Not-so-daily Nano
Jazz’s door slid open, revealing Rhythm’s tearstreaked face. First Aid gently touched her shoulder before pushing her to the side. He took in the scene, noting the flicker in Jazz’s visor.
He pulled Hues off the saboteur scanning for any signs of consciousness.
The red-orange femme remained silent, as if she was stuck in the middle of a reset.
Rhythm hovered over his shoulder, shifting from one foot to the other noisily.
“Rhythm if you don’t cut that out, I’ll slagging throw you out. Tell me what happened,” Ratchet covered the distance between the door and the couch in a few big steps.
The blue dancer haltingly recounted a slightly more detailed version of the story she told First Aid. Ratchet glared at the dancer suspiciously, his thoughts nearly audibly processing.
First Aid’s mask dropped down in a frown, he hated it when he was treated as less than his mentor. Granted there was still much for him to learn, but how could he without being given a chance?
Ratchet pulled a scanner out of subspace and hooked it into Jazz’s systems.
One of the saboteur’s black hands reached out to Ratchet’s own red one. A groan rumbled from Jazz’s system. “Ratch? Wha-?”
Ratchet turned his hand to clasp the saboteur’s for a brief moment. “Your systems crashed, Jazz. How are you feeling?”
“Crashed?” It was unusual to see the jovial black and white mech so disoriented. Even after battles he usually wasn’t this out of sync. His visor flashed and he tried to sit up, but Ratchet forcefully shoved him back down. “Hues? Is she a’righ’?”
The CMO glanced at First Aid expectantly and the junior medic belatedly realized he should still be doing something. He pulled his own scanner out of his toolbag and plugged it into Hues. He heard Rhythm wince at the chirrup that emitted from the small scanner.
Jazz tried to sit up again, only to have Ratchet force him down. The saboteur frowned in alarm and concern.
“Stay there or I will knock you back off line with my wrench, Jazz.”
Jazz didn’t relax, but he did settle a little more. Ratchet stepped over to his apprentice, looking over First Aid’s shoulder. “Well?”
First Aid was still compiling the data he received from the chirruping scanner. “Was Jazz’s antivirus programming actively running?”
“Yes.”
Jazz stiffened, sitting up. “I thought y-“
Rhythm added her own protest. “Your scan said-“
Ratchet raised a hand for silence.
“It actually looks like something attacked Hues’ systems.” First Aid turned to the saboteur. “What did your systems log at the time?”
There was a slight, tense pause as Jazz crossed his arms and checked his diagnostics. “I did this?” he murmured, his vocalizer crackling. “My systems registered the connection, but they recognized it as malevolent software. Safety protocols knocked me offline. Is Hues alrigh’?”
First Aid glanced toward Ratchet. “it’s their programming, isn’t it?” Ratchet’s azure optics didn’t flicker. “It’s because it’s so old?” The junior medic continued. “There was a compatibility conflict?
Ratchet smiled grimly, nodding. “Jazz has had a slagging lot of upgrades since they disappeared. I think even Kup would have that happen.”
Jazz tilted his head. “Why didn’t you think of this before Ratch?”
The CMO scowled. “My scans took the difference into account.”
“An’ you forgot?” A grin spread across the saboteur’s face.
“Shut the slag up and get to med bay since you’re feeling so spunky,” Ratchet disconnected the scanner from Hues and gathered her into his arms.
First Aid went over to the quiet dancer and placed an arm over her doorwings. “Looks like you’re getting that upgrade sooner than expected. Ratchet was going to fit you first.” He pulled her closer as she shuddered. “Hues will be okay, Rhythm. She’ll be online before the day cycle starts.”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen. Pirmus, I was so slagging frightened that they’d both terminated.”
The Protectobot wrapped the blue dancer up in a caring embrace. “But it didn’t happen Rhythm.”
“They’re all I have left now.”
First Aid had no answer for that.
And look! A second chapter!
