Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Transformers, except Nightshade.

BTW – I went and did some research and came up with this:

Astrosecond - .498 seconds

Joor – 8 hours

Orn – 2 weeks

Vorn – 83 years

00000

Nightshade sighed as she was pulled once more from a deep recharge by a noisy com link. There was a brief burst of white noise, and then a quiet chirp. Someone wanted to talk. At 0500 hours in the morning.

Well, I suppose I should get used to it…

"Nightshade here."

"This is Optimus. We need to talk. I will be bringing Ratchet and Mirage to your quarters. I will be there in fifteen minutes."

"…okay."

"See you then."

Nightshade closed the link, a scowl on her face. So much for asking if they could come over. Nightshade then noticed the state of her quarters. Two days of confinement and now her room was a mess. Data pads were all over the floor, empty energon cubes stacked like the leaning tower of Pisa, and wires and tools scattered everywhere.

Thank you, Mirage. As my appointed guardian, you've confined me to my room like a naughty sparkling.

It was true, though. Optimus declared that Mirage was responsible for her safety. Mirage had requested that she stay in her room until they could find a suitable solution for this little dilemma. Nightshade dove out of her recharge berth and started kicking things under the aforementioned berth. What didn't fit under the berth, she pushed into a small storage room. Ten minutes later, her room was a lot less messy, except she had found exactly twelve species of arachnids living in those energon cubes and something green growing on something that once resembled a pizza box. Why there was a pizza box in her room was beyond her, but she thought no more of it as she tossed it out of the window.

A sharp rapping on her door had her scrambling even faster.

"Just a few astro-seconds!" With one final kick, everything was shoved into a state of ordered mess.

She opened the door. There stood Optimus, Ratchet, and Mirage.

"Er, sorry for the mess…but on such short notice it was the best I could do," she said, glaring accusingly at Optimus. Her look didn't faze him in the least. All three mechs marched in, and the door hissed shut behind them. There was a moment of awkward silence as the mechs gazed around her room. A look of amusement crossed Ratchet's face plates as he took in the conditions of her room.

"So. What's up?"

"We've decided that it would be best for you to remain in hiding. Ratchet will reattach your armor and reconfigure your vocal modulator. Once Elita and her group arrive, you will be free to do whatever it is that you like," Optimus said bluntly, wishing he could curl up in his berth and go back to sleep.

"Alright then, that's fine with me," Nightshade said, fidgeting a little. Optimus gave a curt nod and excused himself. Once the door had shut, Ratchet began walking around Nightshade, looking at her from head to toe. She felt his steely gaze linger on her backside for a few seconds.

"What on Cybertron are you doing," Nightshade asked, spinning around so that he wouldn't stare at her aft.

"I'm trying to size you up for armor," Ratchet said, pausing in his scans.

"You were staring at my aft," she stated, a small frown on her face.

"Mirage," Ratchet said, exasperated. He was getting impatient, because he had a stash of premium high grade in the med bay that was crooning his name like a siren.

"Nightshade, behave. We're only doing this for your safety," Mirage said, making himself comfortable on Nightshade's recharge berth. This did not go unnoticed by the medic, whose optics narrowed by just a fraction of an inch. Jealousy reared in him once again, wanting nothing more than to grind Mirage's smirk into the dirt with his foot.

"I'm finished, Nightshade. I will have your armor completed within the next half-orn," Ratchet said, a bit coolly. Nightshade pouted.

"Well, what will I do until then? I have NOTHING to do here in my room. Can I still help out in the med bay when you're through with my armor? Please?"

"It's fine with me, but you'll have to talk to Red Alert," Ratchet said, inclining his head.

"Thank you!"

"I must be going. I will see you in a few cycles," Ratchet said, nodding curtly and leaving the room.

Once the door had hissed shut, Mirage smirked at Nightshade, who was deep in thought. Who knew that Ratchet was the jealous type? What could he, Mirage, do to set these two up? Hm… Then Nightshade frowned slightly and turned to Mirage.

