TF (OC): Searchin'
Rating: PG
Series: G1
Summary: This is the back-story for my OC Tracer. Tracer readjusts to life as an Autobot and finds out that gossip runs rife around the Ark and a femme can’t just be friends with a mech. apparently…
Warnings: None really
Disclaimer: As per usual, the good things in life are not mine to have, but belong to someone else... in this case Hasbro, Takara and IDW and anyone else I’ve forgotten… Tracer belongs to me… as do Kicker and Rollback
Feedback makes friends. Flames dealt with by the masters of paranoia and fire, Red Alert and Inferno.
Authors Notes: Smokescreen grows on you after a while… in a completely good way mind you.
Searchin' Part One
Searchin' Part Two
Searchin' Part Three
Searchin' Part Four
Searchin' Part Five
Searchin' Part Six
Searchin' Part Seven
Searchin' Part Eight
Searchin' Part Nine
Searchin' Part Ten
Searchin' Part Eleven
Searchin' Part Twelve
Searchin' Part Thirteen
Searchin' Part Fourteen
Searchin' Part Fifteen
Searchin' Part Sixteen
“They suppressed her memories, removed her access to them, recreated her recognition files and removed her transformation cog. Next time I see a Decepticon, I’m personally sending him to the Matrix! Do they have any idea of the amount of work it takes to sort that out?” Ratchet was ranting. Wheeljack was studiously ignoring him. Inferno was pacing in the corridor (having been kicked out earlier) and Red Alert was conferring with Prowl at the side of the room.
“There.” Ratchet announced before stepping back and wiping his hands on a cloth. Both Red Alert and Prowl looked across at the medic expectantly.
“I’m ready to bring her back online.” Everyone in the room crowded round until Ratchet shooed them back. “Give her a bit of room.” Was his curt order before he initiated the procedure to bring her back online.
Tracer launched herself off the table as soon as her optics onlined and her sensors showed her location. Conflicting memories raced through her processor and she couldn’t make sense of them. Huddled in the corner of the med. bay, she stared at the Autobots, not entirely sure what to make of the situation.
“Tracer?” Prowl stepped forward, Red Alert close by his side. Her optics flicked between them, settling on Red Alert.
“Red?” As soon as she called his name, Red Alert hurried across to her, kneeling down in front of her.
“It’s me Tracer.” He tried to reassure her. Watching her relax slightly, he leant forward and placed a hand on her forearm.
“You’re safe now. Do you know where you are?”
“Ark, Earth.” The reply came sharply, reflexively.
“What do you remember?”
“Everything…” Tracer trailed off, lost in her memories. “It wasn’t my fault.” She whispered.
“No one thought it was.” Ratchet interrupted. “Soundwave hacked your memory files, made you believe you were a Decepticon.”
“They protected me.”
“It was only logical they do that in order for you to fully believe the deception.”
“But…”
“But nothing. I want you to rest and recharge. That sedative can do nasty things to your system, not to mention the work we’ve just put in.”
“But…”
“Ratchet’s right Tracer.” Red Alert stood back up, holding out his hand to help her up. Confused, she allowed him to pull her up. With a comforting arm, he led her out of the med. bay, whispering in her audios.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It would take time, they told her, for her to readjust to her surroundings. To realise that she was an Autobot. The lingering traces of Soundwave’s work were still lodged in her processor, despite numerous attempts to remove them. It was only after Tracer had snapped at Ratchet after the last unsuccessful attempt that it was decided not to try again. Any problems that arose from the remnants could be dealt with if and when they manifested themselves.
The only problems with resuming her duty shifts were the attitudes of one or two Autobots. Cliffjumper in particular was a major problem; taking every opportunity to make some snide remark, normally out of everyone else’s hearing.
“I give up…” She muttered to herself, watching Cliffjumper walk out of the rec. room after delivering yet another barb. “And it’s rude to eavesdrop.” She added to the empty room.
“You would have thought he would have given up after accusing me.” A disembodied cultured voice sounded next to her.
“Mirage, I think he’d even accuse Prime of being a Decepticon if he wanted to.” Tracer didn’t move from her position slouched against the wall, just nodding as Mirage re-materialised.
“I am glad the Decepticons have neither yours or Hound’s sensors. It would render my cloak most ineffective.”
“Heh, means you can’t escape when you and Hound have one of your little spats.” She smirked at the spy before making a hasty exit. As calm and unruffled as Mirage usually was; reminding him of any argument with Hound was not always the wisest idea.
Everyone seemed to be keeping an optic on her since her rescue. Well, technically not everyone, but Red Alert, Inferno, Smokescreen and Hound (and by default Mirage) were always nearby in case of trouble. It looked like she had protection whether she needed it or not.
Although she knew that it was because they cared, a small part of her was outraged at the idea that she needed protecting. She’d fought more than her fair share of Decepticons over the years, and except for two, now three, incidents, she had come out relatively unscathed. That’s why it irked her so much when Cliffjumper insinuated she couldn’t take care of herself. She’d even taken Brawn and Sunstreaker up on their offers of training, in a bid to improve what others saw as her weakness. It hadn’t stopped the comments though.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Communications duty was one of the more tedious of duty shifts to be assigned. Sitting and scanning and listening to all the earthen communication channels was processor straining and often uninteresting. Sideswipe apparently put his time on communications duty to good use by listening to the local radio stations and learning all about prank calls, much to the dismay of the other Autobots. Tracer, like most others (with the exception of Blaster) endured the shift, scanning the channels and noting down anything interesting. Any problems were to be reported straight to the highest ranking officer on shift.
