Blurred Lines 2

[dream_it_all]

Title: Blurred Lines (Chapter 2)
Author: Dreaming of Everything, dreams_of_all
Series: 2007 Transformers Movie
Characters/Pairings: Non-pairing. Standard 2007-movie-canon Autobots plus Jazz plus three surprise characters being kept secret for sake of plot.
Rating/Warnings: K+/PG to a low T/PG-13 for violence and the potential for mild language. Unrepentant redemption!fic overtones. One OC.
Summary: Megatron was destroyed and the Allspark was lost, but humanity still isn't safe. With a new threat looming and the arrival of a mysterious band of newcomers, there's still a lot for the Autobots to deal with--and that's on top of adjusting to life on Earth. And sometimes the lines are blurred...

Author's Notes: Many thanks to my beta, mmouse15!

Chapter 1
FFnet link

oOoOoOo

“You need to listen,” Prowl said, voice heavy with urgency. “There’s something I need to explain.”

There was a long, heavy pause. The downpour slowed, finally trickled to a stop, ending almost as quickly as it had started.

“We’re waiting,” said Jazz helpfully. Optimus shot him a look.

“It better be a damn important thing, for you to have dragged your half-dead carcass out here,” muttered Ratchet, but he was just going through the motions, more or less-Optimus was right. Something was wrong with this whole situation.

“Does it relate to the Decepticons we just faced off with?” said Optimus. “It was an odd situation. They were being unexpectedly non-aggressive, and that’s just to start with...”

Prowl actually winced. “Sir,” he said, recovering-or covering up-quickly and saluting sharply. “Please, hear me through.”

Jazz whistled. “This one’s gonna be good.”

Prowl paused again, made as if to speak, paused. “They weren’t going to attack,” he said at last. “They won’t.”

There was a sudden flurry of movement. Within seconds, faster than Prowl could react, as damaged as he was, he was pinned to the ground, one of Ironhide’s cannons firmly over his spark chamber. The other Autobots arranged themselves in a loose, outwards-facing circle, defensive: they were at a disadvantage and they knew it. With someone who almost had to be a traitor among them- Scanning programs flared into a still-more-urgent search, power flooding them, all senses strained to their extremes.

Optimus turned away from scanning the still-empty horizon to face Prowl once more, trusting the others to remain on-guard. His posture and expression were, surprisingly, more weary and disappointed than angry.

“Turned traitor, Prowl?” Jazz asked, still looking away, voice grim but his tone saying that he was hoping against hope, and Prowl had to fight to control his instinctive flinch.

“No,” he said, voice slightly scratchy. Again, more clearly, he said “No.”

“Hah!” said Ironhide bitterly. “You expect us to believe you?”

“I’m not here as-as the Autobot I am, or as the Decepticon I’m not, and never will be. I have a warning. We all do.”

“And what sort of warning has Autobots working with Decepticons?” Optimus asked.

“Permission to send a data file, sir?” asked Prowl, the question something of an answer.

“No,” said Ratchet immediately.

“Permission denied,” said Optimus, just a few seconds after the medic. “Your credibility and your loyalties are still-questionable.” The risk of him transmitting a virus along with whatever data he sent was too high.

“Yes, sir. Then. It was…

“It is a-long story.

“Despite my youth at the time, I was placed in charge of a standard field team and dispatched, along with one other unit, to follow a Decepticon ship that had been located, passing through our sector for an unknown purpose. Our briefing stated that it was likely that it was an explorative team. This assumption would later prove to be correct.

“Initial time estimates for the duration of the trip fell between four and seven of this planet’s solar rotations. It was later extended and given no definite ending point. We were dispatched during the early stages of the war; it was before troop numbers were a major concern, and before the loss of the Allspark. I was assigned because I showed promise, and field work would test me, but I was also unimportant and inessential.”

“It’s all true so far,” cut in Jazz. “Matches what I know. Course, ‘what I know’ isn’t gonna help much with the rest of the story…”

“Once we passed outside current secure communications ranges, our actions were left to our own indiscretion,” continued Prowl, as if he hadn’t heard the interruption. That, at least, seemed to imply a long familiarity with Jazz. “We continued to follow the Decepticons. A pattern emerged: a brief stop at planets with an atmosphere thick enough to prevent thorough scanning before they moved on. The longest of these stays was two weeks, converted into local time.”