Title Rhythm & Hues: Interlude
Characters Mirage, Rhythm, Ratchet, First Aid
Warnings Implied slash
Solitude
Mirage watched the two dancers twirl, showing off their new armor. He was… disappointed by their change in shape. He preferred streamlined forms, sleek and thin to their new thickness. Now they looked a lot like the Autobot femmes on Cybertron. At least they didn’t have those hideous-looking antennae like Elita’s band did. That was one accessory he hated seeing on a femme. Although they now sported rounded chevrons to augment their targeting systems (anything would help them, for Primus knows they can’t get any worse). He did wonder at them keeping their original optic color, though the Autobot rumor mill held that it would take a full reformatting to change that particular feature.
Prowl pulled the twin dancers to the side, his words soft despite his stern expression. Mirage could hear him over the general hubbub of the rec room, telling the femmes that with the new upgrades their training would intensify. Though he spoke to both of them, Mirage suspected the words were truthfully directed at only one ofthem.
Hues had shown time and time again that she lacked the most basic militaristic skills. Ratchet seemed pleased, in that he made no complaints, with her sister’s progress under his tutelage. As a nurse assisting Ratchet and First Aid, Rhythm would mostly be located in the back lines of the battlefield. While she should be able to defend herself, she did not need the specialized training of a frontline warrior, or even the gunners.
The twins listened attentively to the second-in-command’s words. The twitching of their doorwings the only real indication that neither of them were truly comfortable with the tactician.
Prowl had kept himself carefully distanced from the femmes, more so than he did Sideswipe. Mirage didn’t think it professional courtesy that held him back, considering the nature of his relationship with Bluestreak, wha was under his command. Something more bothered the tactician, though what that could be even Bluestreak probably didn’t know.
Mirage prided himself on his ability to uncover little known facts about his comrades, but Prowl’s past was a mystery, even to him. He joined the Autobot ranks several thousand vorn into the war, reformatted with weapons, armor, and Autobot blue optics and tight-lipped about his previous life.
An explosion interrupted Mirage’s musings. Even though his first thought processed was ‘Decepticons’, immediatelf following that was ‘Wheeljack’. A suspicion proven correct when Prowl didn’t raise an alarm, even though his doorwings still rode high on his shoulders.
It wasn’t all that hard for the Autobot spy to hack into the coded frequencies and hear Ratchet bellowing for Rhythm.
Even on Cybertron, Wheeljack was reknowned for blowing up his lab, but not at the rate he achieved here on Earth. Some suspected it to be the work of a covert agent, though who that could possibly be even the rumor mill didn’t whisper, gazes would however turn toward the elitist spy. They didn’t realize that while Mirage didn’t hold the Autobot cause highest in his processor, he would be burned and buried before he betrayed any of his comrades to the Decepticons.
Mirage downed the rest of his energon, and stood to join the solitary dancer standing where Prowl had left her.
He murmured a greeting, smiling for the purple optics that turned to him.
Purple was such an exotic color in the midst of blues and reds.
****
Ratchet cursed and swore, snapping orders at his two helpers as he worked quickly to stem the leaks and repair the shorts that threatened his friend’s life. First Aid worked across from him, puling out burnt wires and circuit boards and closing the affected circuits. Rhythm fetched and carried tools, trash and replacement parts.
“Rhythm, what the slag do you fragging think you’re doing. Go get that slagging socket piece. Clean off those clamps so they can be re-used.” He lifted his head to glare at the femme. “Why are you still standing there. Get moving!”
Rhythm paused her optics flashing. Her doorwings tensed. She ground her dental plates and whipped about to do as she was told. “Did you have any particular order you wanted that done, sir, or did you want me to do it all at once.”
First Aid shook his head as Ratchet paused to glower at the nurse-in-training.
“If you can fragging miraculously accomplish both at the same slotted time that’d be fragging prime.”
Rhythm flicked her doorwings. “Maybe you should have installed a few more appendages on me then.”
Ratchet turned his attention back to the mass of blackened internals in front of hi. “Well I guess I finally found a use for those slagged useless doorwings of yours. I’ll puti at the fragging top of my Primus-damned to-do list, right after I rip Wheeljack a new one for this stunt.”
