OLOBA: The Light was Yellow, Sir (37)
Title: OLOBA: The Light Was Yellow, Sir (37)
Characters: Movieverse, couple G1 Char. Mikaela, Jazz, Frenzy, OC (Malena Banes), Ensemble
Rating: R for violence, bad driving, cussing, and some light ‘interspecies erotica’
Disclaimer: Not responsible for readers spewing stuff on their screens, keyboards, or family members whilst readin' this fic. And I still don’t own anything but Lena, Smokey, and Hammond (except his name, that I stole from 48 Hours haha). Oh, and I don't know shit about medicine. Suspend disbelief and just go with it. LOL
Summary: The Fit hits the Shan in the imperfect little life of the Banes sisters and their silver guardian, and nobody is safe from the stank brown cast-off.
A/N: Not even gonna apologize this time. LOL. Not even for the shitty formatting. Don't know why Open office always triplespaces everything hahaha. The shit hit the fan in my life too for a while there, and even though I was at home on disability for two months, I was so drugged up and in a lot of pain, and writing was the last thing on my mind. Hopefully now that things are starting to settle a little, I might begin to pump out some writing more often. Not making any promises though. LOL. I just wanted to post something now instead of waiting for frickin' ever.
Dedicated to Mmouse, cause she kicks ass. Hug your Cybertronian newsletter gathery-lady today! And maybe send her a bottle of Jack Daniels!
Previous Chapters
35: http://cazcatharsis.livejournal.com/148655.html
36: http://cazcatharsis.livejournal.com/163357.html
Chapter 37
From my experience, shit always hit the fan when life was just getting good, so this whole deal about getting blown up, chased all over town, shot at, everyone being evacuated to the Autobot base, the Prime not feeling his best while Decepticons were roaming around, well, it didn't really surprise me. It was the whole circle of life thing. When good shit's happening, that's the time one should prepare themselves for a shitstorm. And in the midst of said shitstorm, one should always keep hope that something good will come along. It's balance, life, and just how things seem to work.
Well, not lately, but hey...
During the drive to the base, after the chatter died down, that's when I came to terms with some of it. Sure, I was damaged. Sure, nobody was safe, we were surrounded by enemies, some known, some unknown, but at the same time, well, as cheesy as it sounded, we had each other. Our twisted little family had taken its hits and bruises (and various degrees of burns), but we were all present and accounted for, and apparently hosting a couple of new additions who could only make us stronger.
I only hoped it would be worth it. Greedy and selfish, yeah, but goddamn!
Despite the excitement of the escape, I was exhausted and dizzy from the drugs, and coupled with Ratchet's gentle rocking and that sweet humming that came from all Cybertronians, I fell asleep before we even reached the base. I barely recalled my removal from Ratchet's interior, only waking a little and seeing blurs of movement, sounds of footsteps and deep voices. As much as I wanted to wake up and say hi to people, my body decided it needed another nap.
It was some time before I came fully to myself, looking around to see the familiar Med Bay rather than in that... other place in my dreams. I heard the welcome sound of moving gears and a couple of Autobots yakking, heard a higher pitched voice talking about Mech medicine, and relaxed a little. Groggy as hell but feeling okay, I tried to seek out Jazz and my twisted sister. The Med Bay looked like usual, cleaner though, and I noted the absence of Ironhide, saw my sister climbing off the hood of some huge piece of junk metal... waitaminute...
Oh. My. God.
My astonished gasp caught Mikaela's attention, and with that kung fu mind-meld only sisters have, looked over and started laughing at the 'scrap metal' just as hard as I did.
As my indignant, tarnished grey/blue/greenish coloured Gremlin mech-man transformed and crossed his holey and slightly rusted arms and glared at me, I screamed laughter so hard I could have re-broke a rib.
His chest! Oh my god, his legs... no... oh man! I covered my mouth in my hands and screamed into them.
“Oh, laugh it up, fuzzball.” He growled in a pissy baritone, and gave the squealing Mikaela a very light kick in the ass, toppling her to the floor where she lay in a giggling heap.