Ratchet exchanged a look with Jazz, although his expression was slightly surprised, compared to Jazz’s familiar exasperation. The mech sounded like he was reading a mission report, cool, professional and impersonal, despite the situation they were all in.

“Two days after our arrival on a large moon populated with the first sentient species we had encountered we were caught in the middle of a war. Another unknown, alien and sentient species had found the planet. They invaded. It was more a massacre than an actual fight. The invaders’ physical shape and fighting styles proved to be especially effective against Cybertronian methods and design. The native species was utterly helpless.

“The other Autobot unit was lost. My own team was able to flee into the cave system that riddled the moon, with minimal losses. A certain number of Decepticons escaped as well. Eventually, as we were forced further and further back, we ended up in closer and closer proximity. Fighting was inadvisable. It would only attract the attention of our pursuers.”

Prowl’s voice changed, suddenly becoming almost uncertain, altering from its previous dry and factual tones. “At this point, things become... Difficult. The facts of the matter are that edgy coexistence turned to necessary cooperation turned to…” Prowl paused. Turned to what?

“-and necessary cooperation turned to almost friendly cooperation. And kept on changing. It’s hard to explain. The situation-it wasn’t just that we were forced to work together to survive, although there was that. There was a mutual hatred of the aliens: the acts they committed were… atrocious.”

“Decepticons horrified by something like xenocide? Of another species?” muttered Ironhide darkly.

“It’s not that simple,” said Prowl. “Colony 75-68, for example.” Optimus winced slightly. He remembered. He’d just taken charge when the situation had been uncovered: it hadn’t been an uninhabited planet when the Autobots who’d colonized it had landed, as their initial report had read-and all the reports after it. They’d taken pains to make sure that nobody realized what was going on until it was too late. Hidden genocide, far out in the deepest reaches of space, committed by Autobots.

“And it wasn’t… They didn’t just kill them. They farmed them. The species has developed a system that gathers the energy from living beings that fit a certain set of criteria; we were only left alone, after a while, because Cybertronians don’t match. But the species that was native to the planet…

“The invaders harness the metabolic process, but it cripples and then kills the body, slowly and painfully. Especially when they don’t bother to try and keep them alive. Half the reason the aliens have their insane devotion to their leaders is because it used to be them who were farmed.”

Ratchet shifted. Prowl continued, after a minute without any other reactions or interruptions. “Decepticons were directly responsible for saving the lives of at least one of my subordinates on seven different occasions. Those are only the ones I witnessed first-hand, or had reported to me.” There was a self-deprecating pause. “I don’t know how often my unit saved Decepticon lives. They didn’t report those incidents.” The Autobots were silent. They knew what a life-debt could mean. Optimus Prime owed his life to a human boy the barest fraction of his own age. It made a difference. “We were in the caves for a long time. There were a number of casualties, past the first losses: either because of bad luck, ineptitude or an inability to cooperate. Two Decepticons were caught with energy the aliens had siphoned out of living beings: their teammates shut them out of our central caves. They’re dead by now, or still roaming through them.” Prowl stopped.

“And then what happened?” asked Jazz.

“Eventually, the invaders moved on, when the planet and its population were finished off. We left the cave system, refueled and repaired our ships, and then waited for a while. We were all hesitant to rejoin our respective sides in the war and start fighting again, possibly against each other. At that point, we were unaware of the fact that the war was over.

“Then we received your message, sir. But we knew that the aliens would have picked it up as well. We headed towards the coordinates you specified.”

“And the warning you have?” said Optimus, knowing that he already knew what it was.

“The aliens. They’re coming here.”

There was a heavy, pregnant pause.

“Damn but you know how to fuck up someone’s day,” said Jazz. “I mean, shit. Even if none of that was true, I ain’t sleeping easy tonight.”

“I can find out how true it is,” said Ratchet, a serious edge to his normally easy-going voice. “Optimus?”

“Are you willing to submit to a full scan, Prowl?” asked Optimus.

“Yes, sir,” said Prowl immediately, without hesitating. That was unusual-it was a huge breach of privacy, of personal boundaries. To have every scrap of data you had potentially opened up and shared with a medic-even someone innocent was likely to refuse. It went beyond intimacy. “The leader of the Decepticon team, one of the Cybertronians you just encountered, would be willing to go through it as well.”

