Meramech

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Onslaught Recording.

Onslaught: … Okay. Okay. What happened earlier in the cycle was… an error in planning. The plan in question was perfect. Or it would have been, if Vortex and Blast Off could aim a falling satellite properly. We could’ve had this over and done with were it not for the tactical oversight of assuming I could trust my boys with something more complex than cleaning a toilet. Vortex? That one’s on me. But Blast Off… [sigh] I really thought I could assume more of Blast Off, I really did. [a long pause.] Those seekers though. I told them we’d be bringing the satellite down, but should it be that much to assume something might go wrong? I swear shockwave must have lobotomized the part of their processors that retains information and processes it into thoughts. Oh, yeah fellas, don’t ask your captain for the go ahead before you start a fight, yeah, that’s on me. Stupid seekers… [Rolling of chair wheels. A drawer opening.] A busted hangar could be mitigated, a ruined shuttle? We could order a new one, even with a totalled comms, we’ve only gotta wait until Swindle is back with the cruiser to tell him to shoot back out and pick one up. But that’d mean that we’d need a command to request one from. And if that big blue bitch isn’t joshing, we ain’t got no command to request anymore… I’ll have to pry some shanix out of Swindle’s wallet and take the cruiser to the outpost myself. If I can just get enough… hm. [a long pause. The sound of him standing up from his chair] click.

“You can come out of the vent now, Slipstream. Jig’s up.” Onslaught said to the room, leaning against the control panel. 

The vent hatch in the ceiling clanked open, and Slipstream slithered out, her wings unfolding  with a long stretch. She glared up at him, one eye more squinted than the other. “Stupid seekers huh?”

“Save it.” Onslaught snapped. He paused, his visor dimmed for a moment. Vent in, 1… 2… 3… And out, 1… 2… 3…  “What do you want.” 

“You act like I didn’t do everything you asked me to do today.” Slipstream spat, ignoring him. “You said ‘get the coordinates for the satellite’? I did it. ‘Sabotage the dish’? Done. ‘Recon on the new ship?’ I was on it. And what’s the payoff, huh, cap? Shot at. By YOU. I could’ve d-”

Onslaught held up a hand. “I’m not gonna apologize to ya for some shit Brawl did, you got a problem? Take it up with him.” He brushed past her and through the door of his office. 

 Slipstream followed, pace quickened to match his stride. “You KNOW Brawl couldn’t rub two neurocircuits together if you gave him a year’s head start! You can’t control your damn team, Onslaught, and that is your problem.”

Onslaught’s optic twitched. 1… 2… 3… fuck it. He whipped around, looming over the seeker with a blazing visor. “Great, thanks for the feedback, what do you want from me right now, champ, a lollipop and a kiss on your nonexistent booboos? If you haven’t noticed, your frame’s still intact, you’re not hacking up energon, and you’re still cognitively aware enough to be a pain in my aft.” He jabbed a digit at her chest. “You are fine, and therefore you are not high on my priority list, babe. Go cry about it if you were so scared, I’ve got a crew to get home, and the more you piss me off, the smaller your chances of getting out of here get, capiche?”

Temporarily cowed, but still seething with rage, Slipstream just curled her lip in response, processor clearly cooking up a nice long retort. 

Onslaught didn’t give her the satisfaction. “Wanna talk about controlling a team, Slippy? How’s about you get a handle on those headcases you call an air team, huh?” He snapped, turning on his heel and trudging down the hallway. 

Seekers. 

Slipstream just slinked away, wandering off down the hallway in the opposite direction. Good. Onslaught thought to himself bitterly. He looked out through the hallway window, past the Autobot Command Ship’s wreckage and to the slightly scorched Autobot base. Both sides would be gunning for a way out soon, after it all sank in. 

No war, huh? It was a sentence he thought he’d never say. He’d always wondered about it, what’d happen if they finally won. He’d never even considered that it might end clean like this. Another oversight for the tally. He was getting annoyed at how often those were cropping up in the past few days, it was becoming a pattern.

Maybe he was losing his edge… getting sloppy. 

Onslaught shook his head, turning a corner and strolling down a ramp. He ducked into Blast Off’s lab and sighed a bit, letting his posture relax. Blast Off didn’t even look up from his work, hunched over the remains of the atomizer brawl had ruined. The quiet fizzle of welding tools was only slightly overshadowed by the music he was playing. 

“Blast Off.” Onslaught said.

The fizzling stopped. 

“Got a question for you.” He added. 

Blast Off set his tools down, but didn’t turn. 

“What happened up there?” Onslaught asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Blast Off was quiet for a long moment. “... Exactly what you think happened. Vortex got impatient and brought it down early.”

Onslaught’s visor narrowed. “That all?”

Blast Off angled his head, as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. “Are you implying something, On?”

“I don’t know, are you leaving something out, Off?” 

Blast Off spun around. “Is this really what you’re worried about right now? We’re stranded here, even when Swindle comes back with the Horsefly, we-”

Onslaught’s engine turned over loudly. “I ain’t askin’ about Swindle, I wanna know who’s fault it is that this went wrong.”

Blast Off’s lip curled in distaste. “I think we both know who’s fault it is, I think you don’t feel like admitting it.” 

“Are you implying something??” Onslaught snarled.

Blast Off’s hands clenched for a moment, a thick tension filling the room. Then the spaceship sighed heavily and turned back around to his project. “I’ll start working on comms repairs soon. Maybe I can gut the Horsefly’s engine and do something else with the parts.” 

Onslaught deflated a bit. “... Yeah. Good.” Guilt dangled in the silence between them, unbearable and heavy. “... Thanks.”

“Mhm.” Blast Off answered, already absorbed in his work again. 

Onslaught sighed and ran his hand over his face. Usually he liked being in the lab. It was a quiet place, even with the music. Somewhere Onslaught could breathe for a moment. He offline his optics, counting his venting again to the slow tempo of Blast Off’s boring work music. Now though, it felt like every bit of scrap and machinery was judging him.

Vision flipped back on, Onslaught wandered back the way he came, but at the doorframe he lingered for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping for something. All that he got in response was the fizzling of Blast Off’s tools and the dreary tune of his music. 

So he left, wandering off down the hall. 

Down another floor, back around a set of windows facing the same view. Across the way, he could see movement through the windows, just vaguely. Onslaught thought for a moment, planting his hands and leaning forward a bit to get a better view. 

Narrowing his visor, Onslaught made his decision. 

“War or no war, it doesn’t matter. I ain’t gettin cosy with a ‘bot.”

>*<

Meanwhile, at the Autobot Base

[add pep talk with Magnus here]

The hangar is completely destroyed. Comms Tower is scuttled. Minor blackening and fire damage on connected areas. Minor Roof breaches over eastern wing. In Summary: Damage mainly contained to hangar and comms tower, all remaining damage cosmetic or easily fixable.

Hot Rod sighed, letting the arm holding Tailgate’s report go limp by his side. He dragged a hand over his face and let his helm thunk back against the hallway wall. Great first impression, I’m sure Magnus is very impressed, he thought bitterly. 

It was bad enough that their comms were down, it was worse that now a handful of the most important autobots to ever live were stuck on a nothing planet in the middle of nowhere. Hot Rod had begun to pace, anxiously glancing into the mess hall at the shellshocked pack of autobots gathered inside. They were all counting on him now. They’d counted on him before and he’d failed them, but now failure wasn’t an option. He couldn’t just throw his C-Team out with a shoddy Plan-B like he had earlier, they’d only ruin things for him again, but now, the stakes were impossibly higher. Sure he had a group he could depend on now, but it wasn’t as if they’d listen to him, he was just a captain. Like most people, next to Ultra Magnus, everyone seemed impossibly small. 

The door to the mess hall swung open, and the hulking shape of Ultra Magnus filled the hallway in front of him. Where he expected rage, Hot Rod was greeted with a markedly concerned expression on the bot’s face.

“Captain.” he greeted with a nod. “Our teams have been waiting for your report for five minutes now, is everything alright?”

NO, you old jalopy, everything is NOT alright, we are STRANDED and I am RUINED and I’ll be lucky if Optimus even LOOKS at me again if we ever get back!! “Just pre-address jitters, you know how it is!” Hot Rod plastered on a smile. “Things are… rough… right now.” he paused for a second, a sinking feeling in his tanks. “I suppose that in such a crisis you’d uhm- You’d be assuming command? Sir?” 

Ultra Magnus blinked, then his brow ridges shot up. “Hm? Oh yes, in standard practice, it would be my place to do so, however there are extraneous circumstances that must be considered.”

Now it was Hot Rod’s turn to blink. “What?”

Ultra Magnus sighed heavily. “Though I outrank you, I was given specific orders from Optimus Prime to observe your leadership abilities. And anyway, subsection 68-49b of the Autobot code states that if an Officer that has served for over 3,000,000 solar cycles and is eligible for retirement is placed in charge of at least double the crew than they were previously deployed with under the circumstances of an emergency, it falls to their judgement whether or not the next highest ranking officer should assume co-command to ensure the officer’s retirement application can be at least partially be honoured.”

