had leapt into hiding, curling into a trembling ball and covering his head and audios.
In any case, thus far no issues had come up regarding Bluestreaks presence. Unfortunately, due to Prowls duties and the fact that they were in a military base, there were some places that no youngling could go, no matter what the circumstances.
"Bluestreak, I need you to wait out here for me," Prowl explained as he stood in front of the grey and red youngling, putting one hand on his shoulder. "I can't bring you inside the security hub, but it's important for me to talk to someone inside. He just joined us, and Optimus needs me to show him what I've done with our securities and what measures I have had implemented since coming here. It will take a long time, as much as a joor, maybe more.
"I don't have to be in there there the entire time." Prowl went on for the increasingly distressed Bluestreaks sake. "I will ask for a short break halfway through, and I can check on you then. But I need you to be patient and wait out here for me. Do you understand?"
The knot-doll looked about ready to pop from how tightly Bluestreak was hugging it. But the youngling managed to nod slowly anyway. Prowl knew this was as close as he was going to get with being "okay" with it anyway.
Prowl removed his hand and crossed his arms.
"You know that you are completely safe here. But I understand that you still have anxiety issues, so if at any point you get too uncomfortable, knock on the door for me and I'll come out. Is that acceptable to you?"
Bluestreak nodded. He still really, really wished he was allowed to come inside too, but he would be good for Prowl. He'd show Prowl he wasn't some little sparkling. Bluestreak promised himself he wouldn't bother Prowl at all until his meeting was done, and show Prowl that he wasn't a burden.
The door closed behind Prowl, and Bluestreak felt like purging his tanks.
Because of Prowls battle computer, he had been the most ideal candidate present to oversee the general security of the base against attack and infiltration, hence his being the 'de facto security director.' However, Optimus had wanted to bring on a dedicated Director for some time, someone with greater experience and extensive training in the field. It wasn't until recently (two orns ago, in fact) that Optimus managed to find someone qualified enough to work at the Autobot headquarters…the same red and white mech currently seated at the computer consol.
"I take it you're the new Security Director, Red Alert," Prowl said by way of greeting as he came further in.
"I am," the red and white replied as he turned his head to look at Prowl with one optic. He respectfully stood up and faced the tactician fully as he approached. "You must be Prowl, the one who's been taking care of security up until now."
"In the loosest sense of the term," Prowl said. "My battle computer lent itself well to the task, but it wasn't designed to search out and detect all possible security breaches or how to prevent them."
"I could tell." Red Alert said, as he indicated the screen he had been examining when Prowl came in. "The outer defenses have been well designed, but you left far too many less obvious points of entry under protected, and your security check points leave much to be desired."
Prowl could already tell it was going to be a long half-joor.
oOoOoOo
Poke.
Poke.
Poke.
Po-
"What!?"
"I'm bored."
A low growl.
"A c'mon! There's nothing to do!"
"What do you expect me to do about it?"
"I don't know. Entertain me."
"No. Go away."
"But I'm booored."
"At what point did I give you the impression that I cared?"
Pout.
Ignore.
Poke.
"Touch me one more time and I will bite your finger off."
Po-
"Argh!"
"Aaah!"
Patter-patter-patter of pedes running for dear life.
Patter-patter-patter of pedes running with mildly murderous intent.
oOoOoOo
Bluestreak sat stock still against the wall besides the door.
Abruptly, he stood and marched to the other side and sat back down opposite of the door. He kept still for nearly a third of a breem before he shot back up and paced up and down the wall, doorwings twitching erratically.
How long has Prowl been in there? It's got to be at least almost time for a break, right? It's been at least a quarter joor, give or take a breem. What time was it now? Bluestreak checked his internal chromometer. Between now and the last time he checked, he had managed to restrain himself for…fifteen klicks. In total, he's been waiting for…two breems.
Bluestreak had the novel sensation of wanting to smash his head against the wall in frustration.
It was going to be a long half-joor.
Since he didn't actually want to hurt himself (his moderately sensitive chevron was located in the center of his forehead, after all, and thusly be the painful point of contact were he to indulge in his self-smashing whim), Bluestreak settled for leaning an arm against the wall so it was above his head, leaning heavily against the limb wearily.
Intellectually, Bluestreak knew Prowl was just on the other side of that door, and that he himself was acting like a clingy little sparkling. He knew there was nothing to be scared of. He knew nothing was going to happen.