"He's a bit off today, isn't he?"

"I didn't notice anything."

"He was a bit curt, and he wouldn't look me in the optic," Nightshade said. Mirage's grin grew more pronounced. It seems like the little femme could read the medic like a holo-cube… He could use this to his advantage…but he didn't know how. Slag, where were the femmes when he needed them?

"What on Cybertron are you smirking about?"

"Nothing…" There was the vaguely familiar tone in his voice of "I-know-something-that-I-shouldn't-know-yet-I-still-know-it".

"Mirage, what are you going on about? I know you're thinking something."

"I think you really do like Ratchet."

"Are you still going on about that? I have no romantic feelings for him whatsoever! Primus, you'd think that just talking to the mech-" Nightshade had tossed her hands up in the air, a frown starting to descend on her face plates.

"I didn't say you liked him romantically. I just think that you two are good friends," Mirage said, his grin stretched from one side of his face to the other. Nightshade growled. She and Ratchet were barely even friends! Why the Pit was he going on and on? Was it because she was one of the last femmes? Maybe! But she was NOT going to make him an uncle anytime soon! Preferably, NEVER!

"As if. I don't think he ever really liked me," Nightshade said, pouting. Mirage stored away this little tid-bit of information.

00000

True to his word, Ratchet had the armor finished in exactly three solar cycles. Besides, he didn't have much to do with no decepticons around. He mostly cleaned the med bay and took care of basic repairs. The poor medic needed something to keep from going crazy, and here was his challenge.

Ratchet looked up as Nightshade stepped into the medical bay, escorted by Mirage. She looked angry about something and Mirage had the biggest smirk on his face. Now, Mirage was arrogant, but this was a new level of smugness.

"I ah…left my rifle in my room. I'll go grab it really quickly," Mirage said, waving at Nightshade. She turned to say something snarky, but he had already disappeared. Slagger. Nightshade groaned softly as Ratchet led her into one of the rooms, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Okay, get on the table, and we'll get started," he said bluntly, picking up a box of armor pieces and setting them on the table. Nightshade stared at him for a second.

"Well?" Ratchet gestured at the table, a welder in his hand. Nightshade looked at the welder, apprehensive of what the medic would do with it. She had seen some of the champion sized dents Sunstreaker had sported after visiting the med 'bay… Nightshade gingerly sat on the edge of the table, her legs dangling over the edge. Ratchet sat on a stool in front of her, his knee joints just brushing the insides of her thighs. He started on her arms first, saving the more complicated parts for later. Little did the unsuspecting medic know that the femme would have preferred a firm grip over his soft, feather-light fingers…

She bit back a soft moan as his fingers slipped over the edge of her chassis as he helped her slide on the shoulder guards, placing a few rivets to hold them in place. Nightshade immediately began trying to focus on something-anything!-to distract her from the medic sitting in front of her. What was the initiation oath again? I promise to defend Cybertron and her inhabitants with my life…Her spark jumped at the mere thought of Ratchet's spark, mere feet away from hers.

…I promise to defend those who cannot defend themselves with my life. I will do no harm…Ratchet's fingers brushed up against the overlapping sheets of metal on her abdomen. The metal on her abdomen was designed to accommodate a growing sparkling, stretching out like the scales on an armadillo. In Nightshade's case, it was very sensitive to touch, especially since she was in the prime of her youth… She managed to hold back the strangled gasp, but she pulled away from Ratchet's touch by just millimeters…and he noticed.

"Don't move," he said, gripping her a bit more tightly. Something pleasurable jolted in her abdominal region, and it became extremely difficult to not to voice her approval of his ministrations. He riveted on a plate and she let out a barely audible gasp when he brushed up against a very sensitive seam in her armor. He peeked up at her.

-She smirked at Ratchet, beckoning him to her. He turned to her with a predatory look in his optics, hungrily raking over her body.

"What is it that you need, Nightshade?"

