"You comfortable, or?" Misdirect asked.
Over the past few minutes, I had slowly slid down the wall of the box, and now I was resting flat on my back. "It's fun to watch the ceiling," I said.
"Is my company that bad?"
"What are you talking about?" I vaguely gestured above me, "The underside of your chin is literally half the fun."
Misdirect's head swept out of view.
"Yeah," I muttered, "I'm sure you don't look ridiculous, walking down a hallway, holding a toolbox at arm's length."
"We're almost at my room," His face reappeared above me, "So you can stop being so mean."
I propped myself up on my elbow, "Any chance I get a hint at the surprise?"
"I have a window in my room, that's one of them. Didn't you say you wanted to see outside?"
I went blank. For some reason my stomach twisted.
"Kathrine?"
"Yeah, see the stars. I guess so."
"…but?" He inquired.
"But…" I hesitated.
"Hey, it's ok," he said, "We don't have to do that right away. I have something else I wanted to show you too."
...
Misdirect's room was surprisingly quaint. It was a decent-sized square room, with enough space for him to take several big strides to cross from one side to the other. A large rectangular indent was on the wall across from his door, it looked like a big window that had been blacked out. To the right was a large slab, and due to its similarity to the ones in the medbay, I could assume it served as a bed. To the left, a desk pushed out from the wall and spanned nearly across its entire length. Its surface was fairly messy, covered in what looked like small boulders or large chunks of metal, they were pushed out of the way, forming a clear spot in front of the chair. Large tools were also dotted amongst the mess. A chair was placed in front of the clearest spot on the desk, it almost looked like a swivel chair, but without any form of cushion, it didn't strike me as something especially comfortable. Then again, they seemed pretty fine with large metal slabs to lay on, so who knew what they found tolerable.
"I usually leave the window covered anyways," Misdirect said.
I assumed he meant the large rectangular, blacked-out, and suspiciously window-like shape on the far wall.
"Here, you can wander if you want," he moved to the desk. Slowly my box tilted, and I shifted with it until it was flat on its side. Feeling less than graceful, I crawled out. Beside the desk were two shelves with drawers also filled with clutter. Misdirect moved over to one, shifting through its contents.
I spun around slowly, the room's walls immediately caught my eye. All four walls were absolutely covered in patterns, not a single inch of space was left. It looked almost random, I could spot both geometric and organic lines, all wrapped around one another, zagging in and out like a giant maze. It made the walls seem softer, especially the way the white light from the desk scattered across the grooves. I had to admit it felt far more cozy and lived-in than the stripy hallways.
On the desk, I felt like I was walking among a strange field of boulders. Chunks ranged from the size of my fist to nearly double my height. Colors were earthy, some not metallic at all. I saw faded purples, greens, reds, coppers, and of course, grays. Some looked like they were cut to resemble massive gemstones, others took on more abstract shapes. But regardless of their differences, all of them were covered in the same maze-like patterns as on the walls. I traced a zig zaggy groove with my thumb, it was extremely smooth. The lines were far more detailed up close. Some staggered inward in fact, in little intricate layers that sort of reminded me of the layers in bismuth. There was also a slight chemical scent in the air, especially while standing on the desk. It wasn't strong, but it had that familiar kick that smoke often carried. For some reason, the smell of sparklers came to mind.
"What are all these?"
"Ah, sorry," Misdirect said, "I didn't get a chance to clean up. I can put them away."
"What? No way, they look cool."
"Oh," he said, "Thanks fella."
"Where'd you get them?"
"I made them. Call it a hobby," he said, "Some I've burned into, others are carved, some a bit of both. I enjoy it."
"For real?" I looked around in awe, "How long have you been doing this?" I made my way over to one that looked almost perfectly spherical with black grooves decorating its polished surface.
He picked up a small chunk and rolled it between his fingers, "Oh, way before the war. It keeps me busy enough nowadays. They make decent gifts too." He shrugged.
"This one's a rock?" I could see little white grains in its matt gray surface, like granite or something. Had David been here he probably could have told me what kind of rock it was with confidence, his nine-year-old obsession had been rocks for at least a year now.
Misdirect walked back, tool in hand. At first glance, it kinda looked like a screwdriver, except it tapered down into a sharp point and the handle was thicker. He pulled out the large chair with surprising smoothness, I admit I was bracing for a jarring screech.
"Yeah, I like to try different things. Whenever we dock I ask a few bots to keep an eye out for anything interesting they can snag. Bee usually manages to find something."
I placed both hands on the polished surface in awe, "An alien rock?"
"You have to be kidding me, fella." He sat with a dull thunk and slid close to the table.
"I'm technically the alien," I rolled my eyes, "I know, I remember."
"You're on a spaceship, having traveled via quantum generators, and a rock impresses you?"
"Yeah yeah yeah," I walked around the boulder, "It's just familiar, you know? Like something I could see back home. There haven't been a lot of things like that."