Optimus and Jazz exchanged glances. Even just asking an Autobot to submit to a full mental scan was pretty serious in and of itself; having that Autobot willingly agree to it was major, especially with no apparent hesitation. Having a Decepticon go through the procedure, without complaint and of his own accord, was-beyond unheard of.

“You’re sure about that,” said Jazz at last.

“Yes. We weren’t the only ones who intercepted your transmission. Unless the aliens find some other planet to pillage first, on their way here, they will be coming to earth.”

“Let him up, Ironhide,” said Ratchet. “I need space to work on this.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Ironhide said immediately. “I don’t like this at all, Optimus. I say we shoot the traitor and leave him here.”

“If what he says is true, and Ratchet’s going to be able to tell us that in a minute, we can’t afford to ignore this warning,” said Optimus Prime. “No matter that he’s cooperated with Decepticons.”

“You will need to do the same,” said Prowl flatly. “Cooperate with them. These aliens-they’re built to destroy, and they’re innumerable. Our cannons are ineffective against their physiology. All of us, even the Decepticons, are determined to fight against this threat, this time, even if it means we die, and a united front is the only chance any of us have.”

Ironhide growled, deep in his throat, and stalked forward to take the place Ratchet had vacated.

“And the Decepticon cause?” asked Prowl. “Where does that fit into this?”

“What cause?” said Prowl. “The Allspark’s destroyed, Megatron’s dead, Starscream and whoever else is out there trying to reorganize the Decepticons are crazy, incompetent or both and the Autobots are gathering their forces back together into a united whole: the fractured, splintered, groups of Decepticons that form won’t stand a chance.”

“We’re not going to hunt down Decepticons,” said Optimus, sounding just slightly unnerved. “I’m not reforming an army. We will defend ourselves if attacked, and we will defend humanity, but I’m not going to out on-some sort of murderous rampage-”

“You would believe the Decepticons, if the situation was reversed and they were the victorious ones calling back their comrades?”

“I’m ready to begin,” Ratchet said, before Optimus could begin, but Prowl’s point had been made.

The medic was kneeling on the ground, Prowl sitting next to him. He’d opened a few armor plates along the mech’s back, revealing part of the complicated tangles of wires and circuits that made up a Transformer’s body. Carefully, he switched one of his fingers to a data port and attached himself to the other Autobot.

The effect was immediate, both going stiff and their eyes going dark at the sudden rush of data transferring. Optimus watched the two carefully, for signs of anything going wrong.

It was deathly quiet in the desert. The air was still; there was the sound of a small stream of runoff from the just-finished storm off to one side. Overhead, the clouds were still blocking the night sky.

After a long, tense minute Ratchet jerkily drew back his hand, breaking the connection. Slowly, his eyes brightened and he climbed back to his feet. He stood for a few seconds, still having trouble managing the huge influx of data.

“He’s telling the truth,” he said at last. “He’s telling the truth, or he doesn’t know he’s telling a lie, and the facts sit true enough that that’s unlikely.”

Optimus shifted slightly on his feet. “It’s a-difficult situation,” he said at last.

“Something like that,” said Jazz, voice forcedly light. Everyone knew him well enough to not to take his flippancy at face value.

“I want to see some damn facts,” said Ironhide, voice tense. “All of this-and what proof have we got? Some old friend of Jazz’s say-so, and slightly odd behavior from a trio of Decepticons.”

“If you will allow it, I’ll signal them to return,” said Prowl. “And the Decepticon team leader, Sidetrack, is willing to go through with a total scan. I doubted you would accept anything less, and we have discussed it.”

Optimus looked quickly around at his team. Silently, through private text lines, he sent out a message: ‘Do we risk it?’

‘Yes,’ sent Jazz immediately. ‘I still trust Prowl, and Ratchet says he’s telling the truth, and we outnumber the Decepticons. We have the advantage, even if it is a trap-and I don’t think it is- and that’s more than we had at Mission City.’

‘You died at Mission City,’ sent Ratchet back.

‘And what do you think we should do?’ Optimus asked him after a minute, when Jazz didn’t say something smart in return-for once.