Hot Rod blinked again. “... Take it again one more time?”

“I’m eligible for retirement, and you are the next highest ranking officer, meaning it falls to both of us to assume command due to the size of our gathered troops.” Ultra Magnus placed a heavy hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder. “Optimus believes you have what it takes to lead, and it’s my job to assess whether that is true.”

Hot Rod puffed his chest out. Optimus believes it, huh? He beamed. “You can count on me, Ultra Magnus, Sir!” 

Ultra Magnus smiled back warmly. “Yes. I will do my utmost to guide you on your path without stepping in. My wisdom is yours to utilize, should you ever need advice.”

Hot Rod nodded quickly. “Yes, yes of course, definitely!” He turned to look at the mess hall again, brimming with confidence. Who cares if they were stuck, Optimus BELIEVED in him! Hot rod swaggered through the door, report in hand. “Alright folks, we’re in a rough state! But if we work together, I’m sure we can find a way out of this!”

The pack of autobots semi-catatonically looked back at him, then glanced nervously amongst themselves.

“With an appropriate strategy of course.” Ultra Magnus added from behind him. Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder at him. Okay… gonna listen to his address from next to him and not the crowd- weird, but okay.

The autobots seemed to relax a bit when Ultra Magnus was in front of them. Hot Rod wasn’t going to take that personally. Nope! “So! We don’t have any ships that can go off world that are salvageable, and our comms are down. Our first priority should be fixing the comms tower-“

“Nautica, you should go about assessing the most efficient use of materials in this endeavor.” Ultra Magnus cut in.

Nautica perked up a bit. “Yes of course Ultra Magnus, sir!”

Hot Rod glanced over his shoulder again, resetting his optics. But- he was- never mind, it was whatever. “Uh- yes, there should be some comms infrastructure that’s still usable in your ship, so maybe we can jerryrig something temporary with enough juice to get an SOS message out. We have no satellite, and the tower is broken, so we’ll want to find some other means of boosting our signal-“

“Perceptor, you should confer with the resident scientists on base to see what machinery we can convert into a tower or satellite.” Ultra Magnus interjected again.

Perceptor nodded agreeably. “As you command sir.”

Hot Rod’s optic twitched. “Okay! So Perceptor, you can meet with Brainstorm, and Nautica, you can go see about the comms module in the ship. You’ll-“

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial. “She should go with a team to ensure her safety.”

Hot Rod fought back an engine revv. “I know that- Whirl, you make sure nobody gets in her way, Swerve, you help her carry anything she finds.”

Swerve grinned back in response. “You can count on us, boss!”

Whirl just stared at Nautica, golden optic round and wide, blades quivering slightly.

“Fantastic, you three can head out, Brainstorm, if you could show… Perceptor… to….” Hot Rod’s sentence slowed to a halt as he realized the jet was missing from the crowd. Of course. “Does anyone know where Brainstorm is?”

Tailgate raised his hand quickly. “Tailgate?” For an awkward moment Hot Rod waited to hear his report before remembering… his little thing. “Private Tailgate?”

“While I was doing my damage assessment I heard him in his observatory, Captain Hot Rod, sir!” The minibot barked out. Hot Rod allowed himself a flattered smile for the rarely seen respect. “He was throwing things and yelling, sir!”

Oh, awesome. Hot Rod sighed. “Okay! Well, I’ll take you up to meet him then, Perce!”

Perceptor grimaced a little bit.

Ultra Magnus leaned down to Hot Rod’s audial again. “Ratchet should be shown where the Medbay is as well. And-“

“FIRST AID!” The name came out of Hot Rod’s vocalizer a little too loud, making the bot jump. “If you could take Ratchet to the medbay please that’d be just STELLAR, thank you.”

First Aid glanced between Ultra Magnus and the captain for a moment, before nodding slowly. Oh what, do you need HIM to say it? You need HIS order and HIS permission? Oh I see how it is. THANKS, Aid. 

Hot rod could hear Ultra Magnus’ intake opening for another sentence, so he didn’t give him the chance. “CHROMEDOME, if you would show the rest of Magnus’ crew around the base! Tailgate, get started on patching the holes in the base! BEACHCOMBER! Uh!” The small blue bot seemed to only tune in a few seconds after his name was called. “You…. Keep up the good work? GREAT! DISMISSED!”

Tailgate saluted quickly before rushing over to the exit, already calling a fleet of cleaning drones to follow behind him. Beachcomber strolled unhurriedly towards the enerspresso machine. The groups quickly began to shuffle towards one another. 

Before Ultra Magnus could make another comment, Hot Rod trotted over to Perceptor and grabbed his arm. “GREAT to see you again buddy! You look good, you look fit, have you been working out? Let’s show you the lab huh?”

Without waiting for an answer, Hot Rod dragged the microscope out of the room and away from Magnus’ annoyingly chipper look.

>*<

Vortex wasn’t in his room. Judging by the state it was in, he had been there, but no longer. His stupid band posters were torn down, his bunk collapsed and flipped over. He had done as he always did, and ruined absolutely everything. 

But if Vortex wasn’t in his room moping, he’d be moping just as annoyingly some other place. It just so happened that currently his moping place was in the gym room. 

Some would say it was Onslaught’s gym room, but hey, who really cared who’s room it was right? Onslaught growled as he heard the sound of his punching bag being mangled in the room. Stupid little one liners like ‘you want a piece of me?’ Or ‘yeah, dats what I thought!’ Echoed out into the hallway. 

Onslaught leaned on the doorway of the gym and sighed. Vortex was hovering, blades whirling fitfully and destructively as he punched and kicked at Onslaught’s punching bag. There were gouges in the floor and ceiling from his blades again. He had just gotten that fixed. Sitting in the corner, shockingly quiet, was Brawl. 

“VORTEX.” Onslaught boomed. His scout dropped from his hover and whirled around to look at him, visor blazing. 

Onslaught pinched his nasal ridge. 1…2…3… “What’d I tell you about the rotors in the gym.”

Vortex’s plating flared a bit, steam wicking off him. “Don’t remember!” He snapped. Even still his blades folded up plaintively behind him. 

Onslaught’s engine revved again, anger barely tamped down. “Sure, yeah, just like you didn’t remember the coordinates I gave you?” He said, feigning sweetness in his tone.

Vortex’s faceplates went purple. “I WAS TWO DIGITS OFF- OUR BASES ARE LIKE FIVE INCHES APART WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO!” He whipped back around to the punching bag, slamming his shin into it. His form was still bad. It always was no matter how much Onslaught coached him. 

“You were supposed to double check it when you got up there before you brought it down. You were supposed to wait five minutes to be in the right position so you wouldn’t have to steer it.” Onslaught snarled out through his teeth, stalking over to him. “And you’re supposed to use the punching bag to work on your form, not take your little hissyfits out on them.”

Vortex stopped kicking and stood still with his arms quivering at his sides. He was still in the mood for a tantrum, but at least he knew when to quit it for five seconds. It wasn’t like he was really listening anyway, but even if he wasn’t listening, at least he wasn’t abusing Onslaught’s workout equipment. “I know you’re bored on missions, and I know that, to you, being bored is worse than being dismembered, but if you just do your fraggin job right, you don’t have to waste extra time bein bored while I explain how much you fragged up, you understand?”

Vortex clenched his fists, clearly wanting to keep boxing the hanging bag. “Or you could just let up on me for a second! I did what you told me to, all you said was take the thing down!”

“No, Tex, I said ‘Blast Off will take you up, wait for his signal from me, and then bring it down.’” Onslaught sighed.

Vortex shook even more. His vocalizer clicked, then popped, then reset, then let out a shriek. He flung himself forwards, slamming his fist against the pleather.

“Listen, you’re a…” Onslaught struggled for a second, choking around a compliment. “…fine team mate. You gotta listen through my entire fraggin order, or you’re gonna frag up again and be back at square one.” 

“I DO LISTEN!!!” Vortex wailed. He was pummeling the punching bag again, wheeling his arms around in unpracticed, forceless blows that barely managed to shake the thing.

Onslaught put his hands on his hips, fixing his face in a mocking expression. “Yeah? You listen? That’s why when I said ‘keep the seekers from blowing up the enemy base or we’re slagged’, you spent half the time fightin whirl?”

“You coulda just told them to lay off, I didn't even need to be there!” Vortex scoffed.

“But I did tell them to lay off, numbskull, and they didn’t hear me because someone brought our entire comms transmission setup down.” He grabbed Vortex by the collar and yanked him back to face him. “You woulda known that if you LISTENED before taking off. That’s what I’m trying to say, TEX, you don’t listen, and its makin’ ME look bad.” 

Vortex was quiet for a moment, arms flailing around as he tried to decide on which pose made him look the toughest while his toes were scraping for purchase at the floor. He decided on crossing his arms and tossing his head to the side as if trying his hardest to look aloof. “Well you wanna talk about ‘made you look bad’, how about Brawl!?” He threw his arm out to jab an accusatory digit at the slightly catatonic Combaticon. “If we’d just made nice we coulda been off this stupid planet by dinner and back to work!” 