"Nah, I got you," He studied a tool in his hand, "It's actually why I keep doing these. I like it sure, but it reminds me of home too, I guess." He sighed, "I mean, at least it's better than a stupid rock."
"So are you just here to show off, or is there an actual surprise?" I gestured around me.
"I just wanted to give you a chance to get away from everything. Also-" he actually looked a bit unsure now, "I thought I'd offer to make you something, if you wanted."
I was stunned. "Of course I would. What are you thinking of doing?"
"That's a surprise for real." After a moment of searching the table, he picked up a rough-looking cube and tapped it with the tool, the tip glowed to life and sparks bounced off the surface.
"What if I gave it a try too?" I was never any good at art, but he didn't need to know that.
"Ummm, well…I have a feeling you're a bit more flammable than I am."
I raised an eyebrow, "I'm like 70% water."
He sucked in through his teeth, or the equivalent of teeth, "Just trust me on this one fella."
It was probably for the best anyway. Still, I crossed my arms, chin up in exaggerated defiance, "Discrimination. Think of all my raw potential you're wasting."
"Yeah. Delicate and flammable potential," he said.
The audacity. "That's a little rude, calling someone delicate."
"'Flammable' you're ok with?"
"I'm not just some helpless little thing. I hope you don't see me that way."
A hand was extended to me and a metal finger poked my shoulder. The force caused me to stumble, and I swatted his tree-trunk of a limb away.
"Overpowered with just a touch," he shook his head, "Shame."
"You surprised me," I protested.
He reached out again, bumping my other shoulder. Though I was able to brace myself, I nearly lost my balance, pinwheeling my arms for a second. "Now hold on, that was way harder than before."
"Was it?" he grinned "I was trying to be so gentle, I guess I don't know my strength."
"We're like two completely different things, not comparable."
He gave an unconvinced hum. He rested his elbows on the table.
"Like, um,-" it was hard to think of a good comparison on the fly. I snapped my fingers, "A steel-toed boot and a running shoe. You're durable and strong, whatever, but you go on a hike, get chased by a bear, and then who's laughing?"
"I don't know what any of those things are," he said, smiling at the piece in his hand, "Have you considered that some species are just superior? I do have feelings after all, and such a unique sense of curiosity."
I marched over and kicked his arm, "Superior my ass." But I kicked a bit too hard and for a second it felt like I had stubbed my toes, I bit back a wince, trying to stand straight.
He hadn't even shifted an inch, "You hurt yourself trying to hit me? Is that what I'm seeing?"
"You see nothing," I kicked him with my other foot, making a point to be more careful, "Or maybe I don't know my own strength."
Suddenly I was being shadowed. A large hand dropped from above and I flung my arms up, catching it above my head. Both my hands were splayed out on the metal palm, entirely dwarfed. Once the initial shock had worn off, I had to admire just how big his hand was, it was practically like an umbrella.
"You were saying?" he asked.
"It's not that heavy."
"Because I'm still holding it up," he scoffed. The weight increased substantially and my arms buckled. In a moment of panic, I slipped down to one knee, squeezing my eyes shut and bracing myself.
I heard him snicker, and I looked up, the hand had stopped, and now it hovered a foot or so above me. My chest pounded painfully, and my mouth had gone dry. I slapped at his fingers, "Ok, ok, point received." I scooched out from under his hand, seating myself where I felt I was out of casual reach.
His eyes flickered, mirth gone, "You ok?"
"Scared me a bit," I tried to laugh it off.
He looked startled, "I wouldn't have hurt you, I'm careful."
"No, not that. It's nothing, really." I ran my hand through my hair, usually the dark brown mess was fairly straight, but I could feel that tangles had already formed during this little adventure. "I guess that's a little scary, that you could literally squash me with one hand."
His eyes flickered back and forth, he looked like he wanted to say something, but he stayed silent.
I didn't know how to explain it myself. I felt weak? Small? Of course I knew they were much stronger than me. I've been along for the ride since I arrived here, literally at their mercy. None of this was new information. So why did this of all things unsettle me? 'Lucky.' That's what Ratchet and Brainstorm had brought up. I was lucky. But they weren't just talking about surviving the trip, were they?
"You're a boot and I'm a shoe," he offered, "Like you said."
I shook my head, "You have it flipped, I'm the shoe."
"I still have no clue what that is."
Oh, for the love of—"This," I pulled my faded sneaker off, "A shoe," I shook it in front of me.
His eyes went wide, and when he spoke it was hushed, "That'snot a part of your body?"
"You're kidding?" I dropped my sneaker, "You thought this was just how I looked?" I pulled at my dark green jacket.
"That green thing was obvious," He retorted, reaching for my discarded shoe. We grabbed it at the same time but he easily plucked it from my hands, pinched between two fingers.
"Hey!" I said.
