Chapter Six
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form.
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Nightshade groaned as her computing center rebooted. It was too early in the morning for this. The sunlight was cheerfully pouring in through the window, burning into her optical relays. She dropped her head back down…and there was a clunk as her cranial unit met something metal. She frowned slightly, not understanding what it was. There was something rumbling quietly…something was radiating massive amounts of warmth…she yawned quietly, ready to go back into recharge.
"Slaggin' Pit…," she moaned, rubbing her aching head. She looked at the thing her head had hit. There was a mass of metal buried partially underneath her…something red and white in color.
"What the-Nightshade, why the frag are you in my recharge berth?! Why are you on TOP of me?!"
Nightshade shot up, propping herself on her hands. She had been sprawled across Ratchet's frame, slightly curled up. She quickly moved from her perch atop him, scrambling away to the other side of the berth. His confused (and slightly darkened) optics watched curiously.
"Tell me we didn't-" Nightshade started, then buried her face in her hands. Primus, she didn't want to not remember her time with Ratchet? What if she conceived? What if she ended up like in her dream?! She groaned softly. The silence was so loud it felt like her audios were about to burst.
"We didn't," Ratchet finally said, his optics starting to focus.
"Good," Nightshade groaned, rolling over onto her side. She wasn't moving, nope. Not at all, especially when she was so comfortable… Ratchet stared at the being in the berth beside him. What on Cybertron was she-he-it thinking?!
Faint pieces of the previous night came rushing back to him. Ah, high grade, and lots of it, something about photoshopping a picture of Ironhide, and a mild argument. Ratchet had insisted that Nightshade take his berth, but Nightshade insisted on taking the couch since it was Ratchet's apartment. Then he vaguely remembered someone nudging him and telling him to scoot over because it was too cold out in the living area…
Ratchet groaned and rolled over, intent on going back into a nice, long, uninterrupted recharge, he'd deal with this in a few hours-
"Mirage to Nightshade." Two pairs of groans answered the blue mech.
"What the Pit do you want, Mirage? It's too early in the morning for this."
"I just wanted to know where you were. There were reports of you and Ratchet staggering back to his quarters last night, and I was concerned." She could just hear the smirk in his voice.
Nightshade was about to reply, when Ratchet beat her to it.
"Go frag yourself, Mirage. Close the link, Nightshade."
Nightshade obeyed and snuggled into the comfortable warmth, drifting into recharge…
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Ratchet stirred and stretched. This was the first time in years that he had had a proper recharge…and with a femme in the berth with him. Heh. Too bad he hadn't gotten any. He peeked on optic open. Nightshade wasn't in the berth. Well. That was rude. Sleep in his berth and disappear? Very rude. Ratchet swung his legs over the edge of his bed and stood up. If he stayed in any longer he'd be in stasis for the next orn and a half.
He ambled out into his living room and was pleasantly surprised to find Nightshade sitting on the couch, a holo-cube in one hand and a cube of energon in the other.
I wonder if this is what it would be like – no, it won't ever happen… Ratchet thought, a bit sadly as he watched the femme in hiding tuck her legs underneath herself. He felt something fluttering in his chest as she looked up at him.
"Mmm…Morning, sleepy head," she said, taking a sip of her energon. It was a bit odd seeing a mech acting so femininely. The fluttering was getting stronger, but he squashed the feeling before it developed more.
"More like afternoon. It's past noon," Ratchet stated, going to his kitchen and grabbing a cube of energon. The silence that followed was a bit awkward.
"So-"
"So-"
They both started at the same time.
"You go first."
"You go first."
They both looked at each other and laughed.
"I wouldn't mind you staying with me for the rest of the day," Ratchet said, hope filling his voice. Nightshade nodded once, then twice, before saying, "I would like that very much."
So passed by the rest of the afternoon, the two reading, drinking, and talking away the hours. Mirage had tried to contact her twice, but before he could ask anything, she would say something like, "If we aren't under attack, leave me alone".
"Nightshade, seriously. You and Ratchet are needed in the command center," Mirage's voice sang out over the com link, joy in his voice. Nightshade curiously asked, "Why?"