‘I… Don’t know,’ he said, his text ‘voice’ tinged heavily with worry, concern and tension.

‘Acceptable. Ironhide?’

‘…I don’t trust anything about any of this, but we can beat the slag out of any ’Con that tries anything. I say we do it.’

“Ratchet, can you manage another full scan? And answer me honestly. This isn’t the time for bravado, or even wishful thinking,” said Optimus, switching to spoken conversation.

“Yes,” said Ratchet. “But it’s unlikely I could do a third, and I’ll need a few minutes recovery time, at least. It’s hard to process all the data-it’s crippling for several minutes and slows other systems down even once that’s worn off.”

Optimus nodded. “Jazz, send a copy of these events to Bumblebee on the securest line you have. Prowl, would you get the Decepticons to approach us? From one direction, preferably.” There was a slight hint of dark humor to his last sentence.

“On it!” said Jazz.

“Yes, sir,” said Prowl stiffly.

Within a few seconds there was the shock of close-by signal beacons being turned abruptly on. The group flinched as a whole at the sharp, sudden feeling of a blazing beacon-even with factions blocked-suddenly registering, and then again, less so, at the sudden blaring of security systems as still-running scans caught onto the signal and reacted with panic, sending alerts shrilling through the Autobots’ processors.

There was a long, slow, almost painfully anticipative pause that seemed to stretch on and on, and on.

Finally, Optimus caught the faint gleam of optics approaching them from out in the empty desert and, slowly, three forms came into view, just barely there in visible light ranges, black outlines against darkest-gray sky.

“I’d appreciate it if you gave your word you’re not going to kill us on sight,” called a slightly amused-sounding voice from out of the darkness.

“Temporarily, of course,” Jazz shot coolly back.

“Oooh, he’s sharp,” the voice replied in an aside he clearly meant for them to hear, voice slightly quieter for a second. “Seriously, though.”

“You have our word that we won’t attack you unless you attack us, for the duration of this meeting,” replied Optimus evenly.

“Ironhide, that means you,” Jazz added, somewhat helpfully and somewhat not. Optimus nodded in definite confirmation.

Ironhide merely growled, although there might have been a curse mixed up in the low mechanical rumble.

The small group began to approach again, slowly coming to stop maybe thirty feet way from the Autobots. All of them, excluding Prowl, were watching them sharply, glancing around behind themselves occasionally to see if any others were approaching them. Ratchet was no exception, although he was also berating Prowl quietly for being “so incredibly, utterly stupid-I told you to stay in the med bay!”

“Hey, there,” said the one who had spoken the first time, the smallest of the trio. “I’m Sidetrack, co-leader of our little group, along with Prowl there. Nice to meet y’all.”

“Can’t say I’m sure I agree,” said Jazz warily.

“Why would you, a Decepticon, willingly ally and cooperate with Autobots?” cut in Optimus bluntly, not bothering to deal with the formalities.

Sidetrack sobered-slightly. “It’s hard,” he said. “At first, I wouldn’t have trusted any of the Autobots any further than I can throw Skywarp, here.” He waved a hand to indicate the largest of the three, the one who had knocked Ratchet over in the first confrontation. He had to have been the one glimpsed on the military base: none of the other two were big enough to be an aircraft, and he was too big to be anything but-the slight hints of wings in his build made it obvious. “But hey, they’ve saved my bacon-”

“Damned human idioms,” muttered Ironhide, somewhat savagely. “Even the slagging Decepticons using them…”

“-and I’ve saved theirs. And whatever you can say about Autobots, you can’t say that they’ve ever ritually sacrificed an entire species. Not under authorization, certainly. It’s not like there’s really any real Decepticon faction anymore, anyways-and Starscream doesn’t count. Anyone who’s following him deserves whatever they end up getting.”

“No, Autobots aren’t given to xenocide, are they?” said Jazz. The clear implication was that Decepticons were.

Ironhide wasn’t that subtle. “I do seem to recall saving the native sentient species from total annihilation at the hands of ’Cons just recently,” he ground out.

“As an acceptable loss in an attempt to revive our species,” added Sidetrack pointedly. “I can’t say I agree with it, but that’s besides the point; it wasn’t pointless murder for murder’s sake, and it wasn’t twisted religious delusions.”