At least…he was pretty sure.
Bluestreaks hand on the wall clenched into a fist.
There weren't any bad bots here. He didn't have to be afraid of anyone, that's what Prowl and Jazz were always saying. There was no one here to hurt him or scare him…no one here…no one here…
Bluestreaks intakes skipped and hitched.
No one was here. No one was talking, no one was coming or going, it was all empty and quiet and he was alone, because there was no one left and no one was going to come ever because he was the only left and –
Wham. Wham. Wham.
Bluestreaks little fist made a steady beat against the wall, echoing up and down the silent still hall, painfully blessedly loud in the silence but not loud enough to drown out the dark vicious fears in his head that lived in the pitch black recesses of his forgotten memories and whispered pitch black words that he was alone and defenseless and the last because no one was coming out of the silence, the complete and utter silence in the remains of the broken buildings and broken bodies under the ash filled skies –
Bluestreaks intakes skipped and ran in frantic short bursts, as he felt his vision tunnel and his body tremble violently.
Wham wham wham wham wham
-- that once roared with jets and fire and rained and everyone was screaming and crying and he ran and ran because he couldn't stay he was so scared he ran she gave it to time and told him to run and the streets were slick with energon of the dead and dying and it was all so loud and there was nowhere to go so he had to go back but it was gone gone it was all gone –
Bluestreaks lips were parted, gasping, trying to make the sounds come out, to fill the void and prove that he was online and here and not back at the ruined buildings and ashy skies and he wasn't alone anymore because if he cried out if he screamed they'd come running and hold him close and chase the nightmare away (why oh why was the nightmare chasing him even when he was awake why couldn't it just leave him alone?!) and tell him it would all be alright, it'll be alright Bluestreak, it'll be okay, all he had to do was cry, scream, do SOMETHING and they'll come…
But his vocalizer was broken, he couldn't let out the scream even as it crawled up out of his spark and tore his throat to pieces from the inside trying to get out, he had to let it out, just one noise, one sound, one scream to let it all escape, that's all he had to do –
A monotone devoid of emotion or mercy, "Cease your incessant crying. It's distracting."
He choked back the scream –
A slap across the face, so hard he fell to the floor, onto one door wing and it hurt so much he wanted to cry.
"Complain again and I won't be so lenient. I will not tolerate weakness."
He bit back the cry, because if he was silent, it would be so much easier, he knew the rules, no one was allowed to talk at all, least of all him, the smallest one there…
"Good. You are learning…"
-- he lunged across the hall –
"…to obey…"
-- and raised his arms and dropped Silverstreak so he can bang his fists against the door and let his hands scream for him –
"…your masters."
Patter-patter-patter-patter-patter
"Eeee-ya-hahaHAHA HAAA!"
Bluestreak had just enough time to think 'what?' before he was accosted by a loud red and yellow tilt-a-whirl.
That's certainly what it felt like. One klick the hall was empty and deathly quiet, the next someone had grabbed him by the back of his shoulders and was spinning him around him around in tight circles, first one way then the next, changing directions rapidly and without warning until Bluestreak was thoroughly dizzy.
The high-pitched yelling wasn't helping.
"Stop hiding behind sparklings you fragger!"
"Ha! You swore! I'm telling Red Alert!"
"Tattle and I'll bite your face off, Sideswipe!"
"Way to make me feel all warm and fuzzy Sunny!"
"WHAT did I tell you about calling me that?! My name is Sunstreaker, not Sunny or Sunshine or whatever aft-headed name you come up with!"
"But 'Sunny' is such a nice name for you, because you are just so HAPPY all the time!"
"Stop calling me that!"
"Hey, you're already going to bite my face off. In for the klick, in for the orn, right?"
"As soon as you drop the sparkling, Sideswipe, I'm turning you inside out!"
"Well, now I really don't wanna let go."
It was about this time that Bluestreak gathered enough of his wits to realize a few things, namely a) the 'tilt-a-whirl' was actually a pair of younglings a little older (and taller) than himself, and b) the red one was holding by the shoulders and was spinning him around to keep Bluestreak between himself and the rather scary looking yellow one.
Once he made these basic conclusions, his thoughts went into overdrive. If a telepath had been in the area and thought to take a peek into Bluestreaks CPU right then, he would have heard something similar to this:
Younglings! Like me!
Where did they come from?
I've never seen them before.
I'm dizzy.
Where they at Praxus too?