"Just get both of yourselves down here in the next breem. Trust me, you want to see this," Mirage said, his voice urgent, but ecstatic. Ratchet peered at her curiously as he stood up, offering her his hand. She took it and he helped her stand.
"So, what do you think has Mirage so excited?" Nightshade said, jogging down the corridor. Ratchet followed, their footsteps echoing loudly in the strangely empty base.
"I don't know, but I think everyone else knows about it," he said, as they passed the empty rec room. A few turns and hallways later, they found themselves in front of the command center…along with thirty other mechs.
"Ah, Nightshade! Come here! You too, Ratchet!" Came Optimus's jovial voice.
Nightshade clambered onto the platform with Optimus, Ratchet following. There, on a large screen, was…
"ELITA!!"
"Nightshade, it's wonderful to see you once more! We're within a million kilometers of the planet right now, and we'll see you on the base in approximately two days!"
"That's great, Elita! How is everyone?"
"Oh, they're all fine. Wheeljack has been denied access to volatile chemicals, Chromia can't wait to get her hands on Ironhide-" Here, Ironhide let out a loud whoop, "-Oh, calm your processes, Ironhide. Oh, Fire Star is coming in on a second shuttle. We found eight mechs and two femmes on the way here! They will be joining us on the base." Elita could not keep the elation out of her voice.
Chromia shoved her commander out of the way and peered into the screen.
"If you can hear me, Ironhide, you and I need to have a chat," she growled into the microphone, threateningly. A few mechs laughed at Ironhide, who had suddenly disappeared…
Elita pushed Chromia back out of the way, only to find Wheeljack playing with the camera.
"Ratchet! Red Alert! I can't wait to land! I'll be able to show you my research on combustibles and fuel-" Both Ratchet and Red Alert smacked their palms into their foreheads, groaning. It seems that there would be no more peace and quiet once Wheeljack arrived… Wheeljack was replaced by Hot Rod and Springer, and Arcee managed to squeeze between both of them to say a quick hello. Arcee spotted Nightshade and waved enthusiastically, pestering Nightshade with question after question about Earth. Nightshade didn't notice any of the jealous looks she got from some of the mechs around her. Hoist and two other minibots waved before they were pushed back out of the way by Elita. Elita 'hmphed' and sat back down.
"Ratchet, how are you? Do you need more supplies? We've got plenty in the cargo hold. We've got a few brand new lasers, state-of-the-art surgical equipment-" Nightshade giggled at the glazed look in Ratchet's optics. No more outdated equipment? Ratchet's fingers flexed. He'd be holding a brand new laser soon, he thought giddily.
"And I brought someone I thought you might like to see," Elita said, a grin on her face.
"Who? It had better not be Wheelie," Ratchet said, grinning at the tiny bot standing by Elita. The little bot used a rather vulgar human gesture at Ratchet (it seems that the little bot was making good use of WiFi), and turned away, pouting slightly.
"No, much better."
"Hello, Ratchet," said a soft, feminine voice. Nightshade's optics snapped to the screen. Who the slaggin' pit was this femme and why was she eying Nightshade's claim? Ratchet was enraptured with the beautiful blue femme on the screen and she growled silently. Envy welled up in her as she realized that they were possibly perfect for one another.
"Moon Racer? Is that really you?" Ratchet's voice was filled with pure joy. Nightshade felt the ugly feeling of jealousy rising up in her. She clenched her hands, her optics narrowed slightly. Ratchet and Moon Racer chatted amiably, while Nightshade stood nearby, simmering in her armor. A dark cloud
had appeared on the happy horizon of her computing center. Now there was a class 5 hurricane whirling around up there.
"Well, I have to go, Ratchet, but I'll see you soon," the femme said quietly, smiling at the medic and taking leave. Elita sat back down in the chair, grinning at the medic. Ratchet sported a goofy smile on his face. Elita then took notice of Nightshade, who had a rather strange look on his face. His optics were narrowed, hands clenched…oh dear! It seemed that the mech was jealous!