Even Ratchet wasn't immune to the fun. With a rather un-doctorly smirk he quipped, “It's a sad, sad day when Ironhide beats you in style.”
“Looked in a mirror lately, Wide-Load?” Jazz countered, gesturing at Ratchet's new-found girth. I had to admit, he looked great in white and red, but the more blocky armour chunks did nothing for his figure. If I was gonna be here for a while maybe I could convince him to go back to being a Humvee, but keepin' the colour scheme. Rawr!
The medic grumbled and dug around in his stack of tools. Jazz quickly spoke up again, muffled from the arms crossed defensively over his head. “Truce!”
Ratchet had something that looked like an oversized screwdriver in his huge mitt, ready to fly, pausing just in time. “Conditions.”
Jazz rambled a reply, counting the points off his fingers. “I'll help clean th' Bay for a week, and I got Malena's coffee! Spill it and endanger anyone within fifty feet!”
“Hey!” I grouched with mock dignity. He's probably right though.
With a 'don't kill me' look in my direction he dug around in the area around his armpit (eww) and produced an extra large styrofoam coffee cup. I mentally (and likely physically) drooled.
“...fine.” Ratchet dropped the screwdriver back on the table and narrowed his eyes at Jazz, making us all aware he'd get his vengeance later despite the truce.
Mouse watched the entire exchange in silence, bug-eyed and sporting a giant shit-eating grin. I couldn't help but wish someone had installed a nice little mud-wrestling pit in this joint so we could throw the boys in there for just such occasions... ohhh, all those grunty noises... and oooh, we'd get to wash 'em all later! Bonus! Wonder where Ratchet's happy spot is...
I shook myself before my brain got into too much detail, in time to see Optimus stride in and stop short at seeing the two bots still facing off, Ratchet obviously winning.
Woah dude... Even he looked different. The flame-paint was still there, but drastically altered. Shorter, and more colours, ranging from bright red to a near-white super-pale yellow, and he had letters!!! Little white ones, and a few numbers on his arms and legs, (and M and a D, maybe a G?), so jumbled up from his transformation that it was unreadable. The rest of him was a surprisingly flattering shade of dark blue, nearly black. Somehow he retained his hot legs, and his chest-windows grew to be wider than his old form. But dear god his back and part of his arms were a horrid dark brown/black... not armour, just dirty looking metal.
Thankfully I couldn't see his grill. In bot mode it folded inwards somewhere around his 'belly', and if I saw a dent in that I knew I'd end up sobbing like a little bitch. Ridiculous, sure, but I was fucking tired and drugged and unreasonably guilty. That was PRIME, and I dented him.
“Dare I ask?” He glanced down to Mikaela, who'd taken shelter by his big foot. I always got a kick out of his toes. He has toes! Hee!
“Jazz called Ratchet fat.”
“And he's still functioning?” the big bot rumbled humorously, giving Jazz a fake look of astonishment.
Ratchet grumbled, “He called truce before I could retaliate.”
“Ahh.”
The two larger bots got to talking in quiet voices, so Jazz quietly slipped between them and knelt by my bedside, handing me my coffee. The styrofoam was warm, and my hand was cold, so I took it gratefully as he found the little lever to prop the back of my bed up. Ahhhh, much better.
“How're ya doin'?” he asked when he was done, settling into a cross-legged position on the floor. He looked plain ol' goofy with the new form and paint-job, but that look of concern in his face wiped any temptation to giggle out of my head.
“A little dizzy, a lot tired. Sore. And I got a headace.” I answered honestly. I wished I could lie to him, tell him I was fine, but he knew better. I could bullshit my sister all I wanted, but he had scanners and shit, I couldn't fool him if I wanted to. I tried anyway, cause I'm sorta dumb. “But I've got enough morphine in me to sedate a rhinoceros, and so far, no anal probes. It's all good.”
My sister sidled up next to him and fussed over my blankets, muttering “You're obsessed with anal probes,” pulling them up to my chin like I was some four year old with a cold. I didn't mind. Once in a blue moon I could tolerate being coddled a little, and if it made her feel better, all the more reason. The girl had motherly instincts that would not be repressed.