She only glanced at him and he understood. Nightshade's lips met his as he descended onto her, pinning her to the berth -

"Am I hurting you?"

"Huh? No," she said, trying to control her pump-beat and intake filters. They had gone completely haywire at the snippet of a daydream. He looked up at her when he picked up the lower components of her armor, one optic ridge quirking slightly. Now he really wanted to know what had the femme so flustered and heated up.

"You'll need to stand up for this," he said, holding up the armor that would cover her...important bits. Nightshade felt herself flush as he helped her off the table, kneeling beside her. He pressed the armor against her bottom, his hand flush against the inward curve of her back, resting just above her aft. Nightshade almost pulled away, but didn't.

…I will cause no pain-his hands are so warm. I wonder if the rest of his body is as warm as his hands?

"Hold this while I rivet it on," he said, as she held it against her tightly.

…I will not abuse my power by any means! I will maintain my virtue and honor, and cause no blemish upon my spark!...

He lifted up the front section. Nightshade felt her knee joints start to weaken when she felt his warm hands pressed up against her hip joints. He lingered for a moment, using one hand to hold it up while he grabbed the riveter.

…I will do no harm. I will not permit politics, party, or social standing to interfere with my duties!...

He began working on her legs, riveting each piece on quickly and efficiently. Nightshade vaguely wondered if he knew what kind of torture this was. Oh, Primus, she moaned into her computing center, why is he doing this to me?! One of his hands was feather light on the inside of her thigh and she almost off-lined at the simple touch.

…Upon my spark I swear these oaths and to uphold them, to the best of my ability, for as long as I remain on-line…

Ratchet said, "I'm going to plate your feet. You'll need to be on the table for this." Nightshade was relieved, because her feet had never really been sensitive to any kind of feeling.

The dirty images were starting to slowly disappear from her memory banks…

She nodded and waited in tense apprehension as he gathered the required materials. Finally the medic started the process, and her theory of insensitive foot plates was proven very wrong. Ratchet took a seat in front of her, and set one of her feet on his leg. Nightshade's computing center suddenly overflowed with very raunchy images involving her, the medic, and the berth she was currently seated on. The pleasurable jolts that flickered across her abdomen were now concentrated as a dull ache in her abdomen, flaring each time the medic touched her. Whatever it was in her stomach coiled and tightened, a thick pulsating band of heat that refused to leave her in peace. The heat was so great that she knew the medic could feel it radiating off of her. (Of course, he couldn't, but she didn't know that.)

Then he finished with her feet, and he stood up.

"Roll over onto your stomach. I need to finish your spinal armor," he said, holding a piece of plating. Nightshade obeyed, glad that the medic wouldn't be able to see her biting her lip…

…these oaths I swear upon my spark, and to Primus and Primacon. If I should break these oaths, let my punishment be wrought unhindered…

Finally, Ratchet finished, after several agonizing minutes. She rolled back over, the medic offering a helping hand.

"We aren't through," he said, a small smile on his face, when Nightshade tried to make a break for it. He stood in front of her, helmet plate in one hand. He slipped it onto her cranial unit, snapping it into place. With one warm hand under her chin, guiding her head gently, Ratchet snapped the helmet into place, piece by piece. Nightshade began to space out…

"Alright, you're done," Ratchet said, clapping her on the shoulder and startling her out of her reverie.

"Thank you, Ratchet. I really appreciate what you've done for me," she said, her voice full of happiness.

"Oh, we've almost forgotten something. I need to replace that wire in your vocal modulator…" He began digging through bins for a similar wire to the one that she had had before. She sat on the table and waited. A triumphant "ah-hah!" had her smiling at Ratchet's antics. He stood straight back up and then approached her.

"Tilt your head back…a little more…a little bit more…okay, stay still," he said, his fingers making short work of the conversion. She tested her voice out. It was a bit scratchy, but it still worked.

Ratchet's smile was frozen as he helped Nightshade off the table. He had just seen a pretty femme turn into a pretty mech. Now that was something he didn't need to think about.