Prowl never said anything. Did he know? He must've, he knows everything.
I think the red one is Sideswipe and the yellow one is Sunstreaker.
He's scary.
They're so loud, they'll get in trouble if they don't stop.
Oh! Almost tripped.
My tanks feel really funny now.
Why is Sunstreaker so made at Sideswipe?
They're big.
How come they can talk?
Sideswipe laughs a lot. I like his laugh. Even if he is making me dizzy.
How old are they? Older than me at least, I think, because they're big.
Who's Red Alert?
Wow, now I really don't feel so good…actually, I feel kind of…uh oh.
It all went downhill from there.
…
…
…
There's a special sort of eeriness that comes from motion and noise and laughter and even threats of bodily harm being cut off into abrupt dead silent stillness with the speed of a flipped switch. It's as if everything had been hung in suspended animation, caught between the tick and tock of time and coated in a sensation almost ethereal in its otherworldly feel, waiting for time to start up again.
Of course, Bluestreak wasn't thinking of the poetics of his situation. Mostly, he was busy being transfixed in horrified fascination by the partially processed energon that liberally coated Sunstreakers lower body.
For five full klicks, nobody so much as cycled air as their CPU's tried to wrap themselves around what had just happened.
Sideswipe was the first to break the spell.
"Wow," he commented as he leaned forward over Bluestreaks shoulder. "The projection leaves something to be desired, but the aim was spot on and the ammo's pretty impressive. I didn't think you were even big enough to hold that much. You got two tanks in you or what?"
That was enough to break the others out of their daze. Bluestreak raised his optics just in time to meet Sunstreakers.
He wished he hadn't.
Sunstreaker kept his head just low enough to add power to the white hot glare he was giving Bluestreak, his shoulders punched and fisted clenched as he very nearly vibrated with the apocalyptic rage that rolled off him in waves. The lowered head kept his face partially shadowed, adding another layer of menace that no 12 vorn old youngling should possess, and the horns on either side of head were doing nothing to soften the image.
Bluestreak pressed back against Sideswipes front, hands coming up defensively in front of his chest. On the outside, he was as frozen as a petro-rabbit caught in the gaze of a hungry turbo fox. On the inside, he was a lot less calm.
'I'm going to dieeee!' He internally wailed.
Slowly, Sunstreaker raised one hand, and jabbed a finger right at the terrified Bluestreak.
"You," he intoned in a deadly serious voice, "are going to pay for this."
And now Bluestreak was actively trying to phase right through Sideswipes body behind him.
"Aw c'mon Sunstreaker, don't be like that," Sideswipe chided, holding Bluestreak in place. "He didn't do it on purpose or nothing. Besides, purple looks good on you."
"He THREW UP on me!" Sunstreaker exploded, making Bluestreak jump and cringe back even further into the dubious protection Sideswipes presence offered.
"He slagging threw up on me!" Sunstreaker kept ranting. "How the frag am I NOT supposed to be torqued about this?! I am NOT going anywhere when I'm covered in slagging vomit on my legs! And purple and yellow clash horribly and should never be seen outside of a dessert tray you uneducated dolt! That just makes it WORSE!"
Bluestreaks mounting terror was briefly shoved aside in favor of blank disbelief.
'…What?'
Sideswipe released one of Bluestreaks shoulders long enough to wave off his yellow companion's objections.
"Chillax, brother dear. You can wash it off easy, if you get to the wash racks before it dries on."
'Wait, brothers?'
"And just where ARE the wash racks?" Susntreaker asked dangerously.
"I have no idea!" Sideswipe chirped far too cheerfully. "But I bet this guys knows, don't'cha?"
It took Bluestreak an extra klick to realize Sideswipe was talking to him. When he did, self preservation had him nodding his head so vigorously his head felt about ready to fly off.
"See! Problem solved!" Sideswipe concluded happily. "Lead the way, you!"
Wait, what?
To Bluestreaks disbelief, Sideswipe had both hands pressed against his back between his doorwings and was pushing him down the wall, obviously determined to recruit him as their base guide whether he wanted to do or not. In a brief flash of panic, Bluestreak dug his heels in and pushed back – he couldn't just leave, Prowl told him to wait!
"Eh? What gives?" Sideswipe asked, leaning over Bluestreaks shoulder to look at him in confusion.