“Ya need anything?”
“Whisky?” I asked half-jokingly.
“My aft.” Ratchet muttered, listening in despite being in somewhat deep conversation with Prime. Optimus looked over as well, telltale signs of guilt crossing his features. Shit. How did I know he'd get the whole 'martyr' complex about this? It wasn't his fault.
I had to lighten the mood before the mental violins started playing. “Better a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.”
Prime dropped his face into his palm, shoulders shaking and Jazz snorted. My sister thwacked my leg with the back of her hand, but grinned. Ratchet, on the other hand, looked less than amused.
“Keep that up and a frontal lobotomy will be the least of your concerns.”
“Lighten up doc, at least I'm not a vegetable, and you don't have any diapers to change.” I shot back. And he knew it was the truth, hell, I could be missing limbs, fried beyond recognition, or dead! A bruised brain and a couple broken bones wasn't shit. I wasn't being flippant, just looking on the bright side. Maybe it was the morphine.
Booyah for the good stuff.
But at least my sister agreed with me. “If she's still joking around, she'll live, is what she's saying.”
Ratchet took that in, nodded. “Considering your mental abilities appear to be undamaged despite the injury, I shall attempt to 'lighten up'.”
A bit of tension I didn't know was there, released when he said that. “Thanks, Ratchet.”
“BUT.” He pointed a huge white finger at me, “You WILL submit to further tests without a fight, and do exactly as I tell you, until I see fit for you to leave MY Med Bay.”
I shrivelled like a penis on a cold day. “Yessir.”
At that moment, something uncomfortable occurred to me. Ugh. I coughed a little to get Ratchet's attention. He leaned down when I beckoned, so I whispered, “I gotta pee!”
“Then 'pee'. You have a catheter.”
I must have looked absolutely horrified, as Ratchet literally belly-laughed. “What, you can't feel it?”
“Morphine, remember?” I gasped, looking down at my poor abused crotch. I felt panic creep up on me. 'There's a needle in my poonany!'
“Get it out, get it out, GET IT OUT!!!”
Mikaela grabbed my hand and shushed me. “This, or a bedpan.”
Just like her to lay it flat for me. I shuddered at the thought of a bedpan.
She smiled knowingly, and whispered, “Let me know when you have to go #2 and we'll try your feet.”
“I'm awake now, I want it out!”
“Go ahead, pee the bed. Then he'll have to change you.”
Just when I told him he didn't have to change my diapers too... dammit. Catheter it is... for now. I shuddered.
When Ratchet was done laughing and had walked off to resume his convo, which seemed to get a little heated, with Prime, Mikaela leaned down and stage-whispered loud enough for the whole room to hear, “By the way, I should have told you. Ratchet turns into quite the bitch when he's angry.”
Luckily the big white bot had the good grace not to punt my sister like a fleshy football, too busy with the Big Boss, but he did spare her his patented 'Glare O' Doom'. Mikaela had the balls to merely grin back.
Jazz continued. “And he only gets angry when 'is patients get uppity. He just wants ya to get better.”
“Yeah, I get that. I can just see the shit he's had to put up with.”
Ratchet again interrupted. “You have NO idea.” Then, to Prime, “You, sit your regal aft down on that berth or I'm calling reinforcements.”
Suddenly a little afraid, Jazz leaned down to better talk to me, “We should get our lil' asses outta here. This...” he pointed towards the two taller bots and their glaring contest, “Looks like it's gonna get nasty. Let's see what Sam n' Bee are doin', my Mousey.”
“Don't leave me here!” I whispered harshly as Ratchet loomed over his other patient.
“And don't call me that.” Mikki whacked his leg. “Ow.”
“Sorry babe, I like my head where it is.” He reached over my bed and snatched up Mouse, who for once didn't protest at the treatment, “I'll bring ya another coffee later, 'kay?” Then he gave my hair a quick feel/pat, and ran like hell out of the Medbay. Made me wish the bed was motorized so I could go with him, especially after gettin' a look at Ratchet's face as he ordered the Prime around like a misbehaved child.