"You're all finished. Your aft needs to be here at 0600 hours tomorrow morning," Ratchet said, opening the door.

"Thanks, Ratchet," Nightshade said, smiling up at her mentor. Problem one was taken care of: her femininity was no longer discernable.

Now she had to move onto problem number two.

How the Pit was she going to get rid of that weird feeling in her fuel tanks?

00000

Ratchet shut the door to his quarters. More like slammed, but he preferred not to think of it like that. He ambled over to his berth, kicking a data pad out of the way, and flopped down, groaning softly. Helping Nightshade with her armor had been…interesting. Part of him was thoroughly aroused, ready to go to the femme's room, beat her door down, and show the femme what he was capable of... The other part was slightly disturbed at the conversion from femme to mech.

He wasn't blind. He had noticed the subtle changes in her intake filters, the spike in pump-beat, and her optics darkening. The tiny little gasp that she had let out had caused him to become painfully aware of the female mere inches away from him. Ratchet, being the mech he was, barely held his frustration back as his processing unit replayed that little gasp, pure music to his audio receptors. Ratchet tried to clear his processing unit. Thinking about the female tonight would ensure that he would not recharge at all.

Especially if his computing center kept conjuring up those images of Nightshade beneath him, panting his name-he shook his head and tried to focus on something that didn't involve females at all. He groaned and rolled onto his back. There was no noise in the room and the air was hot and muggy…and it was difficult to take in any air.

Ratchet rolled over onto his side, groaning and trying to initiate his stasis sequence.

00000

A few weeks passed. She, well, "he" became friends with a few of the mechs on the base. Bluestreak was one of his fellow rookies. He talked too much and he was too nice, and that's why Nightshade immediately became friends with him during their first training session with the weapons-obsessed Ironhide. Sunstreaker was slightly psychotic and Sideswipe was depressed, but they were both intelligent and knew how to pull a prank so well, it could make even Prowl crack a smile. Bumblebee was too darn adorable with those baby blue optics and shiny yellow armor, and too young, and Nightshade immediately felt a motherly duty to protect the little 'bot. Among her fellow companions were Hound, Jazz, and Blurr.

Training was hell on the femme, who had previously been a spy. "He" had never done any kind of hand to hand combat with a larger mech, and had most certainly never used anything bigger than "his" small sniper rifle. Needless to say, when handed a large arm mounted cannon, a stupid look crossed Nightshade's face. Ironhide had nearly smacked Nightshade when he asked what to do with it.

Training in hand to hand combat and plasma cannons weren't the only things Nightshade had to work on. They were also stretched to their limits in physical agility (thank goodness she was a dancer! She had an innate sense of balance and agility, thanks to her lessons), strength (something that she most definitely had to work on), and intelligence (which she was average in).

One morning, Nightshade staggered into the med bay, tired. He hadn't gotten to recharge until 0300 hours that morning, because Ironhide had him running laps and cleaning rifles due to Nightshade's incompatibility with the arm mounted cannon. Nightshade slugged back another cube of energon. The energy sluggishly made its way through her lines, barely helping him stay awake. Ratchet ambled up to him, mumbling a quick good morning.

Ratchet too, was unable to recharge the previous night, but because of very different reasons. Now that his computing center registered Nightshade as a femme, there was nothing else that he could think of other than interfacing with her now and often. Denying himself of things was something that he was used to, but this was a whole new level of torture for him.

"Tired?"

"Didn't recharge until 0300 hours."

"Ah, I see."

"Need more energon," Nightshade grunted, sliding into a seat, unable to hold back the sleepy rev her engine let out. Ratchet laughed and went into his storage room, rummaging around for something. Finally, he came back out and set something down on the table with a loud clunk.

Nightshade opened one optic blearily. It was a barrel of high grade, from Ratchet's personal stash. "Uh…"

Slag it all. I need a break.