Onslaught’s optic twitched. “Great plan smart guy, didja forget the part where we only found out that was an option, after we blew up his ship?” 

Vortex withered again. “...still Brawl’s fault.” He mumbled.

1…. 2… They really all just think he’s some fraggin idiot huh- 1. 2. 3. Onslaught dropped Vortex, letting him stagger on his feet. “Y’KNOW WHAT, YEAH, VORTEX, YOU’RE RIGHT, IT IS BRAWL’S FAULT!” He shouted, tone incredulous and mocking. “HEY BRAWL!?” He turned. 

Brawl’s visor blinked on. Stiffly he turned his helm to Onslaught. “Yeah boss?” He muttered. It wouldn’t have been audible on anyone else, but with Brawl, even a mumble was at speaking volume. 

“Didja hear me when I said not to fire the fusion cannon, pal?” Onslaught asked with venomous sweetness. 

“U-uhh No boss! I couldn’t even hear ya over the seekers engines, I only heard the bit where you said fire!” Brawl scrambled up to his feet. 

Onslaught smacked his own head, feigning surprise. “Huh, so if, say, Vortex had done what I told him to and gotten the seekers to hold fire and get back to base, you prolly coulda heard me, right?” Onslaught put his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, I would’ve, boss!” Brawl said, banging a fist on his chest. “You know I got you!” 

“Thanks, Brawl, you just stay right there.” Onslaught instructed. 

“Sure thing, Boss!” 

Turning back to Vortex, who was now very embarrassedly looking away with his shoulders hunched, Onslaught leaned down to meet Vortex’s eyeline. “Now, pointin fingers and sayin who’s fault it ‘really’ is ain’t gonna fix what you broke, champ… so, I’m gonna ask you a question.” He reached forwards, grabbing Vortex’s face and wrenching his head around to meet his gaze. “Who’s gonna fix it for me?”

Onslaught could see the fight going on in Vortex’s head. He’d been around long enough to know that every obeyed order for absolutely anything that wasn’t wanton violence was a knock down drag out fight between Vortex’s common sense and desperate need for constant stimulation. This fight was uglier though, a clawing scratching catfight between Vortex’s pride and his need for this lecture to end. 

Sometimes a fight like this only got figured out after Onslaught beat him into submission, gave him that visceral ache that he’d practically beg for when he got bored enough. Not this time though. 

“... Me.” He muttered, clearly having weighed the option of opening his faceplate and spitting in Onslaught’s eye and found it’s result lacking. 

“Good.” Onslaught beamed at him icily, patting his cheek. “Now I got a job for you two, and it’s simple enough that I think you can’t mess it up, so don’t prove me wrong.”

Brawl thumped forwards, coming to a stop and standing at attention as Onslaught spoke. Vortex slunk in beside him, markedly less stiff and more full of hate. 

Shuffling around in his subspace, Onslaught produced the half finished scan of Ultra Magnus’ ship that Slipstream had procured. “So if they’re this far out, they’ve gotta have some form of long range comm, right?”

>*<

“So er… I see you’ve been uhm… busy since we last met?” Perceptor offered as Hot Rod continued to steer him around corners and down hallways.

“Oh no, no, not too busy. Haven’t become a stick in the mud yet, only running the least productive energon mine in the whole universe, hah!” Hot Rod smacked Perceptor on the back, laughing at his own joke(?).

Perceptor frowned a bit more, squinting questioningly at the other mech. Hot Rod just smiled back, his teeth grinding together in his intake. “... Right. And this ‘Brainstorm’, what has he been researching?” He asked. “This planet is very lush with organic life, we saw on our scans on the way down that there was an ocean within travelling distance!” Perceptor was practically hovering, fears momentarily forgotten in the face of glorious progress. 

Hot Rod allowed himself a moment of smugness. As crap as the planet was for most things, if there was anything Perceptor found remarkable on it, he could at least play to that. “Hm? Oh yeah, it’s a pretty sweet setup. Beachcomber is our head researcher on that end of things, I think.” He thought for a moment, pursing his lips. “...Dunno what he’s working on if I’m honest. Think it was something about mollusks.” 

*

Perceptor blinked for a moment, quietly opening his earlier conceived ‘List of Concerns about Hot Rod’ .txt file and adding another entry. 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what his head biologist is studying.’

“And… Brainstorm?” 

“I’m pretty sure he was still working on our new mining droids, if he finished those he still hasn’t told me.” Hot Rod shrugged. The Captain thought for a second, before perking up. “Oh yeah, but the last thing he finished was our Holo-Gen room-” He winced a bit. “But it was pretty close to the hangar… so it might be busted.” 

‘5. Captain Hot Rod does not know what either of his scientists are doing (?)’

‘6. Questionable allocation of autobot supplies(?)’ 

Perceptor nodded understandingly. “Ah, so he’s more of an engineer?” 

“Eh… he prefers inventor.” Hot Rod said, stopping his slow Perceptor-pushing to press the call button on the elevator. “I’ve never met anyone smarter than you, Percey, but Brainstorm? He gets pretty close. Genius. Some would say… mad genius? But uhh..” Hot Rod grimaced a little, optics going vague as if remembering something unpleasant. “... He’s a character! But not a…. Not an awful fella! Some of the best drones out there, we hardly have to lift a finger for the mine to run, but his interests… are more… um how about… eclectic? Is that the right word?”

Perceptor didn’t feel very confident, even if he still stepped into the elevator next to Hot Rod. “Eclectic sounds right, given the vagueness with which he’s described.” Perceptor smiled weakly. The elevator door slid shut, and pitifully scratchy jazz flowed out of the speakers as they rose towards Brainstorm’s lab. 

“He likes to keep busy. He’s always working on something or other up there, whether it’s something I asked for or… whatever else? I can never really know.” Hot Rod shrugged again, lacing his fingers and leaning his head back into them. He peeked his optics over towards Perceptor. “This whole mess should keep you both pretty occupied.” He chuckled, but the laughter felt a little grim. 

Perceptor sighed a little, offering a weary smile and a thumbs up. “We’ll figure it out, Captain.” 

Hot Rod laughed again, almost startling Perceptor with his sudden chipper smile. “Bet your aft we will! I’ll just get your noggins joggin together and we’ll be outta here in no time at all.” He glanced up at the floor counter. Almost there. 

“... Hot Rod, it’s good to see you again.” Perceptor said quietly offering a stiff smile as the doors to the elevator slid open. 

*

Hot Rod opened his mouth to reply, but as he did, a loud thud sounded from just down the hallway. He wilted a little. From the wail that followed it, Hot Rod could tell this first introduction was not going to be on the right foot. Perceptor regarded him with a look similar to a cyber-rat in a gluetrap, but Hot Rod lead him out of the elevator all the same. 

“How about I go check on him first huh? You hang back here.” The captain forced a smile and gave him a thumbs up, then scampered down the hall to the source of the shouting. 

“-YEARS! HOW COULD IT BE OVERRRR!!!” Brainstorm caterwalled.

The laboratory was trashed. Experiments were strewn across the floor, plans torn up and tossed like confetti, work tables flipped. And there Brainstorm was, in the midst of it all, hands clawing at his helm as he paced back and forth. 

“ITS A WASTE ITS ALL A WASTE!!! DAMN YOU!!!” He kicked his stool across the room, where it rolled to a pitiful stop near Hot Rod’s leg. He suddenly whipped around and snatched up a wrench, whirling around to throw it when he noticed the captain’s presence. As if a switch was flipped, his rage simmered down into a barely contained bubble, masked over with false pleasantry. “Captain! So good to see you!”

Hot Rod blinked, swallowing thickly. “Hey, Brainstorm! So!” He glanced around. “Bit of post war remodeling?”

Brainstorm’s wings hiked up on his back. The low whine of jet engines powering on then off echoed in the high ceilinged room. “Oh just. Adjusting to the good news!” He gritted out.

“It is good news!” Hot Rod agreed, lyingly. 

Brainstorm was shaking a bit. “Perfect news! Even! Fantastic and wonderful and-“ he turned around to regard the stack of blueprints that remained, “and marvelous- and- and-“ he gripped the first few papers off of the pile and began to tear them in half. “LIFE RUINING AND CAREER ENDING-“ 

“Now now! Let’s relax here, I’m sure you could find something else to work on, right pal?” Hot Rod offered, bringing his hands up. “Weapons are a specialty, not the only thing you can do right?”

Brainstorm warbled pitifully, falling into his chair. “BUT I DON’T WANT TO MAKE MACHINES!!! ANYONE CAN MAKE A MACHINE- DO YOU EVEN THINK THE INTRICACIES OF A GUN- DO YOU- DO YOU EVEN CARE ABOUT IT WHEN YOU PULL THE TRIGGER!!! I DO!! I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT!!” 

Hot Rod sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, Brainstorm, I don’t think about that.” 

