Fic: Alienated, Chapter 7
Author’s Note: I hope you all find that this chapter was worth the wait. It's massive, and there will be a part 2 hopefully next week.
Disclaimer: I have a mortgage and therefore I cannot, by virtue, own either of these franchises. Bruckheimer and Bellasario have money. I do not. Don’t sue.
Chapter 7
Diego Garcia, NEST Headquarters
Ziva was never one to sleep in. It was just a waste of time, she thought, and that was something she didn’t like to do. Throw in the three-hour time difference, and the Mossad officer found herself awake before the sun was even halfway above the horizon. She went for a six-mile run around the base, then showered and dressed. Ready to go by 0630, Ziva hoped her early start would give her time to explore her new surroundings and more importantly, her new company.
As she wandered around the perimeter of the base, she spied the large black Topkick walking, in his bipedal form, perimeter patrol. What was his name again? Yes, Ironhide.
Ironhide’s scanners indicated the presence of human in his vicinity. Looking down, he saw the dark haired femme from NCIS making her way towards him.
“Ziva David. You’re up early,” he observed.
Ziva came to a halt a good ten feet away from the weapons specialist, unsure how close she could get without endangering her safety. “Yes. I do not require much sleep. You are--,” she paused. “Ironhide, correct?”
Ironhide nodded and gazed back toward the rising sun. Though he had only seen her briefly the day previous, there was something about her demeanor and the way in which she carried herself that intrigued him. She was not just a regular squishy, and he begrudgingly admitted he hoped she would seek him out so he could get to know her. “I have sensors. You can come closer if you want.”
Ziva hesitated. “I do not wish to distract you.”
“You won’t,” he said curtly. Cocking his head to the side, he said, “Do I scare you?”
She hesitated. “You do not frighten me, but I have never seen anything like you before. I suppose it’s just my training. Where I come from, we are taught to be wary if we wish to stay alive.”
Ironhide thought again, and then folded himself down into his Topkick form. “How’s that, Ziva David?”
“It’s just Ziva, Ironhide.” The Mossad officer smiled and stepped closer. Ironhide popped the driver’s side door open for her and she hopped in. Settling into her seat, Ironhide continued his patrol.
“You have questions,” he asked succinctly through the speakers. Ziva marveled that she was, in fact, riding in a sentient alien robot that disguised himself as a truck. Like Ironhide, Ziva felt a draw, a camaraderie of sorts, toward the scarred black mech. It was almost as if they shared the warrior spirit.
“Am I to understand you are the weapons specialist?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly does that involve?”
Ironhide chuckled through his speakers. “What it says. I blow things up. It’s a pretty simple job.”
“And you are your leader’s bodyguard, yes?” she queried, probing the waters of decorum and of his patience.
Ironhide’s chassis bumped with surprise. Not many people on Earth knew that little fact and fewer still accurately picked up on it. This little squishy was good. Though not official in the sense of title, Ironhide was indeed his Prime’s bodyguard. The weapons specialist had sworn to himself to protect Optimus with every last bit of his spark. There was no one more important to the Autobots than Prime, and Ironhide knew should he fall, the rest of the army may fall to pieces with him.
“I am.”
Ziva laughed to herself. Ironhide gave answers like Gibbs: one or two words at a time. “You do not say much, do you?” Ziva observed, matter of factly.
“Not more than I have to,” Ironhide answered.
The two drove in companionable silence for a couple of laps around the base, Ziva enjoying the quiet respite from the normal hustle and bustle of Washington, and Ironhide content to be with a femme squishy he didn’t have to actively stop himself from shooting.
Ironhide was the one to break the silence. “Your accent and syntax is different from that of your comrades, and you spoke a different language when you saw us yesterday. Where are you from on this planet?”
“You are correct. It was Hebrew, and I am from Israel. It is a--,” Ironhide cut her off.
“It’s a country in the Middle East. I have a direct connection to the internet,” he informed her.
Ziva raised her eyebrows. “So, you can look up anything you wish, wherever you are?”
“Yes.”
“That would be very nice,” she remarked.
Ironhide snorted again. “It is and it isn’t. There’s no substitute to learning it first hand.”
It was Ziva’s turn to laugh. “I do not doubt that. Would you like me to continue?”
“Yes.”
“I am an officer with Mossad. We are mainly a counterterrorism agency, though we do other things as well. We are highly trained in infiltration, interrogation and hand to hand combat.”
“Essentially, you’re a warrior.”
“That is a good way of putting it, though it has been much different for me here. When I first arrived in the United States, it was a culture shock. I could not do the things I would have done back home. There are politicians to appease and countless watchhorse groups who would not approve of my tactics.
“Isn’t it ‘watchdog’ and not ‘watchhorse’?” Ironhide asked, trying, with limited success, to keep the laughter out of his voice.
“Horse, dog, what difference does it make? They are both four-legged animals. America is a very strange country,” she half yelled in exasperation.