“I don’t know,” Ironhide muttered. “‘Twisted religious delusions’ sounds pretty accurate to me…”

“So which one of you is going to get scanned?” cut in Ratchet pointedly. “Might as well get this done with.”

“I am,” said Sidetrack brightly. “I’m going to head over closer to you, now, okay? Again, I’d appreciate it if you held fire.” Slowly, steadily, he stepped forwards.

The big one, Skywarp, tried to follow him, and the click of weapons prepping echoed quietly through the still, quiet desert night as several Autobots honed in on him immediately. “I’m not leaving my commander defenseless in the middle of enemy combatants,” he said belligerently. “I’m not the brightest, but I’m not stupid.”

“I don’t want an obvious threat near our medic when he’s in a weakened state,” countered Optimus. “It would be bad enough if it was just us, but with the scan-”

The two groups glared at each other.

“I’ll do it, then,” said the third figure, voice casually insulting, stepping forward. “You can’t object to another Autobot. And the sooner this is over the sooner we can get out of this Primus-damned desert.”

The optics of the original Autobots all snapped to the third form. “Traitor,” hissed Ironhide, voice heavy with disgust and distrust.

He bristled. “Stand down, Sunstreaker,” said Sidetrack, sounding amused. He was echoed, just seconds later, by Prowl, before he continued speaking. “I mean, all of us probably count as dirty turncoat scoundrels, at the minute.”

“I don’t need to stand here and be insulted by an ugly, trigger-happy idiot-”

“Hey, Ironhide!” broke in Jazz, sounding somewhat gleeful. “I knew he looked familiar! Isn’t he the one who jumped you when we ran into these guys for the first time?”

“Jazz,” said Optimus firmly, then switched to their radio link. This is out of hand enough as it is, I don’t need you encouraging anyone. Keep it up and I’ll have Ratchet block your Internet connection-meaning you won’t be able read any more of those psychology books you’re so excited about. Probably for the best.

“It was just an observation, sir,” said Jazz happily, not bothering to keep their conversation private. “I mean, it’s true, ain’t it? And all the psych texts are to gather new strategies for psychological warfare. It’s research.”

“That’s not the point-” said Optimus, sounding like he wanted to say something like ‘I was afraid you were going to say that’ instead.

“Just let me do the damned scan,” snapped out Ratchet.

“But Skywarp wants somebody to watch over my poor defenseless body,” said Sidetrack, still with that out-of-place humor. “That’s what we were arguing about in the first place.”

“So have Prowl do it,” said Ratchet, voice heavy with over-exaggerated false patience.

There were a few minutes of sheepish silence.

“I should have thought of that,” said Sidetrack.

“Knowing you, that means you did and just wanted to see everyone argue,” said Prowl, voice slightly, just slightly, irritated.

“Damn, he’s on to me-”

Ratchet’s engine revved loudly.

“Oooh, scary,” smirked Skywarp.

Ratchet bristled. Sure, he hadn’t been designed with fighting in mind-that was obvious enough, what with his build-but he wasn’t helpless. “Slag this, can I have sand in lubricant lines instead?” he muttered bitterly to himself. He’d never thought the day would come when grit getting into an Autobot system-and him having to deal with the aftermath-would look like a good thing.

“I’m waiting,” said Prowl, voice dry enough that Ratchet honestly wasn’t sure whether he was serious or not. Jazz snickered, and Ratchet shot him a look.

Things were damn complicated. Every constant there was seemed to have decided to take a vacation-Jazz was fine with it all, at least outwardly, of course, damn him.

And Optimus-he was having trouble with all this, but he couldn’t ignore the possible threat to earth. He was in a bad position, forced to make questionable decisions no matter which option he chose. His hands were tied: there was no easy course of action. And it was the lives of his team-Ratchet himself, Ironhide and Jazz immediately, probably Bumblebee along with them-versus the entirety of humanity. Ratchet knew which decision he would make, in the long run, but that didn’t make it any easier. Having done it once before already would only make it harder.