The jet lounged over his chair dramatically. “Of course you didn’t… nobody respects the work of an artiste. You know back in my studies-“

“‘Back in your studies you were the top of your class six semesters in a row’ yes, I do know.” 

Brainstorm tucked his hands under his chin, grinning with his eyes. “At least you remember what’s important, captain.” 

Hot Rod grimaced an unconvincing smile and tapped his forehelm. “You know me.” He stood in the uncomfortable silence for a moment before clearing his throat. “So- not to put a new thing on your plate, champ, but the new folks need a new lab space-“ 

“ARE YOU KICKING ME OUT!!?” Brainstorm shrieked.

“NO!!!!” Hot Rod shouted back, resisting the urge to cover his audials. “NO, Brainstorm, I’m asking you to make a little room!!!” He swept his arms out at the mess of a lab. 

“Ah yes well that would make sense.” Brainstorm smiled, popping up to his pedes. He trotted over to a small wheely table and shoved the flayed entrails of a project off it. “There. That should be enough!”

Hot Rod frowned meaningfully. Brainstorm beamed with malice. “… I’ll go get your new lab partner.”

“Take all the time you need! An eternity even! I don’t need a partner, and it’s insulting that you’d think another scientist would be any use at all! I could solve this with my eyes closed and you know it!” Brainstorm crowed after him. 

Hot Rod’s engine rumbled. Stupid poindexter. He groused internally. 

While it was unsurprising that Perceptor was grimacing when Hot Rod turned the corner, it still wasn’t ideal. The microscope took a half step back towards the elevator, fixing his face into an appropriately apologetic look. “Really, Hot Rod, it’s completely fine, I could just- er- I could set up in a spare room!” He offered.

Hot Rod continued to advance, plastering on an unconvincing smile. “Oh come on, it’s totally fine! There’s plenty of space, really, he’s just a bit messy, that's all!”

“I really wouldn’t want to impose-!” Perceptor added, his hand pawing around for the elevator’s call button. 

Hot Rod took his hand in both of his own. “It wouldn’t be an imposition at all!”

“I-I really shouldn’t-” Perceptor tried one more feeble time, but Hot Rod had already begun to drag him. 

“There’s no I in team, Percey, but there’s two in ‘Finding us a Way Home’! I need my best hands on deck for this or we’re gonna be stuck here.”

Perceptor seemed to go distant for a moment, like he was writing something in his HUD. Then he sighed heavily and followed Hot Rod down the hallway.

The captain once again stood at the entrance to Brainstorm’s lab, now with Perceptor in tow. “While I appreciate the need for a laboratory, I’m afraid this one is quite occupied!” Brainstorm, who had been proudly sulking in a wheely chair at the center of his radius of destruction, languidly spun around to face the two of them. “I’m sure you’ve had a rough day, so you can rest easy knowing that I don’t need any of your ‘help’, and put your feet up while a real genius-” He stopped, optics widening. 

Hot Rod pounced on the silence. “Brainstorm, this is Perceptor, he’s the autobot’s head of STEM, he’s-”

“The second smartest mechanoid to ever be constructed?” Brainstorm whispered reverently.

Perceptor blinked. “Second?” 

“Ah good, so you know each other?” Hot Rod said. 

Perceptor chuckled confusedly, “I mean we haven’t met-” 

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY IT WAS PERCEPTOR!?” Brainstorm boomed elatedly. The jet shot across the room in a whirlwind of torn up blueprints, grabbing Perceptor’s hand and shaking it hard enough to jostle his entire frame. “Perceptor, oh my goodness, it is such an honour, an absolute treat, a complete joy to meet you, sir! Your writing on organic life, while not my personal area of interest, is SENSATIONAL! AND- ahaha- your work with the central camian collegiate on Mechaneuro Drone Linkups- I’d have it carved onto the inside of my helm if I could!” He laughed giddily, still shaking Perceptor’s hand like it owed him money. “What serendipity! If I believed in any of that spectralist nonsense, I’d say it was fate that you made it out here! Terribly unlucky for you, I’d ask what cosmic entities you’d made so angry, if ANY OF THAT ILLOGICAL GARBAGE WERE REAL, AHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!!” 

To Brainstorm, that must have been completely hilarious, but the other two mechs lagged behind with their halfhearted laughter. Hot Rod was certain that if the jet had a mouth, Perceptor would be completely drenched in spittle at this point.

Perceptor’s vocalizer bleeped and skipped for a moment as he struggled to respond around all the shaking. He brought his other hand up, grabbing onto the larger mech’s servo and bringing it to a stop. “Ah-ahaha- oh my! Thats uh- thank you!” He stammered, glancing at Hot Rod with terror in his optics. 

Hot Rod just gave him a big thumbs up, as unhelpful as usual, and began to step out of the room. 

Brainstorm beamed with his eyes, releasing Perceptor’s hand and clasping his together over his chest. “Your work already laid so much of the groundwork for my creations here, it’s like you’ve already been my lab assistant this whole time!”

Perceptor frowned, rubbing his slightly dented servo. “Your assistant-?”

“We can iron out labels for roles later, partner, we’ve got work to do!” Brainstorm gasped. “And a whole lab to tour!!! Oh- OH, Percey- Can I call you percey?- I have SO MUCH to show you!!” He squealed in excitement, grabbing Perceptor’s hand again and dragging him deeper into his lab. “We are going to do great things together, Percey, I can already tell!!”

Perceptor looked helplessly over his shoulder at Hot Rod one final time. The captain just saluted at him with a beaming smile, and disappeared down the hallway. 

>*<

“So- er- in your expert opinion… like… scale of one to ten, how bad would you say the wreck is?”

Well, with the reactor essentially vaporized, and most of the thrusters scuttled, and a giant hole in the back half of the ship with fire still flickering around it? Nautica could safely say she had never seen a ‘wreck’ look any worse than this.

“Um! Well! Being optimistic, how about a solid 7.3?” She offered as Swerve peered hopefully up at her.

“Hey, Swerve, check this out.” Whirl snickered, slapping the minibot’s arm with a still steaming hot bundle of melting wires. Swerve shrieked and grabbed his arm, scrubbing at the quickly cooling rubber that threatened to peel his paint if it stuck too long.

Nautica hummed, sweeping her headlamp over another portion of dented hallway while her companions began to argue back and forth. She’d been on this mission long enough to see the extent of the stircraziness colony bots had to endure, she couldn’t blame them for bickering. She only wondered how long it’d take for her to start acting the same way. 

Swerve fell into step beside her, still picking melted rubber off his arm. “7.3 ain’t bad though, yeah?”

Nautica offered him an unconfident grimace. “Uhhh… sure! I mean like- in this state- the ship isn’t gonna fly again- but!” She put her hands up seeing his hope fading, “hey! Plenty of salvageable parts for a new one! We’ll get things figured out, promise.”

Whirl leaned his head down between the two of them. “We’re going to be stuck here.”

Nautica shrugged. “For a while, yeah, I suppose.” 

“When it comes down to it, we can cannibalize Magnus first. He’s got the most usable minerals to keep us from dying of malnutrition.” The helicopter added cheerily.

Swerve stepped a little closer to Nautica, boxing Whirl out from between them. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to freak you out!” He said, notably freaked out.

Nautica scoffed a little. “I’m not freaked out-“ 

“I’m not trying to freak her out. Do you think I just say things for fun? You think talk is cheap? I charge by the word, y’know.” Whirl sneered. 

Nautica ducked under a hanging ceiling panel. “Besides, you, are right, Magnus would be a good pick. Every morning he adds about half a dozen mineral supplements to his energon, you’ll see him do it.”

Swerve groaned. “Ugh, I thought he might… I swear, old models say they need the minerals for their armour, but it’s really just nostalgia for the pre refinement days when you could just stick your hand in the canals and suck up pure primal silt.” He gagged, “see, me? I could shake up a mixjon that’ll blow the paint right off any geezer still suckin down ener-sand.”

Nautica laughed, smacking a hand over her mouth. “Oh yeah, good luck getting him to drink it.”

Swerve sighed, “Tee-totaler?”

Nautica nodded. “He’s odd about nutrition, too. He says the-“

Whirl suddenly shushed the two of them, a claw coming down each of their heads. 

From deeper into the ship there echoed the distant but immediately recognizable sound of a laser cutter buzzing and crackling through something. Nautica clutched her wrench a little tighter, ready to swing. Whirl’s posture had shifted, now more hunched and low. Swerve conveniently lagged behind to let the other two investigate… at a slightly safer distance.

The group plodded forward quietly with Whirl now taking the lead. Despite the tenseness of the situation, Nautica noticed his tail propellor was spinning up and cooling down repeatedly, as if he was eager for a fight. 

It didn’t take long to arrive at the source of the noise. Unsurprisingly, it was also their original destination, the command deck of the ship. Through the half busted down double doors Nautica caught a glimpse of two of the gaudily painted cons from before, but she was only able to observe them for a moment before Whirl screamed and threw himself across the deck at one of them. The two bots- both helicopters judging by their blades- tumbled down a short staircase in a flurry of clangs and bleeps and cursing. The remaining decepticon, Brawl, belatedly glanced up from the datapad and after his partner, then swung his helm around to the other two bots.