“Don’t I know that.” Ironhide took a couple of seconds to research Israel, the Middle East and Mossad. Frowning, he said, “Your part of the world is not a peaceful one.”
Ziva looked down at her hands. “No. It is most certainly not. We have not stopped fighting over our country and our land since well before Israel became a state. I imagine it is much like your war.”
“Your struggles are like my own, but for different reasons.” Ironhide was silent again as they continued to patrol, researching her people and history. The more he talked with her, the more Ironhide decided he liked Ziva. She was so unlike every other being he had met on Earth, and it was a welcome change.
“I find it interesting, all this. It sounds to me as if our wars are not so different even though we, as beings, could not be further apart,” Ziva observed.
Ironhide gave a hard scoff. “After all the fighting we’ve done, I think most wars start because of a lust for power and control.”
“Agreed. I often wonder if there will ever be peace in my part of the world, just as you must wonder if there will ever be peace among your species.” Wanting to switch the subject from herself, she asked, “Ironhide, how long has your war been going on?’
“Over nine million years,” he grumbled. “Ratchet, Prime and myself have been present for all of it.”
Ziva’s jaw nearly fell onto the Topkick’s steering wheel. Nine million years?
“How long do you live?” she squeaked.
“Longer that that, obviously.”
Ziva stopped to think. She was sitting in a mechanical being created long before her species had even evolved past the single celled organism stage, since before the solar system of Earth had been created. Ziva could only marvel at the things he had likely seen and the places he had been. It explained a lot: both his wisdom, and his scars.
“I cannot imagine what you think of our brief life cycles in comparison. Our lifetimes must seem like a blink of an eye to you,” she said, her words slightly more accented with her surprise.
“I admit it took some…adjustments. That, and humans are squishy,” the Topkick amended.
Ziva laughed. “Yes, we are squishy, indeed. I am curious, Ironhide. If you are over nine million years old, how old would you be relative to a human lifetime?”
There was silence for a beat as the weapons specialist pondered her query. “I suppose I would be about 45 of your Earth years.”
Ziva blew out a big breath. He wasn’t even halfway to the finish line of his life cycle! “I cannot fathom having as much experience as you in only 45 years. You would be younger than Gibbs.”
Another chuckle came from the speakers. “As you’ve said Ziva, it’s relative.”
“And the rest of you? How old are they?”
Once again Ironhide thought. “Ratchet would be a few years older than me though not by much, Bumblebee would be about Sam’s age, and Optimus would equate to somewhere around your approximate age.”
Ratchet and Bumblebee were about the ages she would have imagined them to be, had they actually been human. But to say she was surprised at that revelation regarding the Big Boss would be an understatement. Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots and calming voice of reason was only, by Cybertronian standards, 32 years old? “Wow. I did not expect that.”
“When at war, the young ones grow up quickly,” he said.
“Too quickly,” Ziva replied quietly. Another pause hung in the air for a few minutes, but neither being seemed to mind too much.
Sensing the conversation was rapidly deteriorating to uncomfortable levels, Ironhide was pleased when he saw his human relief walking toward him. He checked his internal chronometer and confirmed it was indeed 0700, and time for a shift change. Coming to a halt, he opened his door to signal Ziva to exit. Once she was clear, he transformed into his truck mode and spoke with the officer in charge of the patrol group. Satisfied with his information, Ironhide folded himself back down again and invited the Mossad officer back in to the comfort of his air conditioned cab.
Settling herself in the driver’s seat, Ziva instinctively grabbed the steering wheel and tried to put the truck into gear. When the gearshift wouldn’t budge, she stopped instantly, throwing her hands to the ceiling. “I apologize. I forgot you are not,” she paused, unsure how to continue.
“A real truck,” he finished for her, laughter coming from his speakers. “Don’t be concerned. Captain Lennox does it all the time.”
“Ah. I heard you are his guardian, though if he’s here on base all the time, what do you do to keep busy?”
“I shoot things.”
Ziva crossed her arms over her chest as Ironhide began moving again, this time in no particular direction. “What things?”
“Decoy drones.”
“Oh.” She looked around. “Where?”
“We have a target range just beyond that ridge to the south.” Ironhide gauged her startled reaction. “What? Did you think we’d be here without a place to test weapons?”
Ziva smiled like a Cheshire cat. “You. Have a target range? Why was this not the first thing out of your mouth?”
Ironhide scoffed. “You were the one asking all the questions, femme.”
Ziva paused for dramatic effect. “What does the rest of your day look like, Ironhide?”
“I was going to head over to the range as soon as I was off patrol,” he answered.
“Care for a little company? I’ve always liked loud noises in the morning.”
For the first time since landing on Earth, Ironhide gave a genuine smile, the simple act lighting up his currently invisible faceplates and optics. Ziva heard the smug smile in his voice. “Just make sure you stand back.”