He squinted at it. The shoe looked pathetically tiny in his hand. "I never hung out with a lot of organics, I don't know about all these specific small things."
"Give it back," I reached out, pinching the air with my fingers
After another second of squinting, he reached over and dropped it next to me. In a huff, I put the shoe back on.
"But for real, if I hadn't appeared here," I started. The mood in the room shifted back into uneasiness, "If I had shown up on those other robots' ship. What would have happened to me?" Before he could respond I continued, "Or if this 'commander' guy of yours decides I look better floating dead in a jar, then what?"
He shifted up straighter, his brow furrowed with worry, "He would never. That would never happen. And even if it could, I'd never let it."
"And if I didn't have you? If I ran into some other bot? Be honest, do you really think I would be alive right now if Ultra Magnus had found me first?" I pulled my legs to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I hated doing this. I hated seeing him struggle to find the right words. "I wasn't lying," I continued, "When I said nothing's changed since I got here. I'm still scared, Misdirect. How can I be ok with any of this? It's all out of my control. Not just being here in the first place, but everything else, even my air, for christ's sake. I could have been in a thousand worse situations, just by chance, and I literally could have done nothing about it, not defend myself, or keep myself from suffocating. If someone at any point had wanted me dead and stuffed in a jar, then that would've been it for me. I couldn't have stopped you guys."
He looked so concerned, brow furrowed and face downcast, and I had to look away from him.
"None of us have control over that," he said finally, "I guess we can only be glad it worked out."
"I know," I said. For a time the room was quiet. I still couldn't look at him. He was trying so hard, being patient, and I was over here making things difficult. But I couldn't lie and say I was ok. I hated being here, I felt so scared and vulnerable constantly, and that wasn't going to change anytime soon. But I knew they were doing their best. Ratchet and Misdirect had been practically bending over backward to keep me away from total panic. I mean, the medic had let us walk out of his medbay right after I had nearly suffocated, I got the impression that was incredibly out of character.
I felt like I was being a spoiled brat. They could've just as easily tossed me in some rusty box or cage until they figured out what was going on. Or, they could've not given two craps and not even bothered to figure out the mystery. I hated this. I hated how complicated everything felt.
"But," he broke the silence, "If it means anything, I'm glad you appeared here, on the Ark, and not with the Decepticons. I'm glad you're alive."
I looked back at him, my cheek resting on my knee. He was watching me carefully.
"And," he continued, "I'm glad that you ran into my room, of all places. I'm also personally glad I didn't crush you with the box," he nodded towards the toolbox.
I couldn't resist a smile.
"And," He smiled back, "I'm glad Ratchet is in short supply of organic-sized jars. And that Prime is a huge organic softy."
I lifted my head up, "Prime's a what?"
"And I'm personally very glad," he leaned back, "That you don't spit acid and eat metal."
"You're making things up."
"You ever heard of scraplets? And, I'm glad you have so much confidence in how non-fragile you are and how strong you are."
In less than a second, my shoe was soaring gracefully through the air. It bounced off the side of his head. He blinked at me, then down at the floor. He stooped, reappearing with the offending object in his hand, he placed his other hand over his chest, "And, I'm glad my best friend has given me her shoe, as a generous sign of peace."
"You've known me for a few hours tops, we're barely acquaintances."
"I'm glad this pain in my aft has given me her shoe to keep forever. Is that better?"
"Ah whatever, keep it," I waved him away, moving to lay down on my back. There was a snicker from him and we again fell into silence.
"Why are you so nice to me?" I wiped my eyes, "You barely know me."
"Remorse? Gratitude?" He hummed to himself, "Who would've thought an organic was capable of such complex emotions? Not I."
"I'm serious," I said, "You heard Perceptor, I brought a mess with me. Why do you even want to deal with that?"
This time he seemed to consider my question. "I want you to get back home," he said, voice a bit quieter, "If we can't help people who are going through what we've had to, then what's the point of all this?"
I had to wipe my eyes again, "Even if it means being a giant robot babysitter?"
I heard a few pings, as if he were messing with the objects on the desk. I rolled my head so I could see him, sure enough, he was leaning over the desk, thumbing through the mess. Something was picked up and he examined it carefully, "Yeah, it's just horrible. I'd much rather be repairing the ship right now." His smirk returned, "And I know this is just ridiculous to consider, but maybe you're alright? Maybe I enjoy your company?"
"I think you're right," I agreed, "Ridiculous, I just hate robots, they're the worst."
"That's technically an insult, 'robot.' Depends on the context, but I'd keep it as a thing to consider."
I scoffed, "And what about calling me 'organic?'"
He leaned back in his chair, "I mean…"
"Hey," I said, "If I had appeared in Brainstorm's arm," I combed through my hair with my fingers, "You could've turned me into a pretty sculpture. Maybe you're the unlucky one." I found myself laughing, rolling out of the way of a suddenly thrown faded sneaker.