Bluestreak shook his head as fast as he could. He wanted to say he needed to wait for Prowl, he wanted to say he didn't want to wander too far away, he didn't want to get swept away by these two, he didn't want to get too far from his Caretaker in case he couldn't find him later and he got lost, he didn't want to disobey Prowl, because disobeying was bad and when you were bad, then bad things happened to you, Bluestreak was sure of it…
But, as with every time before, the words would not come.
And now his vision was filled with an angry Sunstreaker looming over him, far too close for comfort. Bluestreak pressed up against Sideswipe again as if the wires breadth of extra space would protect him.
"Listen you," Sunstreaker growled as he leaned in even closer. "I'm covered in your puke. You are taking me to the wash racks, and you are not going anywhere else until I say so. Got it?"
Oh Primus, he was scary. Bluestreak curled up a little more into himself defensively, wings lowering and trying to go back to protect the sensitive appendages. This last show of intimidation was just too much for the stressed out youngling, and before he knew it his optics were already beginning to pool over with coolant.
Sunstreaker reared back. "Are you crying?!"
He just sounded so appalled, Bluestreak couldn't help but feel humiliated by his weakness. His hands flew up to hind the evidence, but it was too late. He shuttered his optics, and the coolant overflowed and trailed down his cheeks. Now that he started, he just couldn't stop; his shoulders were already beginning to shake with silent sobs.
"Faaan-tastic, Sunny," Sideswipe commented flatly. "You made another little youngling cry. That took, what, half a breem?"
Sunstreaker ignored his red counterpart. He was more concerned with getting the small grey youngster to stop crying before an adult came around the corner and jumped to the wrong conclusion.
"Okay okay, look, you don't have to cry, alright? I'm not actually going to hurt you or anything. Sure I'm mad, but you did throw up on me…argh, forget that, I'm just annoyed, I'm not actually…I didn't mean…I wasn't going to do anything, so stop it already….just stop it…I wasn't…I meant…don't…argh, STOP CRYING SLAGGIT!"
He was not doing a very good job of it.
"Way to go, Mr. Sensitivity." Sideswipe noted in the same flat tone, patting Bluestreak on the top of the head as he just sobbed harder. "Yell at the kid, that's sure to make him feel better."
"I don't see YOU helping!" Sunstreaker snapped.
"Gimme a klick. Um…ooh! Sunstreaker, hand that thing over….thanks. Hey kid, look what I got!"
Hiccupping slightly, Bluestreak lowered his hands slightly. Though blurry optics, he saw his faithful doll being held in front of him as Sideswipe leaned slightly over and around him.
"Lookee lookee lookee lookee!" Sideswipe sang, shaking the doll and making her dance in his hand.
The doll was swiftly grabbed and cuddled for dear life. As Bluestreak hugged Silverstreak and buried his face in the soft cloth, Sideswipe shot Sunstreaker a smug look.
"I could've done that," Sunstreaker muttered darkly, crossing his arms.
"Yeah, but you didn't, so I still win."
"Hmph. NOW can we go to the wash racks? I'm already starting to crust."
"Good question. Hey kid, you alright to take us now, or what?"
Bluestreak bit his lower lip and glanced at the door that hid Prowl. He did feel bad about throwing up on Sunstreaker, even if it was an accident, and showing them where the wash racks were would be the least he could do. On the other servo, Prowl had told him to wait, and he didn't want to disobey his Caretaker, because if you disobey you were Bad, and if you were Bad you were Punished, and Bluestreak didn't want to be Punished.
(It never occurred to him to wonder where this assured knowledge came from, or what it meant to be "Bad", or what being "Punished" entailed, only that both were to be avoided at all costs).
No, he couldn't leave, he couldn't disobey Prowl. What if he got mad? Prowl's never gotten mad before, but then again, Bluestreak hadn't done anything Bad yet. No, it's better not to risk it. Maybe he could just give them directions, or draw a little map on his data pad. The wash racks weren't exactly close, but they weren't too hard to find. He can tell them how to get there, say he's sorry, and they can go and leave him alone again…
...in...
...the...
...silence.
Before he had too much time to think of it, Bluestreak took Sideswipes arm and pulled him wordlessly down the hallway. Sunstreaker, after a confused pause at the change of events, fell into step following them.
"Awesome! I knew you'd come through for us!" Sideswipe said happily. He turned to his not so happy counterpart.
"Y'see? If you'd just been nice about it from the start, we wouldn't have wasted so much time and you won't have made another little youngling cry."