"Don't worry. As long as you don't tell Prowl, we'll be fine," Ratchet said, drinking the shot in one go. Nightshade looked from the barrel to Ratchet back to the barrel. Nightshade picked it up, slugged it back, and wiped his mouth plates off while belching loudly.

"You…certainly know how to…drink."

"Well, I'm a mech, remember? Got any more high grade?"

Ratchet put two more barrels on the table.

"Cheers."

00000

"Ergh…Ratchet to Optimus."

"Yes, Ratchet?"

"I'm not going to be able to work tomorrow."

"Are you ill? Do I need to get Red Alert? Do you need more time off? Do you need me to come to the med bay? What's wrong?"

"I'm feeling…ill."

"I see. Take as much time as you need off," Optimus said, his concern gnawing a hole in the pit of his stomach. If the CMO was sick…to put it in a nutshell, they were screwed, like Samuel J. Witwicky had once said. What if the decepticons attacked? What if there was a mass invasion and they took over the base?

While his computing center was running through mass invasion scenarios, he hurried to the med bay, intent on making sure that Ratchet was okay. The scene that lay before him boggled him. There were twelve open, empty, barrels of premium high grade on the table, and Ratchet and Nightshade were nowhere to be found.

Optimus stopped, turned around, and went back to his office.

Primus only knew that the medic needed some time off. But where was Nightshade?

"Optimus to Mirage."

"Go ahead, sir."

"I just went to the med bay."

"…okay, sir."

"There were twelve empty barrels of high grade on the table…and I couldn't find Nightshade or Ratchet."

"I am going to KILL him…first thing tomorrow morning," Mirage said, rolling over in his recharge berth. He too, was the victim of Ironhide's training programs.

00000

Nightshade and Ratchet, both giggling, staggered down the hallway to Ratchet's room.

"Are you sure we won't get in trouble for this?" Nightshade asked, focusing a pair of bleary optics on Ratchet's face.

"Noo, Ironhide deserves this," Ratchet said, punching in the key code to his room. After a few tries, he managed to type in the code.

They staggered in and Nightshade looked around the room. It was huge. He had a complete living area, a mini-bar in one corner, and two storage units. Nightshade would have given her rifle for some extra storage… As she wandered around the living quarters, she came to an empty doorway. She took a quick peek. It was a library. Nightshade's computing center almost fizzled out as she took in all of the holo-cubes and disks and memory cards on the shelves. He had a couch under a window, and a sleek computer beside it. She almost whimpered at how many hours worth of information was in there.

"There's another section in the back," Ratchet offered helpfully. Nightshade almost went giddy at the thought. More holo-cubes?If only I could convince him to let me stay in here, for even just a joor…

"How come your room is so huge? Mine's barely big enough to stretch out in," Nightshade said grumpily, taking note of the wonderful view of the forest surrounding the base from the medic's window. The doors in the apartment were open. Two bedrooms (she immediately noticed the one with a massive, comfortable-looking berth in it), an office, and an empty room.

"I'm CMO, remember?" Ratchet said, making his way over to a cabinet slowly. He opened the door carefully, retrieving the disk and cradling it to his chest.

"Pit, my berth doesn't even have cushions on them," Nightshade grumbled quietly to herself, taking note of the plush looking covering on the medic's berth. What do I have to do to get in a bed like that? Even though she couldn't technically blush, she still felt heat rising in her cheek plates as she realized the implications of what she had just thought.

"What's the empty room for? Patients that you reformat into toasters and alarm clocks?"

"I haven't decided yet. I think I'll convert it into more storage," he said, absentmindedly.

Nightshade turned to Ratchet, a completely serious look on her face.

"What on Cybertron do I need to do for more storage?"

Ratchet snorted and said, "I wouldn't go around saying that, if I were you, Nightshade."

"You dirty minded-!"

"Hey, you're the one who said it," Ratchet said, flopping down on his couch. He opened a sleek laptop and inserted the disk. Nightshade sat beside him, popping her knuckle joints. Time to get the party started…

00000

:P