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Nightshade marched stiffly from the room, ignoring Ratchet's calls of "Wait up!" She instead joined Bluestreak and Bumblebee for a cup of energon instead, unable to believe what she had just seen. Was Ratchet just playing with her? It seemed so to Nightshade's computing center. Moon Racer was one of Elita's best analysts. She was intelligent, she spoke several dialects fluently, and she knew how to fence. The damn pansy didn't know how to shoot, though... Nightshade's grip on her cube tightened, the edges digging into the sensitive metal of her hands.
Well, at least I didn't give him what he wanted…
Ratchet was perplexed. Nightshade had suddenly ditched him in the middle of the crowded room. He was jostled by several mechs intent on getting some high grade and celebrating the arrival of the femmes. He finally pushed his way through the crowd, and his optics brightened slightly when he saw Nightshade. Nightshade saw him from the corner of her optic and stiffened slightly. She stood suddenly, excused herself, and disappeared into the crowd. Thanks to her small frame and the height difference between her and the mechs surrounding, she could slip in and out of the crowd without being spotted. Pausing by a door, she waited for it to open and shut (making it look like she had left the room), and then turned back into the crowd. There. That should get Ratchet off of her trail for a few breems, at least. Seconds later, Ratchet disappeared from that door.
"What was that all about, Nightshade? I mean, you've been acting pretty funny lately. You're suddenly ditching Ratchet. I thought you guys were close friends. Did he make you angry? Is there something wrong?" Bluestreak said, looking up at Nightshade, who had suddenly reappeared.
"No, I'm fine. Just ditching the Hatchet. He told me I needed to get serviced," Nightshade said, a small grimace on his face. Bumblebee chuckled and said, "That's pretty clever. I'll have to try it one day…"
A half joor passed by and the party was just getting good. Sunstreaker had found a large stash of high grade, Jazz had a human contraption called an "Ipod" wired into the PA system, and Ratchet was nowhere to be found.
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It was nearing 0600 hours in the morning, and the music was still shaking the walls. High grade was pouring freely, and Nightshade was in the middle of it all. She was smart – she didn't touch a drop of the high grade. Bumblebee and Bluestreak were both overenergized and passed out on the floor. She began to sway side to side softly, bobbing to the music. Somehow, just somehow, the party migrated into the hallway when the rest of the mechs joined in.
Nightshade sat beside Bumblebee and Bluestreak, murmuring tiredly. She grabbed the cushion off of one of the couches and curled up, too tired to even bother walking back to her room.
Ratchet peered into the med bay…or what was left of it. At some point during the night, the party was moved into the hallway…and had spilled into surrounding rooms, including the medical bay. It seemed logical that if someone were injured during the party, they'd be in the med bay and they'd be fine.
Empty high grade barrels and ten mechs littered the floor. Jazz was passed out underneath one of the tables, recharging away. Ratchet growled, once he had gotten over his initial shock.
He turned on all of the brightest lights in the medical bay, ignoring the groans of protest from everyone around. He kicked Jazz in the aft, making his way over to the window. The smell of high grade was making him light headed.
"Everyone get your afts up and out of here," Ratchet yelled, his patience snapping. The mechs scrambled for the door, not wanting to face the wrath of the medic and a hangover.
Nightshade stayed behind, yawning.
"You need help cleaning up, boss?"
"Shouldn't you be working the high grade out of your systems?"
"I've learned my lesson on drinking high grade. I'm not touching the stuff," Nightshade said coolly, kicking a few empty barrels into a pile. How dare he assume she had gotten pissed like the rest of them…
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Optimus had every single mech in the base cleaning up the floors with human contraptions known as toilet brushes. Optimus and Ironhide had been away on a diplomatic mission, to request permission for the shuttle full of refugees to land in an airport somewhere. They were successful, had acquired more supplies to expand the base, and had started the process of hunting down Starscream. The both of them were ecstatic…and then they came back to find out that the base was trashed. Needless to say, the explosion that followed shortly after was not pleasant. Jazz had nearly been thrown in the brig (he was second in command! He should have been more responsible!).
Optimus had nearly blown a gasket when he saw the state of the med bay. Energon and high grade was splattered on the floor, along with the rejected contents from someone's tanks. Nightshade was dutifully within, sweeping cans and barrels, and other things into a large pile. Nightshade was one of four mechs on base that wasn't completely hung over.