"It's not like I do it on purpose," Sunstreaker countered sourly. "It's not my fault they're all too sensitive. I don't even have to do anything before they get all leaky!"
"Right, why would they be scared of you? You just ooze happy sunshine!"
"Shut up Sides. This is your entire fault anyway."
As the pair bickered and bantered back and forth, tossing light insults and accusations met with jokes and denial in an argument with great familiarity and no bite, Bluestreak felt himself relax marginally. His tanks were doing major flip flops, and if he stopped to think too much about what he was doing he honestly thought he would be sick again, it made him so nervous.
But then he would pay attention to the older younglings and the weird, nonsensical things they said to each other that were still fun to hear, how they filled the empty hallway with their own voices and laughter and life, and Bluestreak couldn't help but feel better. He wouldn't be gone long, just long enough to take them to the wash racks, maybe show them how they worked if they didn't know, then he'd be right back so Prowl would never find out he left. But just this once, Bluestreak wanted to be a little bit greedy and selfish; he wanted to stay near the younglings, these strange, loud, fearless younglings who just by being themselves managed to chase away the nightmares that followed Bluestreak beyond the recharge berth.
Even if he was disobeying, being Punished couldn't possibly be worse than being alone in the silence he couldn't chase away by himself, the empty dead silence where the nightmares lived and chased him from beyond the night.
oOoOoOo
"The overall outer defense is good, but the internal security could stand to be much tighter," Red Alert judged. "Also, I don't like how there is no way to turn off the system remotely in the event everyone is trapped outside."
"The chances of the base being empted and locked out while the security grid is up are astronomical," Prowl pointed out as he turned off the simulation on the computer screen.
"True," Red Alert allowed. "But 'improbable' is not the same as 'impossible', and the worst only needs to happen once."
Prowl was quickly learning that this was more or less Red Alerts motto when it came to security. He basically worked on the assumption that every bad probability would happen eventually, so he made it his job to turn all the undesirable improbabilities into impossibilities, even if the aforementioned 'probability' was about the same as the planet being reduced to cosmic dust by a giant meteorite (and already Prowl would not be surprised if Red Alert had a backup plan for that even). It admittedly made for an effective Security Director, and he was able to see flaws and anticipate dangers that Prowl hadn't noticed or overlooked in favor of more obvious, likely eventualities. But it also required an enormous amount of patience to put up with having your carefully crafted, tested, and implemented protocols being systematically shredded by an inconsequential and usually unavoidable hole.
Not that Prowl was frustrated or anything. Frustration clouded judgment and clear thinking. Besides, it was illogical to become frustrated with someone for only doing the very job they had been brought in to do. If nothing else, Red Alert was certainly (anal, paranoid, obsessive-compulsive) devoted to his job.
"We also need to go through the rosters and make sure we have a complete history of each and every mech on base before and during their service. Most of their records have the basic information, but I need details. You've been there longer, Prowl, so you can be the one to get those histories. Do try to be thorough, the Pit is in the details after all."
So of course Prowl wouldn't be so immature to feel an emotion as unreasonable as frustration, nope, not at all.
Prowls chronometer chimed right then, signaling the promised halfway point.
"I would like to take a short break before we continue," Prowl stated, conveniently ignoring Red Alerts request/order for him. Said mech just nodded in acknowledgement, already pulling up the base schematics and probably planning his own changes already.
Prowl left him to it, heading to the door. Bluestreak hadn't knocked once, and while that was technically not a bad thing, it went against his earlier predictions of what the youngling would do. He even had a bit of a plan: Bluestreak would most likely be overcome with anxiety within ten, fifteen breems before knocking on the door. Prowl would break away, spend thirty to forty five klicks (depending how distressed he was) assuring Bluestreak everything was alright, and if it was bad enough he would offer to put Bluestreak on his comm. line so he would be able to hear his voice.
However, none of that happened. It left Prowl with a sense of disquiet he usually got when things didn't go according to plan. It usually meant something had gone wrong.
Prowl keyed the door open, already bracing for the hug for the hug he knew was coming – Bluestreak had done a remarkable job restraining himself, he was probably aching for physical contact by now.
Nothing happened.
No one was there.
Prowl actually rebooted his optics to be certain. The sight before him didn't change; the hall was completely bereft of younglings.
This was…unexpected.