Prime looked affronted. “You wouldn't.”
“JUST try me.”
His engine rumbled, then hesitantly the huge bot hitched himself up onto the mind-bogglingly tall berth, set at Ratchet's work level, and lay down with a grouchy mumble.
Ratchet nodded his approval to Prime's acquiescence, but gave him a light smack upside the head anyway. “Quit whining, it's for your own good.”
Prime grumbled anyway.
I turned my head away slowly, so they couldn't see my grin. The sounded like a little old couple bickering. I listened to a loud CLANG and a miffed growl, Ratchet shuffling, “Hold still, you fragger”, then the eerie sound of a drill powering up.
Oh god, he's gonna drill Prime.
And that sounds soooooooooooo dirty! Bwahaha.
After five minutes or so of drilling sounds, Ratchet's cussing and the scream and bang of metal being torn loose, I finally worked the guts up to look over. “What's wrong with him?” I asked, too curious for my own good, seeing bits and pieces of Prime's armour looking loose enough for me to pry off with a crowbar, and half of his chest armour on the floor
Ratchet continued drilling as he answered me. “He's been complaining of strange energy spikes, what could be called lethargy, stiff joints, and a feeling not unlike 'indigestion', in addition to irregular spark rhythm. The hit he took in the explosion only exacerbated the problem. I'll be able to say with more certainty in approximately ten minutes, barring distractions.” He said the last with gusto, sparing me a look that made me want to sink into my blankets and hide.
I felt like poo. “Sorry.”
Ratchet stopped drilling, pinning me down with his optics alone. “I did not mean to imply fault, Miss Banes. Merely stating facts.”
I still felt like poo. “At least tell me he's not conscious.” That'd just be evil otherwise.
“Of course he isn't.” Ratchet snapped.
“Just asking man!”
I decided to shut the fuck up for a while. Sure I didn't like gettin' bitched at, especially by him, but at the same time I knew he was under an unbelievable amount of pressure right now, so I forgave him a little for being a bit of a shit-heel.
Trying to ignore the nasty sounds from twenty feet away as the medic poked around, grumbled, swore and slammed tools, I turned to my side and let the overwhelming need to sleep take over for a bit. At least here I knew I was relatively safe.
~*~*~
I woke again god-knows how much later, to a rather interesting argument.
“If you could have the power of any of the X-men, who's would you take?”
“That's easy. Magneto.”
I recognized Jazz's voice. “Oooooh.”
“Who?”
“Ratchet, use your google-fu.” My sister sassed.
Silence, then, “Oh.”
“Imagine it. I could walk up to Soundwave or Barricade, blink, and they'd crumple like yesterday's newspaper.” My sister said with half awe, half evil smugness.
Ratchet countered with logic. “How can you be sure Magneto's power would work on our particular alloys?”
“I'd test it first, of course!”
I stifled a groan and shifted my heavy-limbed and aching body so I was facing the combatants, wary of pressure on my ribs and the cast on my wrist, and just listened to them. Ratchet, of course, noticed, acknowledged, but didn't come poke me with anything, apparently way too interested in comic book heroes. I didn't mind. Mikaela was sitting cross-legged on the floor, polishing what looked like a piece of Optimus Prime's leg armour, (the lucky ho), and Jazz was nearby sorting parts. Prime himself was still... unconscious on the table. Or whatever the fuck the robot equivalent was called.
Jazz perked. “What, you'd crumple an Autobot?”
“I vote for the twins.” Ratchet snarked, traipsing over to me finally and looking to be in a much better mood, taking a moment to scan me, poke at my wrist cast and prop my bed back up so I could more easily see everyone, before handing me a glass of water and a couple of pills. I swallowed the little pink things gratefully, a little curious why there wasn't any more morphine.
“Twins?” Mikaela quirked a brow, but shook her head and went on with her polishing. “Hell no, I'm not that twisted.”
I had to speak up. “Yet.”