Tracer slouched in her chair, idly flipping through the channels, listening for anything of interest.
~“Gimme your location then…”~
~“We’re about two miles north of…”~ Tracer sat straight up, immediately recognising the static now filtering through the channel. She commed the senior officer on duty.
“Ironhide, we’ve gotta problem.” Within minutes, he was standing behind her, leaning over to examine the data she had found. Determining the location of the last transmission had been fairly easy, the downside was that the transmitter had been moving and she had no way to calculate its speed or trajectory.
“What’s happening?”
“Communication blackout on one frequency.”
“And…?” Communication blackouts seemed to be the norm on this planet, so it wasn’t always anything to worry about.
“It’s Soundwave.”
“You know that how exactly?” Prowl stood in the doorway of the communications room.
“I just do. If you don’t believe me, get Blaster in here, he’ll confirm it.”
“We ain’t disputing ya, but we need to know where this is happening.”
“All I know is the position of the last transmission, I can’t be more accurate than that from here.” Prowl entered the room and stood next to Ironhide.
“Contact Cosmos and have him recon the area.” Tracer nodded, tapping the commands into the keypad in front of her, quickly raising Cosmos and passing along the instruction.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was only a few minutes before Cosmos contacted the Ark to confirm the presence of Decepticons and to give a more accurate location. Tracer slumped back down in her chair, focussing once more on the monitors as the others left to intercept and stop the Decepticons.
“What was all the commotion about?” Tracer looked up, surprised to see someone else in the communications room when they didn’t need to be. She ducked her head again as soon as she saw who it was. So far, she’d managed to successfully avoid everyone who had rescued her (with the notable exception of Inferno, but then it was difficult to avoid Inferno).
“Decepticon activity Trailbreaker.” She muttered. He sat down at the station next to her.
“How you holding up?”
“Could be better. Look, I’m sorry I ran from you back…”
“Don’t be daft. You weren’t exactly yourself. Besides, given our height differences, I think I’d have run too.” Tracer couldn't help but laugh at that.
“Surprised you recognised me.”
“It was only a visor. Doesn’t make that much difference. Anyway, you’re pretty recognisable.” Faltering for an instant, Tracer didn’t quite know what to make of Trailbreaker’s statement.
“Only because I’m shorter than all the Decepticons.” She joked, turning back to the monitor. They spent the rest of her shift in companionable silence and Tracer couldn’t help but be reminded of the times she had spent on shift with Kicker back on Cybertron.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As the days went by, her shifts were increased back to their normal levels; patrols and recon. outnumbering the monitoring shifts. Tracer never thought she would be so glad to get out of the Ark to go on a patrol. Today, she was patrolling with Bumblebee, scouting around the local towns.
“So what’s with you and Trailbreaker?”
“Huh?”
“You’re spending an awful lot of time together.”
“So?” Tracer couldn’t quite understand what the problem was.
“Nothing…” Swerving so she could tap Bumblebee’s bumper with hers, she tried again.
“Come on Bumblebee… it ain’t nothing if you had to mention it…”
“Well you see there’s this bet on…”
“A bet?”
“Well, it’s mostly guesswork really…” Frustrated, Tracer stopped, idling at the kerbside.
“What is guesswork?”
“You and Trailbreaker… you’re an item right?”
“An item?”
“Together… you know, like bonded.” Tracer was sure if she wasn’t in her alt-mode, her jaw would have dropped. As it was, she sagged on her tires.
“I knew it!”
“What?” Evidently, Bumblebee had taken her sinking as an admission of the truth.
“You are together… I mean, I think it’s great…”
“Bumblebee… we are not ‘together’. I hate to spoil all your fun, but he’s a friend.”
“So you never even thought about it?” She could tell Bumblebee was teasing now, though there was an undertone of seriousness.
“I…”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tracer found herself sitting quietly in the rec. room, trying hard to lose herself in the surrounding conversations and failing miserably. Resigned, she let the noise wash over her, staring at the cube of untouched energon on the table in front of her.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Huh?”
“It’s just an expression, don’t worry…” Carly stood next to the table, her hands on her hips, staring up at the Minibot. Tracer watched as Carly easily climbed up and sat opposite her, the chairs on this side of the rec. room being specifically designed for the smaller Autobots.
“What are you doing here?”
“Well hi to you too. Carly laughed. “I met Spike in town and Bumblebee picked us up after his patrol.” Tracer had the sinking feeling she knew where this was going. All the Autobots got on well with the humans who frequented the Ark. Carly had gravitated towards Tracer once she arrived on Earth, keen to learn more about the first female Autobot she’d met. Tracer had provided, with reluctant amusement, as much information as Carly had wanted to know and they had established a tentative friendship. Unfortunately for Tracer, Carly had a tendency to be blunt.
“So what is it with you and Trailbreaker then?” Very blunt.
“You’ve been talking to Bumblebee.”
“Yep. He told me about the little bet the guys have going.”
“I’m sure…”
“Look, it’s nothing to be ashamed of… I mean, he’s ideal from what I can see…” Tracer found it very difficult to not make any comment.
“I mean, tall, dark and handsome. That’s what we girls go for, right?”
“Carly…” Venting a small sigh, Tracer tried to explain what she failed to get across to Bumblebee earlier that day; that she and Trailbreaker were friends, that they enjoyed one another’s company and there was nothing more to it than that.
Unfortunately, the smile on Carly’s face as she jumped down from her chair told Tracer that she’d failed again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
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Part Eighteen