So he knew what Optimus would probably do, but himself? He didn’t know. Part of him immediately and violently rejected the thought that Decepticons would ever want to work to save another species from annihilation, and that true Autobots would ever stoop to working with ’Cons even in the most extreme cases, let alone once the immediate danger was over. Another part of him was more understanding. He’d done repairs to a Decepticon, once…

He’d been young and stupid at the time. Very young-just released from medical training and on his first battlefield. It hadn’t been the beginning of the war, but it had been a lot closer to the start than it had been to the eventual end. He’d ended up trapped in the collapsed remains of a building, most of the structure still standing but all the exits blocked. There’d been a Decepticon trapped with him, a big flier: he’d been badly wounded. There had been pools of internal fluids on the floor, and the soldier had been in incredible pain, too much of it to even really notice Ratchet, at first. He’d been young; even younger than Ratchet had been back then.

He knew he shouldn’t have, and he’d never told anyone. But he had still done it. As far as he knew, he’d never run into him again. He was almost definitely dead.

So yes, things were complicated. Ratchet was usually pretty easy going (unless one of the Autobots he was supposed to be keeping in working order did something stupid and got himself damaged again) but situations like this brought out the worst in his personality.

And now he had Decepticons pointing out the weak points to his design. Not that it really was a weakness, in ordinary situations: Ratchet was built to be a medic, and although he wasn’t the best at his job, it wasn’t through any design flaw. It was the war that made it matter at all: everyone had needed to fight, and everybody had, regardless. Under ordinary circumstances…

“Okay, then, let’s do this,” said Sidetrack, stepping forward smoothly, any hints of hesitation carefully wiped away from his cool, calm demeanor and casual tones.

Ratchet stepped forward and searched, briefly, for an entrance to the other Cybertronian’s systems. He didn’t bother to warn the other mech before he initiated the connection.

The aftereffects were worse, this time. He lost a full five and a half minutes: managing the crashing waves of data took so much concentration that there was nothing left over for other functions.

“-atchet?” Optimus was saying. “Ratchet? Are you alright?”

“Fine, sir,” he said, although he didn’t try to get back to his feet.

“That was unnerving,” said Sidetrack’s voice from off to one side of him. “It-tickled. In the worst way imaginable.”

“And the results?” continued Optimus.

“As far as I can tell, he’s telling the truth, too. I can run another scan on the data once we’re back at the base, but it’s unlikely that it’ll turn up anything that’s been falsified. They’d have to have replaced large swathes of memory with fake ones without having him be aware of them doing it, which would be hard to do without leaving signs-and there aren’t any. And then they’ve done a very complete job: all the senses, and in all the various databanks, and it’s cohesive. Then little details, like these cuts-I’ve never seen any weapon of ours create something like this, and the wounds have been inflicted over a long time period, not all at once. The aliens, too-they’re not like anything I’ve seen, and they don’t seem to be any sort of fictional creature.”

Optimus nodded slowly. “We can’t ignore this,” he said slowly. “The risk…”

“So what do we do with this?” asked Ironhide, gesturing slightly with one cannon at the two newcomers. He didn’t break his staring contest with the Autobot of the trio; both were poised to attack the other, although only Ironhide had his cannons fully transformed.

“Well, it’s not like we’re going to go off willy-nilly attacking the species we’re trying to save,” said Sidetrack.

“Right,” growled Ironhide, tone dripping sarcasm and disbelief.

“You’re going to stand out, Skywarp,” pointed out Prowl, tones logical. “Even once you’re someplace your alt form’s likely to be found, people will notice the sudden appearance of a large aircraft, especially a military one.”

Ratchet allowed himself a small smirk. Who was at a physical disadvantage now?

“Under more-normal circumstances, Prowl,” Optimus said, sounding slightly stiff-a stress reaction, Ratchet knew. When he was more relaxed, he was considerably less formal-in these situations, of course. It was a learned habit: his natural tendency was the direct opposite, but that wasn’t a good thing for someone in his position. Even a Prime needed diplomacy-and could suffer the consequences if they didn’t, in certain circumstances. “I would, of course, invite your team back to our current base. I think you understand, though.”

“Hey,” said Sidetrack, objecting mildly. He was living up to his name. “Prowl’s not the only one in charge, here.” There was a long pause. Nobody said anything.

So Sidetrack continued. “Oh, fine. Since none of y’all are coming up with it, how’s this for a suggestion: we agree to be kept in your detainment cells, under whatever security measures you want it, for however long it takes. That should satisfy whatever paranoid ideas you have about how much of a risk we are, and gives us a place to stay.”