“Hey Lena. Nah, I'd, like, levitate Prime or something, just to see if I could. And even if I couldn't, I could just throw a building or a few cars at 'em or something.” She tossed the soft rag aside and stood, carefully placing the heavy-looking leg-piece to balance against the edge of the nearest berth, then grabbed what looked like one of his chest-windows and a bottle of Windex.
Jazz settled next to my bed and fiddled with my blankets, but kept the convo going. “Okay, here's one... Magneto himself, allied Autobot or Decepticon?”
Ratchet and I both voted Decepticon, Mikaela voted Autobot, but Jazz stayed silent, pondering his own question. When he noticed us all expectantly staring at him, he shrugged. “What? He's not evil, but he's got no love for humanity. Might jus' be on the fence for this one...”
“Third party?” Mikaela asked.
Jazz's optics brightened. “Double agent!”
Ratchet crossed his arms. “Logic?”
As if there's logic in this conversation. But then again, considering there's real live giant alien mechs running around, who says the X-men can't be real too?
“I ain't no expert but considering his childhood, I can't see Magneto workin' for the Cybertronian equivalent of Hitler.” He warded off arguments with a raised hand. “BUT! He might be clever enough to use ol' Megabitch's firepower and influence to achieve his own goals first, before squishing him.”
I saw Ratchet smirk at 'Megabitch' and nod a couple times during Jazz's argument, which I admitted had some good points.
“So he more or less gets the best of both worlds He wins his war against humans by using Megatron and his lackeys to roast us, but gets some brownie points by flattening the asshole afterwards, thereby winning the war for the Autobots.”
Ratchet hummed, then shook his head. “This is a ridiculous line of conversation.”
Mikaela snorted. “And yet, here you are.” She patted his leg fondly as he dropped a clean rag into her hands.
“Ooooh, Professor Xavier and Soundwave!” Jazz piped up, nearly knocking my bed over in his excitement.
“And there he goes.” Mikaela laughed as Ratchet tromped out of the Med Bay, still shaking his head but wearing his version of a restrained grin.
“Don't know if they're, ermmm, compatible.”
“Pervert.” Mouse giggled again.
“Not like that!!!” I protested. “Though I have to say, their babies would be really fuckin' ugly.”
I'd only seen Soundwave once, on the 'battlefield' a couple months ago during the Demolition Derby, when he was ass-naked, but Jazz showed me some clearer images of him with his standard armour structure and told me some rather frightening stories about him that made me eternally grateful to him and my sister for rescuing my dumb ass before he could get his claws on me.
Shaking that off, I continued. “Okay, I meant.. uhh, can Soundwave 'hack' an organic mind, and vice versa?”
My sister and I immediately looked to Jazz for the answer, but he merely shrugged again. “Cerebro, maybe. I don't recall him hackin' into an organic... though I could be wrong.”
We somehow spent another twenty minutes pitting X-men against Cybertronians of both factions before Ratchet came back, taking a moment to very gently lift me off the bed, turn me over, and place me back down face first. “You need some air on those bruises.” Was his logic, and if I strained my neck enough I could see the reflection of them on my back. And, unfortunately, saw that I was wearing one of those terrible ass-less hospital robes. Then...
“I have the fuckin' Autobot symbol imprinted on my ribs?!” I nearly laughed, awed by the grill pattern all over my back. I looked like a barbequed hamburger! Scary, but funny at the same time.
Ratchet ignored me, instead asking Mikaela to spread some creamy shit on my back (cold as hell!), then he wandered off and steadfastly ignored us as we resumed our conversation. He occasionally snorted as one point or another was made, or Jazz came up with some ridiculous question. The medic outright laughed at Mikaela's, with her, “I wonder if Storm would be considered a Cybertronian sex toy, what with all that lightning control and shit?”
Then of course, Ironhide, in all his red, boxy bad-assery, had to bust into the med bay and declare quite loudly that he'd obliterate them all. After all, nothing beat his cannons.
“Woah.”
He hadn't come alone. Behind him was a really... funky lookin', dirty as hell, dented, short-ish blue mech.