The junior medic cut off his vocalizer against the words that ran through his processors. He enjoyed not being the focus of Ratchet’s ire anymore, but their banter was annoying as the Pits.
They worked like that for the next cycle, until Wheeljack stabilized. Ratchet stormed away to the sanitizer to cleanse himself. First Aid helped Rhythm finish cleaning up, then they took Ratchet’s place at the station.
Rhythm’s optics kept sliding over to Ratchet’s office door. She pressed her lips into a thin line, her doorwings flicking agitatedly.
“This is the worst I’ve ever seen him.”
First Aid nodded. “This is normal when Wheeljack is badly damaged.”
Rhythm looked at the inventor. “How close are they?”
The Protectobot medic stilled. “That’s not for me to say, Rhythm.”
The dancer dried her hands on a towel and swept over to Ratchet’s office door.
“I wouldn’t.”
She glanced back, purple optics glowing softly. “If you’re worried about my feelings being hurt, don’t. It would take more than rejection to do that.” She smiled and chimed for Ratchet’s attention.
****
Ratchet lifted his head from his arms, scowling at the intrusion. He plucked up a dataapad and composed himself. “Enter.”
Rhythm stepped in, her doorwings drooping.
“What the slag do you want?”
She did’nt say anything, simply slipped behind the CMO. He turned his head to follow her until he couldn’t rotate any more. “Rhythm,” he growled, wincing as she pressed up against his back.
She pulled his head against her chestplate, with a hand flat against his chevron. “Relax,” she murmured, caressing the v-shaped edge of the sensitive gray metal.
He ground his dental plates, air hissing out of his vents. Knowing fingers massaged over aching servos, loosening gears and easing joints. A growl rumbled out of his engine and he glared at the dancer over his shoulder, unwilling to completely succumb to her touch. Then she reached under his helm, touching his jaw hinge and soothing ohis neck motors.
She touch just the right circuit and he found himself limp against her. He moaned at the feel of her hands on his windshield. Stroking gently. Enticingly. How easy it would be to forget who he was for just a moment, and what he did. How easy to allow this dancer have her way with him.
Static surged through his systems and his fingers spasmed on the armof his comfy chair. Her caresses turned from soothing to inviting and she rubbed against his back in a way that made his engine turn over.
“Rhythm,” he moaned, “you really shouldn’t be doing this.”
Rhythm put her hands on his shoulders and turned his chair to face her. “Because of Wheeljack?”
His engine sputtered at the reminder of his best friend lying on the gurney. “’Jack has nothing to do with it.” He wondered where she even got the idea.
The surprise in her stance told him that she hadn’t expected that answer.
“you’re under my command, on my team. It’s not professional.”
She frowned at him. “I don’t see that stopping Bluestreak and Prowl. Slaggit, I don’t even want that kind of dedication.”
Ratchet frowned up at the blue femme. “
“If it would make you feel better, I’m sure Hues wouldn’t mind-“
“No.” He stood and pushed Rhythm away. “How many times do I have to slagging say it. Now get out!”
He glared at the dancer until she ducked out of his office. The desk jumped as his foot connected with it.
There were days he fragging hated his job.
****
First Aid looked up when Rhythm stepped out of the office. He didn’t have to ask what had happened as the tautness of her frame told him everything.
“I told you.”
She glared at him, engine grumbling. “What is his problem?”
The junior medic shrugged, sorting through the mess that had come out of Wheeljack for anything still useful. “Since we came to Earth, he hasn’t interfaced, or even sparked with anyone. I’ve heard that Jazz managed to get him once, but that was before I was brought online. On Cybertron I know he would turn to the local civilian community for companionship.” He turned his head at her thoughtful hum.
“No wonder he’s so tense. Ugh. I’m going to grab some energon, and recharge. Want me to bring you any?” She flicked her doorwings toward the office doors in a dismissive gesture.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
The blue dancer-cum-nurse stepped out of the medbay leaving the Protectobot to his work.