Prowl battle computer slammed into action with enough force to almost make him feel dizzy, analyzing everything he knew about Bluestreak and the surrounding area, where he could have gone, why, and for how long. Said CPU stuttered to a halt when he noticed the energon, but his battle computer took up the slack. He knelt down and examined the drying puddle, and quickly determined it had not come from a wound – the color was wrong, and Prowl couldn't feel any lingering static when he passed his servo over it. From the color and consistency, and how much it had dried, it looked more like partially processed energon, purged sometime in the last 40 breems, but no later than that.
Bots very rarely purged, but when they did, it usually happened in two circumstances: a particular virus, or extreme emotional duress.
Bluestreak had shown no signs of having a virus, and Ratchet had not detected anything in his last checkup. Besides, the youngling had no opportunity to become infected, what with him not being allowed to access the base mainframe or download anything. Even if he was, the firewalls would be more than adequate to keep anything and everything out of the mainframe long before it could infect a careless youngling. It wasn't impossible, granted, but unlikely.
Extreme emotional duress, unfortunately, was far more probable, especially when taking into account Bluestreaks anxiety issues. It could explain the sudden purging, but not why he had wandered off. That anxiety should have led him to knock on the door for Prowl, which he obviously did not do.
Unless someone had chanced seen him purging, and in concern had taken Bluestreak away to Ratchet. With the youngling still unable to talk, and perhaps not being able to use his datapad for whatever reason, he wouldn't be able to protest. Bluestreak would not leave on his own – that someone had led him away was the most logical explanation for his absence.
But then why did no one comm. Prowl to let him know? Was it simple carelessness? No, then Ratchet at least would have told him if Bluestreak had been dropped off in his med bay sans the tactician.
The 'why's' were irrelevant, compared to the 'where' and the 'who.'
It looked like the new Security Director would get a chance to be put through his paces sooner than anticipated.
Red Alert spun in his chair and Prowl marched right back into the hub.
"Back already?" he asked, mildly surprised.
"Search through the base for a grey and red Praxian youngling, starting from outside this room and spreading outwards," Prowl ordered.
Red Alert, to his credit, didn't waste time asking questions or wondering about why there was a youngling on the base in the first place. He didn't even allow his surprise to hesitate him; he spun the chair back around and directly pulled the security feeds up, starting with the camera that watched the hall outside the security hub.
"Starting half a joor ago?" he asked.
"Exactly."
While Red Alert rewound the vid, Prowl jerked slightly in surprise as he received a ping from a comm. He was strongly tempted to ignore it for a klick, but a sense of duty (and the possibility that it was the Prime contacting him and the cardinal rule of You Do Not Ignore The Prime Ever Period), he answered it, raising a hand to his head in signal to Red Alert that he was talking on his comm. Hopefully this would be quick.
: : Prowl here. : :
: : Nice t' hear from you again! : :
Prowl jerked slightly in surprise when he recognized the voice.
: : Jazz? Didn't you leave for a mission two orns ago? : :
: : Yeah, but I got back. Just saw Ratchet for th' mandatory post-mission checkup, an' I was wondering where you and Blue were. I kinda missed the little guy, and I was hopin' to drop in maybe if ya weren't too busy. : :
Prowl looked up to the screens, where Red Alert had just paused it on the image capture of Prowl standing in front of Bluestreak (had Bluestreak really looked that scared before?).
: : That won't be possible. We have a bit of a situation right now. : : Prowl informed the Special Ops member.
All mirth was gone from Jazz's voice when he responded.
: : What kind o' situation? : :
Prowl told him.
~ Just outside the Med bay doors ~
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LOST BLUESTREAK!?"
Inside the Med bay, Ratchet dropped a wrench and Ironhide fell off the berth. Jazz, ignorant of the reaction his outburst had elicited, was already hurrying down the hall.
: : Know what, never mind, I'm on my way. : : Jazz comm.'d back silently. : : Where are ya right now? : :
: : Stay where you are Jazz. : : Prowl ordered, and now the visored mech could pick out an undercurrent of tightness in his voice that hadn't been there before in all the times he had spoken with him.
: : We're looking over the video feed now. : : Prowl went on. : : For all we know, you're already closer to Bluestreak than we are, and if so I'll need you to bring him back. : :
: : Gotcha. Standin' by then. : :
Jazz clicked off the comm., sighed, and fell back against the wall. So much for a relaxing mini-vacation after the mission. And he'd been so looking forward to seeing Bluestreak and Prowl again. Granted, two orns wasn't very longer, but on a stressful mission it felt a frag of a lot longer.