“…You were waiting for us to come up with that?” said Jazz. It was almost-but not quite-a rhetorical question. He was asking something, it just wasn’t what the question spelled out.

“Well, odds even are someone would find it suspicious that I’m recommending you lock us up-you know, some sort of secret plan that requires that we get captured, regardless of the fact that if I was going to try something like that, I sure as hell wouldn’t be stupid enough to go about it so suspiciously-so I was hoping you would suggest something along those lines, so I didn’t have to bring it up. But it wasn’t working.”

Some irrational back corner of Ratchet’s mind went ‘Oh look, it’s Jazz as a Decepticon.’

“Now I’m suspicious,” growled Ironhide.

“Well, I hardly would have said it if I was going to follow through with it,” said Sidetrack, looking aggrieved.

“Unless you were planning on using that particular leap of logic to fool us into thinking that you weren’t going to,” said Jazz archly.

“Now’s not the time, Jazz,” said Optimus distractedly. There was a calculating minute of silence before he spoke again. “Alright. Your terms are acceptable.” He sounded hesitant, doubtful, to Ratchet. He’d been working with Optimus for a long time, now.

The three Decepticons-no, the two Decepticons and the Autobot-relaxed visibly, which made Ironhide stiffen. “Hey, I don’t want to be wandering around an alien planet trying to convince human governments that there’s an alien threat coming and no, it’s not us,” explained Sidetrack casually.

“Let’s just get home with everyone in one piece,” said Optimus wearily. “Jazz, contact Bumblebee and let him know we’re arriving.”

Wait, sent Jazz silently. …Sam and Mikaela are there. And the Lennox family’s due to arrive today or tomorrow.

Ironhide spat out an angry curse, verbally.

“What?” said Sidetrack.

“Nothin’,” said Jazz coolly.

“We’ll take the west entrance in,” said Optimus.

“I’ll tell Bumblebee,” replied Jazz. I’ll also tell him to keep the humans somewhere else was clearly added onto the sentence, although he didn’t actually say the words, either by private communications lines or otherwise.

“Good. Autobo-everyone, just transform, please.”

Before Prowl could react, Ratchet interjected. “No. Not you, Prowl, absolutely not. Before you even think about switching into your alt mode again you need a new one. Your current one is too small. Do you have any idea of the potential damage that can do? The strain, and the potential for pinched wires, or snapped gears, or… The list goes on. No.”

The new Autobot, Sunstreaker, the one glowering at Ironhide, broke off the staring match to turn and glare at Ratchet. “Watch it,” rumbled Skywarp, above him. “I won’t have you mouthing off to my commanding officer, Autobot.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” snapped Ratchet, “That ‘commanding officer’ you’re so worried about protecting is an Autobot as well. Making him not your officer at all. Unless you’ve gotten him confused with Sidetrack?”

“Cold day in hell, that,” said Sidetrack, sounding amused. “But I do believe the Prime gave you an order, soldiers. Transform.”

“So… You’re both in charge,” said Jazz, sounding keenly interested.

“Eventually, it stopped making sense to continue to function as two separate, non-involved units, especially on the field,” said Prowl stiffly. Jazz snickered.

“Knowing you and your control issues, I bet you fought that particular decision tooth, nail and tire.” Still, though, the gray Autobot transformed, followed by a reluctant Ironhide and, finally, Ratchet. The other team followed suit. Optimus went last, excluding Prowl, who remained untransformed, as per Ratchet’s orders.

I’ll lead, Optimus broadcast to the group as a whole. The jet-

Skywarp, broke in Sidetrack.

-will have to fly. Here’s the coordinates. He sent them. Then, in order behind me, Sidetrack, Jazz, Sunstreaker, Ironhide-

He broke off as Jazz interrupted him. You sure putting ’Hide behind Mr. Sunshine here is a good idea?

Sunstreaker growled loudly.

I don’t have any other options. Ratchet and Prowl need to find a new alt form for Prowl. Optimus switched to a private line with his lieutenant. I don’t want Prowl wandering off alone, and he’s less of a potential threat than the others-more reliably on our side-so I’m risking our medic less. I want the Autobots spread out through the Decepticons-well, the newcomers-in case of attack, which means putting Ironhide either behind Sunstreaker or in front of Sunstreaker.