This puts me at just a little under 6000 words. I did say I was behind. ^^;; One more interlude before the next Arc. yay. ^^v
He pulled Hues off the saboteur scanning for any signs of consciousness.
The red-orange femme remained silent, as if she was stuck in the middle of a reset.
Rhythm hovered over his shoulder, shifting from one foot to the other noisily.
“Rhythm if you don’t cut that out, I’ll slagging throw you out. Tell me what happened,” Ratchet covered the distance between the door and the couch in a few big steps.
The blue dancer haltingly recounted a slightly more detailed version of the story she told First Aid. Ratchet glared at the dancer suspiciously, his thoughts nearly audibly processing.
First Aid’s mask dropped down in a frown, he hated it when he was treated as less than his mentor. Granted there was still much for him to learn, but how could he without being given a chance?
Ratchet pulled a scanner out of subspace and hooked it into Jazz’s systems.
One of the saboteur’s black hands reached out to Ratchet’s own red one. A groan rumbled from Jazz’s system. “Ratch? Wha-?”
Ratchet turned his hand to clasp the saboteur’s for a brief moment. “Your systems crashed, Jazz. How are you feeling?”
“Crashed?” It was unusual to see the jovial black and white mech so disoriented. Even after battles he usually wasn’t this out of sync. His visor flashed and he tried to sit up, but Ratchet forcefully shoved him back down. “Hues? Is she a’righ’?”
The CMO glanced at First Aid expectantly and the junior medic belatedly realized he should still be doing something. He pulled his own scanner out of his toolbag and plugged it into Hues. He heard Rhythm wince at the chirrup that emitted from the small scanner.
Jazz tried to sit up again, only to have Ratchet force him down. The saboteur frowned in alarm and concern.
“Stay there or I will knock you back off line with my wrench, Jazz.”
Jazz didn’t relax, but he did settle a little more. Ratchet stepped over to his apprentice, looking over First Aid’s shoulder. “Well?”
First Aid was still compiling the data he received from the chirruping scanner. “Was Jazz’s antivirus programming actively running?”
“Yes.”
Jazz stiffened, sitting up. “I thought y-“
Rhythm added her own protest. “Your scan said-“
Ratchet raised a hand for silence.
“It actually looks like something attacked Hues’ systems.” First Aid turned to the saboteur. “What did your systems log at the time?”
There was a slight, tense pause as Jazz crossed his arms and checked his diagnostics. “I did this?” he murmured, his vocalizer crackling. “My systems registered the connection, but they recognized it as malevolent software. Safety protocols knocked me offline. Is Hues alrigh’?”
First Aid glanced toward Ratchet. “it’s their programming, isn’t it?” Ratchet’s azure optics didn’t flicker. “It’s because it’s so old?” The junior medic continued. “There was a compatibility conflict?
Ratchet smiled grimly, nodding. “Jazz has had a slagging lot of upgrades since they disappeared. I think even Kup would have that happen.”
Jazz tilted his head. “Why didn’t you think of this before Ratch?”
The CMO scowled. “My scans took the difference into account.”
“An’ you forgot?” A grin spread across the saboteur’s face.
“Shut the slag up and get to med bay since you’re feeling so spunky,” Ratchet disconnected the scanner from Hues and gathered her into his arms.
First Aid went over to the quiet dancer and placed an arm over her doorwings. “Looks like you’re getting that upgrade sooner than expected. Ratchet was going to fit you first.” He pulled her closer as she shuddered. “Hues will be okay, Rhythm. She’ll be online before the day cycle starts.”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen. Pirmus, I was so slagging frightened that they’d both terminated.”
The Protectobot wrapped the blue dancer up in a caring embrace. “But it didn’t happen Rhythm.”
“They’re all I have left now.”
First Aid had no answer for that.
And look! A second chapter!