The autobots froze under his gaze like deer in the middle of the interstate. Nautica’s foggy memories from basic training floated up belatedly from the bottom of her processor. She fumbled her nigh forgotten sidearm out of her holster and brandished it out in front of her at the con.

“Which bit is the comms array?” Swerve whimpered out.

“Opposite the one they’re going for-” She hissed back, nearly jumping out of her plating as Brawl began to lumber towards her with malicious intent. His footsteps boomed and shook the bridge, bouncing the two struggling helicopters like they were on a trampoline. 

Swerve scrambled over to the comms array without a second thought. Nautica kept her eyes locked on Brawl, shuffling backwards to cover Swerve’s mad dash. Wait- why was she covering him? 

Before she could figure that out, Brawl swung an oil drum sized fist at her. Nautica yelped and ducked, feeling her back rotor get clipped by his punch. Adrenaline clogging her logic codes, she reeled back upwards to kick him, only to drive her head directly up into his chin. The two of them both staggered backwards holding their helms. 

“SWERVE PULL THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!” Nautica bellowed, clumsily pointing her blaster out at the decepticon and firing. The beam connected with his side, and instead of rending half his vital mechanisms, it just disappeared. The decepticon made an almost indignant noise, like he’d been hit by a stray dodgeball. Nautica glanced at her blaster. Stun mode. Scraplets.

“THAT FRAGGING ITCHES, AUTO- AUTO… AUTOSLAGGER!” The decepticon roared, seeming insecure of his poor wordplay.

“WHICH IS THE MAINTENANCE LEVER!!?” Swerve bleeped, pawing at the module. 

Clumsily, Nautica swapped the blaster from stun to lethal. With a squawk of victory against the stupid thing, the engineer swept her arm up to take a shot, only to receive a knee to the torso that sent her flying back into the wall. 

Swerve shrieked, whirling around to put his body between Brawl and the comms module. Nautica groaned and dragged herself out of the wreckage. Nothing broken? Oh- nope that propeller was RUINED- ow- Now sufficiently fed up, Nautica slammed her blaster into Swerve’s hands. 

“Nautica- oh- primus- you really don’t want me to do that, its a bad idea-!” Swerve wheedled.

Nautica ignored him, reaching up and grabbing hold of the bright red lever clearly marked ‘MAINTENANCE LEVER’. She twisted, then pulled the lever up with a loud clunk. The mechanism of the comms array slid out a ways, now unmoored from the wall. “YES! Now we just need to get out of-!”

Several things happened at once then. 

Now up off the floor and flying through the air, Whirl and Vortex shot across the bridge like a bullet. They did so with a force such that they punched directly through the small balcony on which the rest of the bots were located. As the two of them caused massive unfixable structural damage to the aforementioned balcony, Brawl was lurching forwards with a punch that was likely to completely crumple Swerve’s body like an accordion. The minibot screamed and pulled the trigger of his blaster haphazardly aimed at some indiscernible portion of the blur that was Brawl. 

Brawl’s foot went through a destabilized portion of floor just as Whirl and Vortex’s helms exited it, smashing the two of them back down like a pair of whackamoles. Brawl tripped forwards and Swerve’s shot missed, pinging off a loose panel, then off of Ultra Magnus’ perfectly polished chair back. Somehow, it ricocheted off a steam pipe which popped loose and poured thick white steam throughout the space, and then sank into a fire extinguisher located directly next to the comms array, which exploded into a mess of thick white foam.

In the now obscured bridge, Nautica winced as she heard Brawl, Vortex, and Whirl slam into the ground with a massive thud. Dragging the now foam flecked comms array out and fastening it to Swerve’s back lift, she had no time to waste pawing around in the steam, so she shouted, “WHIRL WE’RE GETTING OUT OF HERE COME ON LETS GO!!” and began to scramble towards the exit. 

Somewhere in the steam, she could hear them wrestling, then the sound of Brawl howling out in pain, followed swiftly by the front window of the ship smashing out as someone was thrown through it. Nautica couldn’t have checked if she tried. She was already focusing on trying not to vomit from the pulsating pain in her propeller, and dragging Swerve’s blubbering, apologizing aft to safety. 

“I-I told you- im not good with guns they just don’t- I can’t get the hang of- I just-”

Nautica tuned him out. One foot in front of the other. Finally she was out of the steam cloud and could see the hallway hatch out. Daylight poured out over the two of them as she escaped, but she didn’t stop. Adrenaline propelled her forwards with Swerve in tow, and she wouldn’t stop running until finally she reached the Autobot base. 

It was only after she staggered inside that she finally crashed. Her knees buckled under her. Energon was leaking down her back and leg in a stream, and her body was making her completely aware of how upset it was at that fact. She shoved that aside again, spinning Swerve around so she could get a better look at the module strapped to his back. There was foam everywhere. She hesitantly reached forwards, cradling the sparking, miserable remnants of her poor comms array. Maybe not unsalvageable… but it could be weeks before repairs were finished. 

“...”

And then she finally threw up.

>*<

Captain’s Log, Cycle 174 of Kilocycle 845,206, Captain Hot Rod Recording… Again.

“Y’know they say that leadership is about making the best of a bad situation. And of all the bad situations I’ve been in, while this might be the worst-... [a calculating moment] uh! It’s not as if i can’t handle it! I’m exactly the man for the job. I’d say I presently AM handling it. It being the situation of course. Of course. 

… So Brainstorm is sharing his lab, Perceptor was an easy sell, I don’t think he’s even realized Nautica is a part of that equation yet, but we’ll work it out. Got our comms module! Big win! But… Swerve did kind of wreck most of it… and Nautica got injured, BUT NOT FATALLY! I’d say a pretty decent success, considering we got what we needed, Whirl only was MIA for like 30 minutes, and-”

A loud thudding on the door shook Hot Rod from his logging. “I’m a bit busy-”

“This is Admiral Ultra Magnus.” The other bot boomed. “You and I should talk.” 

Hot Rod wilted a bit. He turned off the recording and opened the door, as asked, putting on a confident air. “And what can I help you with, Magnus?” 

The massive bot squeezed into the room, worry and disappointment clear on his face. Hot rod swallowed thickly. “I’ve taken exception with several aspects of your performance today, Captain.” Ultra Magnus said gravely. 

Hot Rod frowned a bit. “Listen, things are still getting settled here, you all have just got here, I’m sure you can understand that I’m as frazzled as you are right now! I’m not at my A-Game today-”

“A-Game? Captain this is NOT a game!” Ultra Magnus Balked. “One of the soldiers you sent to guard Nautica left his post immediately, and the other doesn’t know how to fire a gun?!”

Hot Rod chuckled a bit. “Honestly we’re lucky Whirl came back at all-“

“THIS ISN’T A JOKE, HOT ROD.” Ultra Magnus boomed, making Hot Rod shrink. “Nautica was injured. You should have considered the possibilities fully before acting! I gave you the benefit of the doubt-“ Ultra Magnus sighed. “Primus preserve me… look, Hot Rod. I recognize that today may have been a bad time for a first impression, but please, PLEASE, do not disappoint me like this again.”

Hot Rod clenched his fists, staring at the ground. Shame roiled in his tanks. His whole body felt hot and angry, palms itchy like he wanted to lash out and hit him. He didn’t know what it was like to work with this team. It wasn’t HIS fault they were incompetent! It wasn’t HIS fault he was stuck here in the middle of nowhere stuck with a bunch of nobodies! 

“Yes sir. It won’t happen again sir.” 

You’ll fragging see.

>*<

“YOU GOT THE WRONG THING?!” Onslaught boomed. “AFTER ALL THAT, AFTER I GAVE YOU A FRAGGING CHANCE, YOU MESS UP YOUR LEFTS AND FRAGGING RIGHTS?”

Brawl was shamefully staring at his pedes, as penitent as he should be. But vortex was quivering with rage in front of him. His rotors were shaking, twitching back and forth on his back. “I'm SORRY OKAY, I'M FRAGGING SORRY!!! I’M JUST SUCH A FRAGGING IDIOT WHO DOESNT KNOW SLAG FROM SCRAP!! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANNA HEAR??” He shrieked.

Onslaught’s engine roared and vibrated in his chassis. “YOU DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, FRAGGER! YOU AIN’T GOT THE RIGHT!”

“OH I DON’T DO I? SURE SURE, YOU’RE THE ONE WHO THOUGHT THE BOTS WOULDN’T BE THERE!! DIDNT THINK ABOUT THAT DID YA!” Vortex spat back, starting to hover off the ground. His rotor drew an arc through the ceiling of the room, and Onslaught snapped. The larger con shot an arm forward, grabbing Vortex by the neck kibble and shaking him like a ragdoll.

“OF COURSE I FRAGGIN DID WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK BRAWL’S THERE FOR YOU PRICK?!” Onslaught bellowed. 

Vortex warbled for a moment, visor gleaming with a chance for violence. Onslaught was unwilling to give him the chance. He threw him through the open doorway into the hall. 