The hall was empty and quiet, for the moment at least, for which Jazz was grateful. It gave him a moment to collect himself, start thinking as too where Bluestreak had most likely ended up, and why.
It also had the unexpected benefit of allowing his highly tuned audio's pick up high pitched screaming no adult mech should be able to make.
Jazz's fuel pump just about jumped out of his chest. As soon as he registered the sound he was already running as fast as he could down the halls.
oOoOoOo
Bluestreak had honestly intended to just show the red and yellow brothers (twins!) to the washracks, then come straight back before Prowl had a chance to learn he had wandered off – no harm, no foul, right?
(That's what he remembered hearing Jazz say sometimes, and if Jazz says it…)
But Sideswipe proved to be easily distracted and kept forcing detours every time something shiny caught his optic, and Sunstreaker refused on pain of death to go down any populated hall lest his humiliation be seen, and between the two of them it took at least three times as long just to get to the wash racks as it should have, and they weren't THAT terribly close to begin with. Once they were there, Bluestreak had to stay to be sure they knew where the solvents were, and then Sideswipe almost pulled the nozzle head right off, and one thing led to another until…
"Hold it tighter, you're letting the pressure go down," Sunstreaker ordered.
Bluestreak obliged, readjusting his grip on the nozzle so that it sprayed harder on the yellow twins legs, said twin currently cleaning away the last of the mess with a brush. Sideswipe, for his part, was wandering around the washracks curiously, obligingly holding onto Bluestreaks doll and datapad so they wouldn't get wet. Occasionally he reminded his twin and new guide that he was still there with random comments, which Sunstreaker either ignored or frowned in annoyance.
"Hey Sunny, have you ever seen such huge racks before!"
Such as right now.
Bluestreak wasn't sure what Sideswipe was so fascinated with. Sure, the wash racks was pretty much the biggest room he'd seen, but there wasn't a whole lot to it; it was a large, mostly empty room in pale yellow tiles with spigots and nozzles against the walls in one half, with shelves built in to hold containers of solvents for tough grime in squeeze bottles and hooks to hang the brushes and rags. On the other wall were the dryers…and that was about it.
"You can turn it off now," Sunstreaker told him as he set the brush aside, in favor of a cleaning rag. Bluestreak obliged, turning off the spray nozzle and hanging it back on the wall. The 'danger' past, Sideswipe wandered back.
"Why were you carrying this around anyway?" Sideswipe asked.
Bluestreak turned to see the red twin fiddling around with his datapad, which he had set by the door for Silverstreak to guard so it wouldn't get wet. He frowned. He didn't like that Sideswipe was messing with it without his permission. He almost reached over and pulled it right out of the rude youngling's hands, but a lack of gumption had him changing his mind at the last minute and only holding out his hand in silent request instead. Fortunately, Sideswipe understood and passed it over without comment.
I use it to talk.
Sideswipe had messed with the font settings, to Bluestreaks mild annoyance.
Sideswipe's read the message, looked at Bluestreak as if to say 'you're kidding, right?', back at the datapad, then up at the perfectly seriously youngling. He quirked an optic guard ridge in an otherwise flat expression, his face now just about screaming 'just how weird ARE you anyway?'
Bluestreak felt himself wilt a little as he felt his budding confidence take a hit.
"Why don't you just talk like a regular bot, with your voice and all that?" Sideswipe questioned as he crossed his arms.
Bluestreak shuffled his feet in nervous habit, dropping his optics so he wouldn't have to look at Sideswipe in the faceplates. For the first time, he felt truly embarrassed by his muteness. He wanted to explain it to the older youngling, to say it all in a way that the older youngling would understand and accept with a smile and infectious laugh, but he didn't know how.
How best to describe why he couldn't talk? How, when he first woke up, he would occasionally try to speak but the words would become trapped in his own throat? How he was gripped in breathless fear every time he tried to make a sound – a sigh, a giggle, a cry – even though he couldn't remember why he was so scared? How to convey what he himself didn't even understand?
So Bluestreak settled for the next best thing.
My voice doesn't work.
"Seriously?" Sideswipe asked skeptically. He rubbed his chin as he carefully contemplated Bluestreaks answer.
The only warning Bluestreak had of Sideswipes thought process was the red twins quick glance at his doorwings, just before Sideswipe grabbed him by one shoulder and used his freehand to tickled the sensitive appendage mercilessly.