Ratchet immediately gave him shit. “I thought I ordered you to wash. You look like slag, and you smell even worse.”
“Heya Beach!” Jazz waved, and the blue bot waved back, gaily ignoring the medic's rant.
Ahhh, the illustrious missing bot. Cool.
“Hey, my man!” The larger mech gave Jazz a hearty slap on the back. “Hey Ratch, could you check my comms? I still got static.”
Double-woah. He spoke with a strange accent and tone mix of Tommy Chong and Elvis, with a slight metallic rasp.
“It's likely from all the mud jammed in your audio systems, but I will take a look.”
As the blue bot strolled casually further into the room, guided by Ratchet, I couldn't help but admire how damned pretty he was. He moved so fluidly, and his design was extremely cool. He stood maybe five feet shorter than Ratchet, but almost as thick. His paint-job was a near-sky blue, with a bit of white and black to offset it, made it stand out brighter. He had a visor not unlike Jazz's but it had a different shape, more rectangular, smaller... kinda like funky sunglasses, and it glowed a darker blue.
The most noticeable thing about the new mech was that he had absolutely no visible weaponry. Not a gun, no mounted rockets, no cannons. Kind of like Ratchet, except we all knew better about him. Those hidden saws and guns weren't no kids toys. But this guy, shit, he didn't even seem like the type to hide anything, and I'd only known him for five seconds.
BUT, the weirdest thing of all was... he stunk. Seriously. Maybe it was the mud and stuff too, but there was a distinct scent around him that was sort of familiar...
Ratchet turned him around by the shoulder, so his back was to my bed, and... wow, he has a sticker on his ass. A tie-dye style peace sign, about the size of two of my hands. That smell, okay, yeah, I know that smell faaaaaaar too well. At that moment I missed college.
Mikaela saw the sticker the same time I did and pointed at it. I nodded and grinned. I forgot she hadn't met him yet either, what with being stuck beside me for the past few days at the hospital.
Ratchet pushed the poor bot down head-first so he was bent at the 'waist', in a hilariously compromising position with his head practically in Ratchet's crotch. He probably would have gotten him on the table if it wasn't for Prime taking up all the space. The medic popped something open in the back of Beachcomber's head and dug around a little, carefully pulling out some piece of circuitry I'd have to have taken 20 years of tech school to even name.
The mech just took the rough treatment, stood still and calm, but kept talking. “Oh wow, man, are those the girls you told me about?”
Oh fuck, the more he talks the more I expect to see him pull out a mech-sized baggie of green and light up!
Jazz answered, and I tried not to blush just thinking that he'd been going around talking about me and my sister to a buncha noobie aliens. “Oh yeah. This one here's the girl who saved my ass, and now she's stuck with me for life, Mikaela...”
“Hey there pretty lady.” Beachcomber waved a small hand at her upside down. She waved back, as fascinated with him as I was. He had the coolest hands of all the bots, even funkier than Jazz's. Each hand had six fingers, all thick at the knuckles and tapered to almost the width of a human thumb at the ends, and had four joints per finger. Very dexterous, looked like he could probably do a whole hell of a lot of shit with those hands.
Christ woman, you just met him! Think undirty thoughts, think undirty thoughts...
“Stay still.”
“Sorry man.”
Jazz patted my blanket-covered legs next. “And this one's Malena, her older sister, who's also stuck with me for life.”
Yeah, stuck...between my LEGS, my stupid brain exclaimed, causing me to smirk like an idiot. Jazz caught it and grinned back.
Big and Blue didn't wave this time, just grinned brilliantly and made a very cool electronic humming sound.
“There. Now go over there and sit quietly while I figure out what the frag you clogged this up with.” Ratchet ordered, and Beachcomber obeyed without a word of protest, no snark, nothing. Wow. He just walked off a few feet and slid up onto another, smaller table, crossed his funky looking legs in lotus style, and watched us as we all chatted, seemingly content with just chilling out.
Groovy.
*~*~*~
TBC In Part Two
bwah