“GET THE PIT OUT OF MY SIGHT, BOTH OF YOU, OUT!!!” He shouted. Brawl was quick to rush off, gathering vortex up in his meaty arm before the helicopter could fly back in for a more physical fight. 

Onslaught stood there, his playing steaming from anger. His engine rattled as his fans sucked in cold air. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… The venting exercises weren’t working like Blast Off said they would. He shook his head, then shouted again, slamming a fist into his office wall with a loud crunch. 

Anger now semi-successfully channeled, Onslaught stormed out of his office rounding the corner directly into Deadlock. The con had been wandering aimlessly around the base all day like a zombie, eyes wide and buggy like he’d never seen on the worthless little prettyboy. Just onslaughts luck that on a day he thought the fucker was finally  able to shut up he just had to come to bitch at him. “AND JUST WHAT THE PIT DO YOU WANT, HUH?!” Onslaught barked

The gunslinger nearly jumped out of his plating. “What-?! I was just-“

“I DONT GIVE A SCRAP, GET OUT OF MY WAY!” Onslaught snapped, shoving the smaller mech out of the way. Deadlock just blinked in bewilderment at the entire situation.

Onslaught continued to stomp down the hallway, until finally he found an exit to the higher floor’s fire escape. Pawing around in his subspace, he grabbed a box of cygarettes and flicked the lid open. Cyg successfully nabbed, he opened his battle mask and placed it between his lips. He flicked the cover off the mod in his ring digit and turned on the tiny burner at the end, sparking up the cyg and taking a long drag. 

Smoke billowed from his lips and off into a cool darkening night sky. 

This hairpiece was originally for my next project, but it fit entirely too well with this one for me to not use it here :3

She blinked a few times and tried to remember. Wherever she was, it was warm and comfortable and the hand on her back was-

She lived alone.

Jazz suddenly snapped to awareness, and it was only when the blurry outline of Prowl’s living room registered that she realised where she was and what must have happened. Prowl was still fast asleep underneath her, breathing deeply and rhythmically. The TV had long turned itself off, and she couldn’t tell where one duvet ended and the other began – they were both swaddled in them, the plump cushions of the sofa softer than any mattress. No wonder she’d fallen asleep – it was like laying on a cloud.

Well. Prowl didn’t. She was laying on Prowl too. Because of course she was – it would have been completely obscene and against the genre she’d apparently found herself in if she wasn’t sprawled out ungainly across the other woman whilst she snored away, blissfully unaware that she was being used as a pillow. Prowl didn’t feel like a cloud, but she felt like something much better.

There wasn’t any way to get out of the situation without waking Prowl up. Jazz both didn’t want to wake her up or get herself out of the situation.

So she let her head sink back down onto her chest and listened to her heartbeat instead. It was rhythmic and steady and predictable – a textbook example of a heartbeat. Jazz still found herself composing a song in her head to the beat of it. Maybe she could get it into something workable and turn it into something real? That would be cute.

A loud knock at the door had the pair jumping out of their skins and abruptly ended the composition in Jazz’s head. Prowl barely had time to assess the situation before she was scrambling to get up as the sound of a key turning in the lock reached them. She quietly hissed a curse as she grabbed her phone and glanced at the screen, marching towards the front door. Her footsteps only hesitated slightly when she read the message before she was almost running. Jazz sat upright, the duvet pooling into her lap, and stretched. Someone important must have turned up.

“You could have given me more warning.” Her voice came from the hall. “I’ve got company.”

“Wow, you’re still in your jim-jams.” A deeper voice returned.

Whoever it was was walking closer. Jazz curiously slipped from the sofa and went to the doorway, curiously peeking through.

Prowl had given her a quick rundown of her family members to prepare them for the party in a weeks time. The man who was walking down the hallway towards her was familiar – it was her brother Barricade. He was taller than her, his hair just as jet black and with that familiar white streak. While Prowl’s was straight, Barricade’s had a wave to it that looked very beachy. He looked at her in surprise before looking her up and down.

“Holy shit, you actually exist.” He was smirking and ripping into a length of jerky. Jazz hid the way it made her feel. Bit early for that, isn’t it?

“In the flesh!” She grinned at him anyway and held out her hand. “Jazz. You’re Barricade, right? Prowl’s spoken about you.”

He took her hand and shook it. “Only good things, I hope.”

“You’ll have to tell me more about the fishing incident.”

“Which one?”

“Which one?” Jazz turned to Prowl. “You’ve been holding out on me!”

“It’s not important.” Prowl had her arms folded under her chest, hip cocked, and she shifted her weight to her other leg. “What’re you doing here?”

“Wanted to see my big sister.”

“You wanted to snoop.”

“Oh, you caught me.” Barricade raised his hands up in surrender. “No. I came to drop this off,” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and dropped them into Prowl’s waiting hand, “and making sure you had a good cover story.” He glanced at Jazz again. “Looks like I needn’t have worried.”

Prowl sighed. “Tea or coffee?”

“Only if you let me get to know my sister-in-law.”

“That’s for her to decide.”

They hadn’t discussed how familiar Jazz would get with her family. Prowl looked to Jazz, her posture open but her eyes slightly panicked. Jazz reached out and took her hand, gently squeezing it in reassurance, before turning to Barricade with a wide grin.

“You take yours with milk and sugar?”

-------------------------------

“I didn’t get you into any trouble, did I?” Jazz asked the next week in the office. Prowl looked up from her planner over her glasses and shook her head.

“No, none at all.”

“Thank god!” Jazz sighed in relief and sagged down into the chair. “I was worrying about that all weekend.”

“Barricade’s cheeky and pushes his luck, but he’s also very easy to fool.” Prowl replied, turning back to her planner and jotting something down in the margin. “It wont mean much overall, but it definitely helped that he came unannounced and we were very clearly sleeping together.”

“Sorry about that.”

The corner of Prowl’s lip twitched upwards and her cheeks blushed pink. “I should be the one apologising. I was fully intending on making sure you slept properly.”

“I slept very well, thank you darling.” Jazz let her voice drop down into a purr – the one that had Prowl’s brain melting out of her ears. It always worked like a charm, the woman holding the planner just that bit closer to her face as her ears turned bright red.

“That’s good.” She managed to keep her voice stable. Pity.

“We should discuss logistics for the party this weekend.” Jazz stood and stretched out, Prowl’s eyes naturally drawn to the shape and curve of her body. “Call me when you get home?”

Prowl nodded. “Of course.”

Jazz definitely didn’t wait by her phone for her to call that evening, but she did watch it ring a couple times before picking up so she didn’t look too eager.

“So, the plan is;” Prowl began, “I’ll come by and pick you up at four. Bring your dress – we’ll get ready at mine. Then we’ll head over together – make sure you bring the ring and the earrings. They’ll be expecting some sort of display of affection too.” She sounded like she was rubbing her face in the way she did when she was stressed. “You’re prepared for black tie, aren’t you?”

“Ready for anything, Prowler.” Jazz replied. “I’ve got a dress I’ve been hoping to show off to the world again.” She eyed it up – she’d hung it over the door of her wardrobe to try on and make sure it still fit her right and see how it looked with the accessories, a black and white piece that, for her, ticked every box. Hopefully Prowl would agree.

“Good, I wasn’t sure we’d have time to go shopping for one for you.” Prowl sounded amused. “And I’m not confident mine would fit you – the length would sit weirdly. Okay. Good.”

“Will there be another list of faces to learn?”

“No, I think we’ll get away with it. It’d be a bit weird if you knew everyone’s faces.”

“Fine by me.” Jazz twirled a braid with her finger. “We’re going to that place by the water, aren’t we? I’ve scoped it out a little, found us some good escape routes if things go tits up. Good view, too.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Jazz.”

Jazz’s rice cooker dinged to signal it was ready.

“Oop, rice is done.” She quickly turned it off at the wall and popped the lid, stepping back to let the last of the steam escape and inspecting the grains.

“I’ll let you get to your dinner, then.”

“What’re you having tonight? I’ve got rice, and I’ve got some salmon under the grill and veggies about to come out of the steamer as we speak.” She twisted the knob on her hob to turn off the gas under the saucepan that held her steamer.

“Pasta.”

“And the sauce?”

Prowl hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Just tomato. I didn’t have much time.”

“Oh, Prowler. I’ll make you dinner this week, okay? Poor girl!”

“It’s fine, I just need to manage my time better.”

“Alright, well I’ll make you it anyway, how about that?” She knelt down to quickly check the salmon – perfectly done. “I’d better go – chat later!”

“Okay, chat soon. Bye, I love you.”

“Love you too!” Jazz cheerfully replied before hanging up. She was fluffing the rice with the rice paddle when she realised what they had said and suddenly froze.

The choking sound she made echoed.

-------------------------------

First Aid usually didn’t let the implication that she had to make it up to her patients for any scarring or expected after-effects slide. She was a nurse, not a miracle worker who could override biology. Scars happened when you received injuries. Illnesses left marks. Sickness and disease stamped itself onto bones. It was how the human body worked and it was not something that she could prevent, so the idea that she had to ‘make it up’ to anyone for it was bizarre and frankly insulting.