Bluestreak twitched and convulsed until he was nearly curled up on the wet floor, body shaking as he doubled over in silent gasping laughter until he was nearly choking. And still Sideswipe didn't stop.
"Oh c'mon. Not even a squeak?" he asked, trying various sensitive spots to get his desired effect until he was sitting on Bluestreaks legs (said youngling now on his front, propping himself up his elbows) while he rubbed circles on the bottom of his pedes.
It was fun at first, laughing so hard with the sensation that made him feel giggly and happy, but as the tickle torture went on it was getting a lot less fun. Even though Bluestreak was still laughing it was almost starting to hurt and he wanted Sidewipe to just stop, but he couldn't say anything. He tried kicking his feet, but Sideswipe was holding his legs down by sitting on them. He banged his fist and tried to wiggle away, but Sideswipe was determined to make Bluestreak squeal and wasn't giving up anytime soon.
"Soon as you laugh or squeak or tell me to frag off, I'll stop," Sideswipe told him simply, to Bluestreaks despair.
PSHHHHH!
"Argh!"
Sideswipe abruptly dropped Bluestreaks pede and rolled off of his legs. The youngest raised his head, wiping the tears rolling down his face to look at his unexpected savior.
"Knock it off Sideswipe," Sunstreaker said flatly, the nozzle he held still dripping from when he sprayed his brother in the head.
Said brother at first looked mildly affronted, until a whole new idea occurred to him. His frown slowly morphed into a mischievous grin that in a previous life had sent many a sparkling sitter running, as his servo eased to the other nozzle hanging on the wall.
Sunstreakers optics widened. "Don't even think about it," he warned.
"Too late, already thought it."
PSHHHHH!
Sunstreaker threw his hands up in time to protect his face from the water black, then returned it kind with full vengeance. Laughing, Sideswipe jumped up and raced away, dropping his nozzle (still attached to the wall and therefore not terribly mobile) and grabbing a still full bottle for an improvised water (or at least liquid) gun.
"Catch me!" he challenged as he darted away.
Sunstreaker, in the universal fashion of brothers everywhere, could not let the challenge go unanswered. He dropped his own nozzle, grabbed his own bottle, and proceeded to give full chase with a feral grin.
Bluestreak sat on the floor and watched the pair chase and spray each other as they raced and slid around the expansive wash racks, yelling challenges and mild insults back and forth all the while. He tilted his head as he watched, taking it all in. It was funny; it was like they fed off each other's energy and wit, so that the more fun one had, the more fun they both had. It was enjoyable to watch, but it also left him feeling a little sad to have been forgotten so quickly.
This is why it took him an extra few klicks to realize what was happening when Sideswipe pulled him to his pedes and shoved another bottle into his surprised hands.
"You're on my side now!" he declared with a crazed grin.
"What? Since when do we play with little sparklings?" Sunstreaker asked hotly, as if Sideswipe had just grievously offended him.
"Since it meant going two on one!" Sideswipe rebutted happily.
"Why would he want to be on your side anyway? You just got done tickle torturing him!"
"Yeah, but only because I care!"
"Fragger!"
"Sore loser!"
Pshhhhh!
The twins stopped, blinked, and stared at the new wet spot on Sideswipes chest, courtesy of Bluestreak.
Said younglings wings were twitching anxiously, and he looked somewhere between smug, nervous, and a giddy 'holy Primus I can't believe I just DID that!'
"…I take it back." Sunstreaker decided. "He can play."
"Oh, it's ON!" Sideswipe declared with a dangerous grin. Bluestreak covered his retreat with a spray to Sideswipes face and scurried closer to his current golden hued ally.
The three younglings chased, sprayed, slid, laughed, and played together in a mock battle that grew bigger and more extravagant with each passing klick of Sideswipes running commentary and Sunstreakers obliging role-play. And Bluestreak, for the first time he could remember in his admittedly short memory, completely forgot himself and immersed himself fully into the game.
So caught up were they in their game, they never noticed the amused if befuddled mech standing in the doorway.
oOoOoOo
: : Jazz, how close are you to the wash racks right now? : :
: : Hello t' you too Prowl. Believe it or not, I'm standing right outside them. : :
: : You are? Is Bluestreak still there? : :
: : Yeah, he is. And Prowl? I think you're really gonna want t' see this. : :