Title Rhythm & Hues: Interlude
Characters Mirage, Rhythm, Ratchet, First Aid
Warnings Implied slash
Solitude
Mirage watched the two dancers twirl, showing off their new armor. He was… disappointed by their change in shape. He preferred streamlined forms, sleek and thin to their new thickness. Now they looked a lot like the Autobot femmes on Cybertron. At least they didn’t have those hideous-looking antennae like Elita’s band did. That was one accessory he hated seeing on a femme. Although they now sported rounded chevrons to augment their targeting systems (anything would help them, for Primus knows they can’t get any worse). He did wonder at them keeping their original optic color, though the Autobot rumor mill held that it would take a full reformatting to change that particular feature.
Prowl pulled the twin dancers to the side, his words soft despite his stern expression. Mirage could hear him over the general hubbub of the rec room, telling the femmes that with the new upgrades their training would intensify. Though he spoke to both of them, Mirage suspected the words were truthfully directed at only one ofthem.
Hues had shown time and time again that she lacked the most basic militaristic skills. Ratchet seemed pleased, in that he made no complaints, with her sister’s progress under his tutelage. As a nurse assisting Ratchet and First Aid, Rhythm would mostly be located in the back lines of the battlefield. While she should be able to defend herself, she did not need the specialized training of a frontline warrior, or even the gunners.
The twins listened attentively to the second-in-command’s words. The twitching of their doorwings the only real indication that neither of them were truly comfortable with the tactician.
Prowl had kept himself carefully distanced from the femmes, more so than he did Sideswipe. Mirage didn’t think it professional courtesy that held him back, considering the nature of his relationship with Bluestreak, wha was under his command. Something more bothered the tactician, though what that could be even Bluestreak probably didn’t know.
Mirage prided himself on his ability to uncover little known facts about his comrades, but Prowl’s past was a mystery, even to him. He joined the Autobot ranks several thousand vorn into the war, reformatted with weapons, armor, and Autobot blue optics and tight-lipped about his previous life.
An explosion interrupted Mirage’s musings. Even though his first thought processed was ‘Decepticons’, immediatelf following that was ‘Wheeljack’. A suspicion proven correct when Prowl didn’t raise an alarm, even though his doorwings still rode high on his shoulders.
It wasn’t all that hard for the Autobot spy to hack into the coded frequencies and hear Ratchet bellowing for Rhythm.
Even on Cybertron, Wheeljack was reknowned for blowing up his lab, but not at the rate he achieved here on Earth. Some suspected it to be the work of a covert agent, though who that could possibly be even the rumor mill didn’t whisper, gazes would however turn toward the elitist spy. They didn’t realize that while Mirage didn’t hold the Autobot cause highest in his processor, he would be burned and buried before he betrayed any of his comrades to the Decepticons.
Mirage downed the rest of his energon, and stood to join the solitary dancer standing where Prowl had left her.
He murmured a greeting, smiling for the purple optics that turned to him.
Purple was such an exotic color in the midst of blues and reds.
****
Ratchet cursed and swore, snapping orders at his two helpers as he worked quickly to stem the leaks and repair the shorts that threatened his friend’s life. First Aid worked across from him, puling out burnt wires and circuit boards and closing the affected circuits. Rhythm fetched and carried tools, trash and replacement parts.
“Rhythm, what the slag do you fragging think you’re doing. Go get that slagging socket piece. Clean off those clamps so they can be re-used.” He lifted his head to glare at the femme. “Why are you still standing there. Get moving!”
Rhythm paused her optics flashing. Her doorwings tensed. She ground her dental plates and whipped about to do as she was told. “Did you have any particular order you wanted that done, sir, or did you want me to do it all at once.”
First Aid shook his head as Ratchet paused to glower at the nurse-in-training.
“If you can fragging miraculously accomplish both at the same slotted time that’d be fragging prime.”
Rhythm flicked her doorwings. “Maybe you should have installed a few more appendages on me then.”
Ratchet turned his attention back to the mass of blackened internals in front of hi. “Well I guess I finally found a use for those slagged useless doorwings of yours. I’ll puti at the fragging top of my Primus-damned to-do list, right after I rip Wheeljack a new one for this stunt.”