Vortex suggesting she’d need to make it up to her was a different story, however, because she was curious to see where it would go. It was said in jest. It was said as an invitation. It ended up with Vortex in her bed putting her cigarette out on her tongue.

The day had started out quite normally. She had gotten up, gone to work, and carried out her duties without pause until she had the five minutes that constituted for her lunch break and could check her phone. Vortex had sent her a text - when do you get off of work? - and First Aid had dutifully replied as she crammed as much of her sandwich into her mouth as she could manage.

The next part was a surprise, but not unwelcome.

Perf. See you then.

Something in her stomach tightened and she had to put down her phone.

It was the quickest shower and change she’d ever done in her life. She dumped her scrubs into the laundry and grabbed her bag from her locker and ran. Had she kept her waiting? She hoped not.

Vortex was waiting outside, sat on an idling motorbike. She had just turned the engine off and was taking off her helmet as First Aid came down the steps and tried to not look too eager.

“I’m sorry!” She sounded breathless. She felt breathless - Vortex was dressed head to toe in leather and she’d popped her motorcycle jacket open and revealed the crop top she wore underneath that exposed her stomach and god she felt dizzy because the angels hadn’t lost their wings and she had a happy trail that-

“S’fine, babe.” Vortex was smiling at her. “Need a ride?”

“I. Uhm.” She swallowed hard. “I drove here.”

“Aww, phooey. There goes my hot date idea.”

“It’ll fit in my car if I take the seats down.”

Vortex seemed to brighten at that. “I get to be the passenger princess?”

Driving with Vortex in the car was. Strange. She wasn’t used to having passengers and she was even less used to driving with a whole motorcycle in the back - but the car was more of a truck that her uncle had entrusted her with and it miraculously fit, just like she thought it would.

“What’s a girl like you doing driving something like this?” Vortex patted the dash.

“My uncle gave it to me.” First Aid replied. “What did you think I’d be driving?”

“A Mini Cooper.”

Hmm. She could see the vision.

She parked up outside of her building in her spot in the car park, pulling up the handbrake and turning off the engine. “What did you want me for?” She asked. Vortex leaned forwards, hands resting on the centre console - she could smell her perfume, heady in the way that had her heart thudding in her chest, and tried to not let her eyes flutter down to her stomach again.

“I’m calling in that favour you owe me. Lemme take you out to dinner.”

“Where’s the favour?”

“You be seen out in public with me.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“It is when it’s me, love.”

“I don’t think it is, so let’s just say this is giving you time to think of one. Let me go change.”

Vortex gave First Aid the only bike helmet she had despite her strong protest, and she held on tight with her eyes squeezed shut as they sped through the city. Vortex was grinning widely as she helped her off of the bike, her legs trembling.

“Aww, you just look the cutest.” She teased, easing the helmet off of her head and dumping it onto her bike before wrapping her arms around her and holding her tight. “Like a little newborn lamb.”

“Are you sure you weren’t speeding?” First Aid tightly clung on back to her.

“I’d never speed with precious cargo.” Vortex replied.

It had been terrifying. It had been exhilarating. She never wanted to do it again, but knew that she had to if she wanted to make it back home.

Vortex had surprised her with a restaurant on the quay, chairs and tables spilling out onto the boardwalk. It was still too cold to sit outside, but Vortex had located the tables that had the heaters that radiated warmth down to them like they were chicken nuggets under a heat lamp and did a surprisingly wonderful job at keeping the cold away. And, lucky them, blankets were neatly folded and waiting for them.

“What do you want to drink? I’ll go order it for us.”

“I think I’ll need a wine to calm me down.”

Vortex barked her signature laugh, First Aid feeling her knees go weak and that bubbly feeling flitter about in her chest.

“Alright babe - you a white girl? Rosé? A red wildcard?”

“Rosé’s fine. Sweet.”

“Ace. Back in a few.”

First Aid slumped down at the table, flicking the button to activate the heat lamp, before the situation suddenly hit.

This was a date, wasn’t it? You didn’t just take people out to dinner as a favour. Oh. First Aid felt her face heat.

And then suddenly catch a chill as she realised that she hadn’t paid any mind to what she looked like. Quickly grabbing her phone, she turned the camera back to face her and began fussing with her hair. The helmet didn’t help her case any, but other than that it looked okay. It was acceptable. If she’d thought about it a little she’d maybe have defined her curls a little more or made it look more interesting, but this was okay.

She was wearing makeup – thank god – but she hadn’t done anything special about it. It was the bog-standard style that she did for work, with the products that didn’t move for love or for money so it would survive whatever the day threw at her. It just would have been nice if she’d had the opportunity to try and dress up a little bit for her. Vortex looked hot, but then she always did to her. Especially so when she had blood on her. Christ, especially so. She quickly put her phone down and away so she didn’t let that train of thought depart from the station.

Vortex was very well behaved. Surprisingly so - First Aid was impressed. She leaned her chin into her palm as she swirled the last of her wine in her glass - she’d only had just the one, she had work in the morning - and twisted to look at her. They were sat on the same side of the table, a blanket strewn over both of their shoulders. Their knees were pressed together, heat radiating up from the point of connection.

“This is a date, isn’t it.” She asked. The pizza they’d shared sat between them, trace remnants of it the only thing left behind. Vortex mirrored her posture.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Why’s that?”

“Makes me feel less awkward about the way I want you.” Her hand slipped onto her thigh, a thrill going through First Aid at how the tips of her fingers dug in. She did the only thing she could think of and kissed her. Vortex, initially surprised, promptly kissed her back.

The kiss didn’t feel like it ended until they fell through the doorway of her apartment - First Aid barely remembered the ride back. The door locked behind them as it closed, spit connecting them. Their hands were buried in the others hair, holding the other close.

“You okay with where this is going?” First Aid breathlessly asked. Vortex responded by picking her up, wrapping her thighs around her waist and leaning forwards to whisper into her ear.

“Tell me where you want me.”

First Aid felt dizzy and pointed to her bedroom.

-------------------------------

Vortex didn’t turn up the next week. This was normal - Vortex simply rotated through locations with the rest of her team. She did it regularly and it wasn’t the first time. First Aid didn’t know what to expect, though. Maybe that she’d say something to her now? They had each other’s numbers. They’d messaged each other before. And, dare she say it, they had both enjoyed a very wonderful evening together.

Two weeks. Nothing.

First Aid had the sinking feeling that maybe Vortex had just seen her as a conquest and she had put too much thought and investment into it. Just because they’d had sex it didn’t mean anything. She could have just been a one night stand, a passing stranger who’d caught her eye only enough to make for an interesting story to tell at parties.

Three. Still nothing.

She had only cried about it a little bit over a bottle of wine. Had she been too easy? God, she was useless.

It was a stupid slip of the tongue that gave away the fact she was working as an unlicensed medic on the side. Ratchet found out about the fighting ring when her parents asked her if she was free to come to a family get together, and when he was sat next to her she had said that she was busy working. Her uncle had frowned at her and said that she wasn’t on the rota. First Aid couldn’t come up with lies about a second job fast enough.

A heated argument between her and Ratchet promptly followed, leading to an explosive one between Ratchet and Pharma at the hospital. First Aid had listened to it from outside the door, heart pounding in her chest and palms sweating profusely. Ratchet spoke about her medical licence being at risk. Pharma had replied that it wasn’t his concern.

Four. Her landlord had also decided that maybe he should make repairs to the building, and she’d been temporarily moved whilst they took place. While she appreciated not being made homeless, she still felt aggravated that she didn’t know how long said repairs would take.

It was pissing it down after she finished work that day. She sat in the car for a moment and listened to the rain hitting the roof, noisily drumming away on the metal. The hospital had been hell on Earth. It felt like every idiot in the city had decided to get themselves into such a situation that they needed A&E. It felt like half of the city had turned up that day on top of their frequent fliers. She felt awful for feeling that way – truly, it was a privilege that they had access to the care that they did and people only went for help when they felt they needed it, of course everyone deserved the care and the attention they provided and she wanted them to feel better, but. God. She was so tired. She was exhausted. And she didn’t know when the axe was going to fall and she’d find herself without a job.

The new building was admittedly much nicer than her old one, but also felt much more temporary. The hallways were more external walkways, with wooden bannisters and wooden flooring and a roof that kept the weather away to a certain extent. It looked a lot like the kind of apartment complexes you’d get at hotels and resorts, only instead of luxury rooms they were small not-so-luxury flats. They didn’t have cracks or holes in the walls. She didn’t have to stuff newspaper into the gaps. There wasn’t a random breeze or suspicious stains. So First Aid liked them.