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Twelve hours later, the base was sparkling clean. When some of the mechs tried to make a run for it and curl up in their recharge berths, Optimus smirked and said, "Now, to your posts, all of you."
Optimus smirked at the groans from all around him.
"Do I have to make it double shifts?"
"No sir," most mechs immediately replied, taking off before their leader could be even more unfair.
"If only the femmes back on Cybertron knew how cruel he really is. They wouldn't have a fan club dedicated to him," groused Jazz as he slumped in his seat.
He was right. Optimus had had a rather large group of femmes dedicated to him back on Cybertron. He was kind and gentle and intelligent and thoughtful, he was handsome, built like a mountain, and he loved communicating, he was passionate and compassionate, and he was born to lead. He was, essentially, every femme's wet dream…except for the small fact that he was bonded loyally to Elita and had optics for no one but her. Many a time did Elita display her man on her arm, grinning smugly at the adoring femmes around…when Optimus wasn't looking, of course.
Nightshade sat back on her heels as she finished scrubbing the med bay floors. She made a note to kill Sunstreaker when she was through. He had been the source of rejected high grade…and was currently AWOL. Nightshade frowned again as she remembered the adoring look on Moon Racer's face as she spoke with Ratchet…and vice versa.
Nightshade's movements became jerky and angry as she set to scrubbing something off of the cabinets. Only Primus would know what it was, because she had never seen anything in that violent of a shade of green. As she scrubbed and scrubbed, Nightshade began thinking. Since Ratchet was obviously taken, who would she pursue (she wasn't getting any younger, either way)? Prowl was bonded to someone (he wouldn't say who)…Red Alert was bonded to a younger femme, due to arrive with the refugees…Mirage was like her brother, so that wouldn't work…all of the males she knew were bonded or involved.
Bluestreak sounded promising, but he talked a little too much for her tastes. Neither of The Twins were worth the trouble…Wheel Jack? No, thank you. Who else was on the ship?
She absently rubbed at the spot on the cabinet, straining her memory banks…Hot Rod and Springer. Hm…Springer wasn't available, he was with Arcee…but Hot Rod? He seemed like a nice mech. He was athletic, mostly intelligent, and was one of Prime's right hand men…and he was attractive. And he had worked with the leadership matrix. Wait a tic. Was she turning into one of those power hungry femmes? Eh. He'd lost the leadership matrix like five times, though. Perhaps he wasn't as responsible as she would have liked…
Nightshade heaved a great sigh, scrubbing once more. Hopefully, she wasn't one of those femmes…If she was, she'd go after Ultra Magnus. He was too old anyway. And…Leo? He was next in line for the leadership matrix. And he was smoking hot, especially since he was one of the few Maximals left. A small grin crossed her face plates. She was turning into another Firestar. Crazy femme went after all of the high ranking ones.
She set down the rag, having finally removed whatever-the-slag-it-was off of the cabinet, and she left the med bay, turning the lights off after herself. That jerk would regret the day he hurt her…
She found Mirage in the rec room, his upper body splayed over the table he was sitting at. His head was resting on his arms and there was a half-empty cube of energon beside him. He was recharging away, not disturbed in the slightest by the noise in the room. Nightshade poked him in the shoulder and sat down.
"…the frag you want?" He grumbled, not looking up.
"Well, that's a pleasant way to greet me. Not even a hello or anything for your favorite mech in the whole world?" Nightshade was mildly offended.
"Why should I be nice to you? You only had to clean up the med bay."
"Well that's because I didn't get trashed like you," Nightshade said, smirking. Ah, the perks of being smart…
"Frag you."
"No thanks."
A growl met her audio receptors.
"Aw, poor Mirage. I'm here to talk, anyway," Nightshade said, stealing Mirage's cup of energon.
"'bout what?"
"I don't know…I'm just kind of…lonely. That's it."
"I see." Mirage had sat up, interested in where this conversation was going to go (and where his energon had gone).
"Once the shuttle lands, well, I was thinking. Find me someone nice and settle down," Nightshade said carefully, gauging Mirage's reaction. His face was questioning.
"I see. Well, there are nice people…around."
"Yes…well."