The junior medic cut off his vocalizer against the words that ran through his processors. He enjoyed not being the focus of Ratchet’s ire anymore, but their banter was annoying as the Pits.
They worked like that for the next cycle, until Wheeljack stabilized. Ratchet stormed away to the sanitizer to cleanse himself. First Aid helped Rhythm finish cleaning up, then they took Ratchet’s place at the station.
Rhythm’s optics kept sliding over to Ratchet’s office door. She pressed her lips into a thin line, her doorwings flicking agitatedly.
“This is the worst I’ve ever seen him.”
First Aid nodded. “This is normal when Wheeljack is badly damaged.”
Rhythm looked at the inventor. “How close are they?”
The Protectobot medic stilled. “That’s not for me to say, Rhythm.”
The dancer dried her hands on a towel and swept over to Ratchet’s office door.
“I wouldn’t.”
She glanced back, purple optics glowing softly. “If you’re worried about my feelings being hurt, don’t. It would take more than rejection to do that.” She smiled and chimed for Ratchet’s attention.
****
Ratchet lifted his head from his arms, scowling at the intrusion. He plucked up a dataapad and composed himself. “Enter.”
Rhythm stepped in, her doorwings drooping.
“What the slag do you want?”
She did’nt say anything, simply slipped behind the CMO. He turned his head to follow her until he couldn’t rotate any more. “Rhythm,” he growled, wincing as she pressed up against his back.
She pulled his head against her chestplate, with a hand flat against his chevron. “Relax,” she murmured, caressing the v-shaped edge of the sensitive gray metal.
He ground his dental plates, air hissing out of his vents. Knowing fingers massaged over aching servos, loosening gears and easing joints. A growl rumbled out of his engine and he glared at the dancer over his shoulder, unwilling to completely succumb to her touch. Then she reached under his helm, touching his jaw hinge and soothing ohis neck motors.
She touch just the right circuit and he found himself limp against her. He moaned at the feel of her hands on his windshield. Stroking gently. Enticingly. How easy it would be to forget who he was for just a moment, and what he did. How easy to allow this dancer have her way with him.
Static surged through his systems and his fingers spasmed on the armof his comfy chair. Her caresses turned from soothing to inviting and she rubbed against his back in a way that made his engine turn over.
“Rhythm,” he moaned, “you really shouldn’t be doing this.”
Rhythm put her hands on his shoulders and turned his chair to face her. “Because of Wheeljack?”
His engine sputtered at the reminder of his best friend lying on the gurney. “’Jack has nothing to do with it.” He wondered where she even got the idea.
The surprise in her stance told him that she hadn’t expected that answer.
“you’re under my command, on my team. It’s not professional.”
She frowned at him. “I don’t see that stopping Bluestreak and Prowl. Slaggit, I don’t even want that kind of dedication.”
Ratchet frowned up at the blue femme. “
“If it would make you feel better, I’m sure Hues wouldn’t mind-“
“No.” He stood and pushed Rhythm away. “How many times do I have to slagging say it. Now get out!”
He glared at the dancer until she ducked out of his office. The desk jumped as his foot connected with it.
There were days he fragging hated his job.
****
First Aid looked up when Rhythm stepped out of the office. He didn’t have to ask what had happened as the tautness of her frame told him everything.
“I told you.”
She glared at him, engine grumbling. “What is his problem?”
The junior medic shrugged, sorting through the mess that had come out of Wheeljack for anything still useful. “Since we came to Earth, he hasn’t interfaced, or even sparked with anyone. I’ve heard that Jazz managed to get him once, but that was before I was brought online. On Cybertron I know he would turn to the local civilian community for companionship.” He turned his head at her thoughtful hum.
“No wonder he’s so tense. Ugh. I’m going to grab some energon, and recharge. Want me to bring you any?” She flicked her doorwings toward the office doors in a dismissive gesture.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
The blue dancer-cum-nurse stepped out of the medbay leaving the Protectobot to his work.
This puts me at just a little under 6000 words. I did say I was behind. ^^;; One more interlude before the next Arc. yay. ^^v