Jazz winced. Okay, I see what you mean.

And Ratchet and Prowl can go find a new alt form, finished Optimus, back to the public channel.

“Alright, then,” said Sidetrack cheerily.

oOo

Ratchet and Prowl had caught up with them five miles from the base. By then they were well inside the expanse of empty desert the government had put aside for their use, surrounding the buildings they were using-and those were almost entirely underground. Funnily enough, Google Earth had turned out to be one of the biggest threats to their security. They had a government sanctioned link that let them remove their images from the program, but it was better that they just didn’t show up in the first place: less chance of error.

They waited for a few seconds outside the west entrance for Skywarp to show back up and land-he had been circling above their heads, waiting-before they slipped inside the door of the only building above ground, a perfunctory structure built along warehouse lines, serving only as an entrance.

And then they headed down. Bumblebee was waiting for them, a little ways into the main corridor of the main floor, glaring pure venom at the newcomers, plus Prowl for good measure. Behind him was a pointedly closed door hiding their main communications array, and the sleeping Sam and Mikaela, although none of the newcomers knew that-hopefully.

The Lennoxes? sent Ironhide, trying to keep from sounding worried, to Bumblebee.

They’re not here y- he began to reply, before the buzzer announcing that someone had arrived at the base sounded behind him, through the just-barely-cracked-open door.

They’re here, he corrected, ‘voice’ half-despairing, but mostly frustrated.

“I’ll go meet them, sir,” growled Ironhide to Optimus as he stomped past him down the hall, muttering obscenities as he went.

“Timing,” sighed Optimus, mostly to himself. “Why do we always have the worst of it?”

Ratchet frowned deeply at the sounds of a sudden burst of coughing coming through the door.

…and something’s wrong with Mikaela, said Bumblebee. Ratchet took a leaf out of Ironhide’s book and growled.

“I told you we needed a medic!” he snapped. He was annoyed. He had sick humans, injured Autobots, confusing situations and that was just the start of things to deal with, and the Decepticon behind him, Skywarp, kept on bumping into him, just lightly enough that he couldn’t complain that it was on purpose. He focused his generalized glare on Bumblebee. “And you. You’ve gone and irritated your vocal processor again, haven’t you?” It was unusual, almost unheard of, for the Autobot to use his comm. link when he could speak out loud. “Damn it, I told you to stop talking!”

Bumblebee chirped innocently. Ratchet glowered. “I’ll see you in the med bay tomorrow morning. Prowl, you get there immediately. With my luck, you’ll have ripped something open again, what with that stupid, stupid stunt you pulled.”

The Decepticons and Autobot bristled. Ratchet ignored it, except to turn his focus on Skywarp, who was immediately behind him. “I’m sure you think it’s absolutely hilarious to keep on bumping into me. Keep it up and I’ll lock you in Ironhide’s room while he’s in recharge. Since you seem to like ‘jokes,’ it’ll be a fitting end.”

“They let him become a medic?” said Sunstreaker disbelievingly, to no one in particular.

“Uh… Sorry?” said Skywarp, looking shocked at the sheer vehemence Ratchet had managed, and maybe even a little cowed.

“Good,” growled Ratchet through (figuratively) gritted teeth.

Jazz tried and failed to cover his laughter. Even Optimus was trying hard to keep from sounding as amused as he was.

“Alright, then,” he said. “Jazz, Ratchet, would you escort our-guests-to the detainment cells. Wait for Ironhide-he’s on guard duty. Bumblebee, keep on with your duties; I’ll message Ironhide and tell him to drop the Lennoxes off with you.”

“Lennoxes?” chirped Sidetrack. And Optimus covered a frown-he hadn’t meant to let that slip out, and he hadn’t wanted the Decepticons to be aware of the presence of humans on the base, for at least a little while longer. It wouldn’t have been an easy secret to keep, anyway.

“This way, please,” said Jazz, voice pointedly friendly, and the string of Autobots and Decepticons made their way down the hallway, leaving Optimus behind.

Leaving Optimus behind to decide what to tell the human government.

He sighed deeply again. He shouldn’t feel this old, slag it.

--End Chapter 2--