"Who did you have in mind?" A grin was forming on Mirage's face and he reached for his stolen energon. Hah hah, the femme wanted Ratchet... He took a giant mouthful-
"What about Hot Rod?"
-and he sprayed the energon all over the table, choking as it clogged his intake filters.
Hot Rod? Has the smell of high grade addled her computing center?!
"Wh-what?"
"I thought so. He doesn't seem to be too responsible. What about Leo? He seems like a nice one. I mean, we did go on a few away missions together. He was kind, and he is intelligent. And good looking. Pit, he's a maximal. You know how sexy that is? And he's tall," Nightshade said, thoughtfully. Mirage just stared at her blankly. His energon sat on the table, forgotten.
Mirage didn't bother wiping the energon off of his face as he spoke.
"I…erm. He's alright. I mean, if you want to pursue him, that's fine."
"Oh, good. I'm glad that you approve. He was always just so…rawr."
Mirage stared at the femme stupidly. Why did she suddenly not like Ratchet? What happened when she stayed with him?
"What happened with you and Ratchet? I thought you…you know. Liked him."
"Hm. I thought I did, and I thought he liked me back, but I guess I was wrong. I never knew about his mate," she said absently, tracing the rim of her twice stolen cup of energon.
"Wh…what?" Mirage asked stupidly.
"It doesn't really bother me. I hope he has a nice life with her once she arrives," Nightshade said pleasantly, finishing off Mirage's energon.
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Chaos met her optics when she arrived at the landing field. Mechs and femmes were carrying supplies to any mechs that could carry them (like Optimus) and loading them. Femmes were giggling and talking loudly, happy to be back on a planet and not cooped up on a ship with a bunch of randy mechs. Humans were darting out of the way, barking orders at one another. Mirage nudged her and jerked his head slightly in one direction.
Nightshade took one look and almost died. Leo was walking in their direction, light glinting off of his pristine white and red armor. However, instead of meeting up with them, he was stopped by Ironhide.
"I think I need to go and…change," Nightshade said, licking her lips. Mirage rolled his optics. The femme was crazy…
Nightshade disappeared for almost a joor before she returned…with her battle armor missing… Mirage felt his jaw drop. This was not the nice Nightshade he knew. Even though Nightshade didn't come close to competing with them, Elita and even Chromia gave this femme a once over. Elita's optics narrowed by just a hair as this femme approached.
"Yes, may I help you?"
"Have you forgotten me so quickly, Elita?"
"Excuse me? I was not aware that we were on a first name basis," Elita said, starting to bristle with indignation.
Nightshade shook her head.
"Really. It's me. Nightshade."
Elita's optics widened as she began to see similarities in the color of armor…height…slim build…and how she spoke.
"Nightshade? You're…a femme?"
"Yes, ma'am. I was hiding because I didn't want to be the only femme on a base full of randy mechs," Nightshade said bluntly, shrugging her shoulders delicately. Chromia threw her arms around Nightshade.
"I knew there was something odd about you!"
"What was it?"
"I was always jealous of your aft. I knew a mech couldn't be built like that…I knew it!"
Nightshade covered her mouth plate with her hand, giggling.
"Chromia! Such foul language is not becoming!"
"I'll talk however I want. I want to recharge, I want something to eat and I'm…how did you say, Nightshade? 'Randy?' I'd like those wishes fulfilled in any order," Chromia said, grinning lecherously in her mate's direction.
Elita and Nightshade broke down into giggles. Nightshade had to stifle her giggles, because Optimus and Ironhide were headed their way. She stepped to the side as the femmes rejoined their mates. Nightshade watched on with a sad smile on her face. Then she turned away, not wanting to intrude on the reunion.
"Oh, don't go anywhere, Nightshade, stay with us!" Chromia called, leaning back from her mate's embrace.
"As long as I don't have to watch Ironhide fulfill your wishes, Chromia," Nightshade said, making her way back over to the happy group. Chromia burst into giggles and laughed even harder as Ironhide whispered something in her ear. Nightshade hummed softly and looked up at the sky, watching as the sun disappeared over the horizon.