She was pretty sure she’d seen Vortex. Someone was talking to her on the street and she was laughing and smiling and tucking her hair behind her ear. It was down for once too - she’d only ever seen it forced into two twin plaits, and seeing it out and loose had her heart skipping a beat even as it sunk deep in her chest and an ache radiated out. So she was still around, then. Part of her wanted to give her excuses. Reasons why she may have been giving her radio silence. It was ridiculous and stupid. Vortex had gotten what she’d wanted from her, and probably in record time too. The world’s fastest fuck. Brilliant.

She was depressed enough to want to sleep in her car just for the change of scenery, but the temperature was dropping and she didn’t have anything warm there. Zipping up her coat and throwing up her hood, she ducked out and clasped her bag tightly to her chest as she made a beeline for the stairs. The puddles were already deep and completely unavoidable, water splashing up her legs as she power walked. Her backside was still wet from where she’d slipped in the car park at work and she wasn’t keen on a repeat.

There was someone stood on the walkway. First Aid internally sighed as she hoped it wasn’t her neighbour – she was sure that they were very lovely but they always wanted to chat for hours and she was just not in the mood for it today. She took the stairs carefully, the wood slick, and quickly glanced at them – they were sopping wet and taller than the neighbour was. So it wasn’t them – thank goodness. She just wanted to curl up in bed and mope. The last month had sucked.

“Hey, I was wondering if you could help me. Do you-?”

That voice was awfully familiar. First Aid had already stopped when they’d started speaking to her, but when the other person had registered her face they’d both stopped and stared at each other in silence for a moment.

Vortex.

Her heart twisted.

“I finally found you.” Vortex was shivering.

She looked like a sopping wet cat. Water dripped from her hair, saturated and heavy and beginning to curl. Her clothes glistened. She wiped at her face and tried to dry it as best as she could.

“Can I come in?”

She always did find it hard to say no.

“Go shower.” First Aid instructed as she opened the door. “You must be freezing.”

As Vortex showered, she rummaged through her clothes to try and find her something to wear. She was bigger than she was - stronger, taller, more built. She liked oversized tops so that wouldn’t have been much of an issue, but bottoms-wise…

First Aid couldn’t find anything. She grabbed a dressing gown instead and hoped it would be enough.

Vortex stepped out of the bathroom, squeezing the ends of her hair with a towel and running her finger through to detangle it.

“Aid?” She called.

“In here.” First Aid called back.

Seconds later she appeared, walking in and coming to a stop on the other side of the sofa. First Aid stood up, not sure what to do. It wasn’t that she didn’t want her there because she did and she had missed her so terribly, but she was still so upset with her. After a month of no contact what was she supposed to think? She couldn’t let her think that was okay or that she was fine with just being a casual fuck whenever she felt like it, because she wasn’t. Vortex stared at her for a moment before speaking.

“You didn’t tell me you’d moved.”

“You didn’t tell me you’d changed rings.”

It was petty. Very petty. But Vortex had just used her - even if she had been a very enthusiastic participant - and she felt strung along and very much taken for a ride. All that interest she’d shown her for weeks and it had simply evaporated the moment she’d opened her legs. Typical.

“I didn’t think I’d need to.”

“Likewise, then.”

Vortex was frowning at her. “I sense I’ve done something wrong.”

“I think we had different expectations for where things were going. Your clothes are drying now,” she nodded her head to the kitchen door where a humming noise was coming from, “so you’ll need to wait for an hour, if that’s okay?”

“Is this your way of saying you don’t want to see me any more?” She sounded absolutely gutted and it was enough to make First Aid reassess. Was she serious?

“I didn’t think you were interested in me?”

Vortex looked flabbergasted. “What?”

“It’s been a month since I last heard from you.” She fidgeted with the hem of her jumper, suddenly hyper-aware of herself. She didn’t know why she felt so self conscious when Vortex was stood in her living room with just a t-shirt on, her dressing gown slung over her shoulders. Her legs were bare. She could see her underwear. “Complete radio silence after you got what you wanted from me. What else am I supposed to think?”

“Ah. Right. I see my error.” Vortex at least had the decency to look ashamed. “Yeahhhh.”

First Aid had had a long day and her already worn thin patience was beginning to fray. What she was saying and how she was acting simply weren’t compatible with each other. Was she just looking for a convenient fuck? Scoping out the easiest lay on her roster? It had already worked on her once. It wasn’t going to happen again. If she didn’t step out now she was going to end up snapping at her.

“Glad we got that sorted, then.” She tersely said. “Just stay here and don’t touch anything, okay? I’m going to get changed.” Her own clothes were still wet from the rain and she quite wanted to get out of them.

“Wait, Aid,” Vortex stepped out to grab her wrist as she went by, the berth she gave her not quite wide enough. “I’m sorry, yeah? I’m not. Uhm.” She was going a most wonderful shade of pink. “I like you a lot and I don't know what I'm doing, and I…”

She wanted to believe her. She really, really did.

“And your first instinct was to pretend I didn’t exist?”

“Not my finest.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

She wasn’t doing this when she could feel her trousers sticking to her legs. Snatching her wrist back, she marched to her bedroom and began the task of peeling off her wet clothes. They sat in a pile on her floor as she got her pyjamas on, and she scooped them up to dump them straight into the laundry basket to go into the washing machine as soon as the dryer was done.

Vortex was in the kitchen, crouched in front of the dryer and watching her clothes spin. She seemed to be sulking, but First Aid couldn’t bring herself to care all that much. It still stung.

“I live with a bunch of emotionally stunted men, you know. I thought I was different. ‘As long as I’m not like them I’m fine’, yanno? And then I’m just the same? Man, that bites.”

She didn’t know what to do. If she continued to give her the cold shoulder then they’d never sort out whatever it was that they had going on with each other. If she extended an olive branch, it would just tell her that she could do it again and all would be forgiven.

She knelt down on the floor next to her and joined her in watching the clothes go around. Vortex had looked so pathetic when she’d found her, soaked through and shaking with pale lips and pallid skin. How long had she been out there for? The shower had helped, colour had returned to her face and her flat was warm enough that she didn’t seem to mind only her core being warmed. Was she being polite because she knew she was already on thin ice?

“Did you want to try again?” First Aid asked. Fine. One chance - she’d give her one chance.

Vortex was careful to protect her head so she didn’t catch it on the handles of the kitchen cupboards as she kissed her.

Waking up the next morning seemed like an almost impossible task. There was a warm and pleasant weight strewn over her and she didn’t much want to come out from underneath it. She curled into it instead, the lump groaning and twisting to press its face into her neck. Lips brushed against the tender skin and she sighed happily, head tilting back into her pillow to allow for better access.

“What time is it?” Vortex’s voice was still thick with sleep as she sat up, eyes narrowed as she looked for her phone. The t-shirt she’d given her was rumpled and pulled down too far at the front, exposing her collar and the red marks that were peppered along it. Oops.

“Mm. I don’t know.” First Aid rolled over to be on her front and stretched. There was a deep, pleasant ache that permeated everything. The curtains were still drawn, the soft glow of an early morning sun shining through. Apparently yesterday’s storm had passed, the sun managing to break through the clouds.

Vortex located her phone and tersely tutted. “Six missed calls? That’s a bit excessive.”

“Who’s calling you?”

“Ons.” She yawned and stretched, falling back down into bed again and settling in as if going back to sleep. “Ugh. I don’t wanna get up.”

“Don’t you have work?”

“Mmhm.” Vortex miserably replied. She cracked an eye open and looked at her. “Wanna pull a sickie?”

“Tragically I can’t either.” First Aid sighed. “I need to keep up my hours.”

“Shame.”

Vortex took her clothes from the dryer - they’d never gotten round to taking them out last night - and got changed in the bedroom. First Aid thought she must have been doing it on purpose - making her watch her undress and slowly pull her clothes back on again, making her eyes follow the lines her nails had raked across her back and the marks she’d left at her throat.

She checked the time on her phone and hummed.

“I’ve got time.”

“I can quickly make you a coffee-?” First Aid began to offer, too distracted to think of it earlier, when Vortex was kneeling down on the bed and pushing the duvet out of the way, pulling her closer by the thighs and leaning into her as she kissed her. First Aid’s hands tangled in her hair as she rolled her hips up into hers, gasping and moaning and-

Vortex’s phone loudly vibrated on the bedside table. She pulled away and rolled her eyes, blindly grabbing it and checking the caller ID.

Onslaught. She sighed and sat back, First Aid’s thighs still wrapped around her hips, and answered.

“Yell’ow?”

It was quiet, but First Aid could hear Onslaught on the other end.

“Where the hell are you? We were about to start checking ditches.”

“I’m fine. About to head to the office, actually.” She ran her free hand over First Aid’s thigh and squeezed. Onslaughts reply was obscured by the pounding of her heart in her ears and how she wanted that hand to go higher, please go higher my god-

Vortex laughed and dragged her nails along her inner thigh and First Aid had to bite her hand. Shit! Oh, she was never going to forgive her if she went radio silent again. She was never going to forget her.

The call must have ended because both of her hands were on her thighs again.

“What’re you doing tomorrow evening?”

You, hopefully.

She’d had to give the thought a moment to pass so she didn’t say it out loud.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Good! I’ll call you. Make sure you pick up.”