Optimus and Elita had made their way over to a nearby tree and were cuddling underneath it, happy little smiles on their faces. Ironhide and Chromia were…exploring each other, and Nightshade had no desire to watch her Lieutenant grope Ironhide. It was too disturbing. So, Nightshade flopped down on the grass a few meters away, crossing her arms under her head. The stars were twinkling so brightly, she could imagine they were celebrating the arrival of the refugees with her. They should celebrate in a few days…
She suddenly shot up from her seated perch. An idea had struck her like lightning. Nightshade scrambled to her feet, and started walking in Jazz's direction.
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"Hey, look at that one, Jazz," Hot Rod said, nudging his silver companion. They were both sitting up against a large boulder, checking femmes out. Now that femmes made up nearly forty percent of the residential population, they could actually pursue a few of the femmes without the mate of the aforementioned femmes kicked their afts.
"Look at the one headed this way…nice chassis," Hot Rod commented, snickering.
"Look at those legs," Jazz added, his optics roaming over her figure appreciatively as she approached.
"Jazz, may I speak with you…alone?" The femme asked, leaning against the boulder.
"Sure thing, baby doll," the saboteur said, giving Hot Rod a sly wink and a nudge. Nightshade daintily sat beside him in the grass, flicking away a stray blade of grass. The Jazz man was gettin' lucky…or so he thought.
"So, sweetie, what can I do for you?" Jazz's voice had become suave and seductive, and his arm was making its way around her.
"Jazz, it's me. Nightshade," she said, removing his hand from her waist and dropping it into his lap.
"Nightshade? Slag- you ain't one of them transie-bots, are ya?"
"Primus, no. I was just in hiding." And then she went into depth of why she had disguised herself as a male.
"I still can't believe it's you, Nightshade…but. Whatever." His arm was slowly snaking around her shoulders…
"Jazz, watch those hands of yours," she hissed, slapping his hand when it got a little to close too her aft for comfort.
"Can't help it, baby." A disarming smile accompanied his statement. It had no effect on the preoccupied female.
"Whatever. I've got a request to make."
"What is it?"
Nightshade then grinned and began explaining what exactly it was that she wanted to do. The saboteur was shocked at first, but then he gave her a genuine smile.
"I'll see what I can convince Prime to do…besides, it'll be good for morale," he said, a conspiracy-type look on his face.
"Thank you, Jazz," she said, getting to her feet.
Once she had left, Hot Rod came back over and took his spot back.
"So, who was that?"
"A friend of mine," Jazz responded, his blue visor glittering in the moonlight.
"How close are you two?"
"She's off limits, so don't even try. Pit, even I don't have a chance with her," Jazz said, a small frown on his face. Ah, so that was why Mirage was always so protective of Nightshade…and why Ratchet was always with Nightshade…
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Needless to say, the knowledge that Nightshade was actually a femme leaked pretty quickly. By the time she had gotten back to the spot where she had been sitting before her conversation with Jazz, pretty much everyone knew. The reactions were varied. Some were funny, like Sunstreaker. He had spit out his energon and stared bug-eyed at Bluestreak for a good two minutes before speaking. Others weren't as pretty.
Some minibots (erhem, Gears) had scoffed and remarked about her actually being one of those femmes "with a more masculine computing center". Mirage, who had been nearby at the time, gave Gears a good kick. Gears did not speak again.
Sideswipe had just shrugged. He had inherently known that something wasn't quite right with the 'mech' and dismissed Prowl, who had been the one to inform him. Prowl had merely accepted the fact without trying to find the logic in it. His computing center would have fizzled out had he tried to find logic. Bumblebee just shook his head and went back to his femme and barrel of high grade. Jazz just had a good laugh. At least someone was having fun. The other 20 odd mechs in the base had reacted in a variety of ways, some laughing and accepting it, others, like Gears, making rude comments.
The 'bots from Nightshade's original crew had known something was…off, but had said nothing, not wanting to hurt the mech. Elita and Chromia had instinctively known about the femme. Hot Rod and Leo were both surprised, but forgot all about their surprise once they got a look at her un-armored aft and chassis.
Things were okay. Not perfect, but Nightshade figured she could deal with Gears and his gang of dissident pals later on, when she had integrated into the base as a femme.
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:D
Not too many changes in there, but there's a few.