A large shadow fell across Ironhide and his alt form. Ziva peeked out the window to see the sparkling flame patterned Peterbilt blocking the sun, his blue optics glowing brightly.
“Ironhide,” the semi stated without preamble.
Ziva opened the door without preamble and hopped out of the vehicle again. Ironhide transformed before he answered his boss. “Yeah, Prime?”
“You know the rules. No target practice before 0800. The humans don’t like that, and don’t think you liked being saran wrapped, either,” Optimus scolded.
Ironhide cursed loudly. No, he’d be happy if he never saw the slagging stuff again in life cycle. One early morning excursion to the target range, and the entirety of the NEST base was ready to offline his cannons and turn them into highly efficient vacuum cleaners. His payback for the explosions that woke the entire human population on site came a few weeks later. While recharging at the Lennox ranch during a viciously rainy night, Ironhide realized he had a slight problem. The barn wasn’t big enough for him to take residence in his robot mode, and he loathed sitting out all night in a torrential downpour. Deciding there was no danger to the Lennox family other than the occasional deer, Ironhide transformed into his alt mode, offlined his nonessential systems, and dropped into recharge.
Ironhide woke the next morning hot, sticky, and very sure he couldn’t move. Running a quick scan, he found he was coated in layers of thin, stretchy polyurethane plastic that stuck to itself. It was everywhere, wrapped in huge circles around him from top to bottom, even coating his wheels. He felt like a very large, very angry cocoon of plastic, especially with all the water and tree debris still in his bed from the storm the night previous. As much as he would have liked to shoot his way out, Ironhide knew he’d just do more damage to himself than good. Thinking his transformation sequence would break the infernal substance, Ironhide tried to switch out of his alt mode. No luck. The stuff was too thick in that much volume. In fact, the weapons specialist counted 337 different layers of plastic coating his body.
Scanning the foreign matter once again, the weapons specialist discovered it was industrial strength and size plastic wrap, most likely from food service. It came in rolls four feet wide and hundreds of feet long, and after consulting YouTube, Ironhide discovered he’d been pranked. Saran wrapping cars was a prank of passage for young people, and apparently his wake up call to the base was met with equal retaliation. Finally waving the figurative white towel, Ironhide had commed Prime to come help him, cursing the rest of the day about ‘fragging moody soldiers’.
There was currently, among the contingent of human soldiers on the NEST base, a bet with an extremely large pool regarding who managed to saran wrap the Autobot Gun Guru. Though it would be nice to claim supreme victory over Ironhide, the soldiers of Diego Garcia wisely valued their lives more than their male pride. No one had any kind of wish to meet the business ends of his cannons, so no one had yet come forward to admit responsibility. Conversely, there was an even bigger pool amongst the Autobots regarding Ratchet’s involvement in the aforementioned little prank. Ironhide still wondered how the culprits managed to get around all his sensor arrays.
Snapping out of his daydream, Ironhide shook his head to clear his processor. No, for the love of Primus he didn’t want that again. “Don’t worry Prime. I’ll wait. I need to show Ziva the rules of the range anyway.”
For his part, Optimus raised an optic ridge but chose not to comment. As the Autobot leader watched Ironhide walk off with Ziva on his shoulder, Prime just shook his head. If the little human femme liked blowing things up as much as Ironhide did, the base was in for a world of hurt. Prime made a mental note to inform Ratchet of any strange incoming injuries and to hide the non-essential wrenches. Though nervous from a standpoint of safety, Optimus was glad Ironhide seemed to have found someone to which he could relate. Smiling subtly, Prime began his rounds of the base to start his day.
Optimus walked smoothly into the recently constructed NEST technology center, housed in the shared tactical hanger. The old base given to the Autobots as a ‘thank you’ from the U.S. Government for saving the world needed more than just a little paint, and Prime was the one mainly inconvenienced from it. Much like a big man in a submarine, Optimus quickly discovered most places on Earth just weren’t constructed for occupancy by alien robots, especially one who was as tall as an Olympic diving platform was high. The other Autobots had less troubles as they were shorter, but Prime constantly found himself cracking the top of his helm and antennae on just about everything as he tried to maneuver the pitifully tight quarters.
New construction to raise the ceiling height of each of the four buildings comprising the NEST base was coming along, but certainly not as quickly as Optimus’ dignity or Ratchet’s temper would have liked. Optimus cringed as he recalled a vehement lecture he had received from the medic the week previous when the Autobot leader had stood up too quickly indoors and put a dent the size of a Smart car in the back of his helmet armor. The ceiling and the supports Prime had nailed had not fared much better. The Autobots had listed projects in order of priority, and the tactical center was the first up for a refit. Since its completion, Prime noted it was nice not to have to duck when he entered the threshold of every single room.
Hearing the familiar sounds of Prime’s steady footfalls, Maggie and Glen both nodded in passive greeting while McGee couldn’t stop his open faced gape. Dropping down to one knee, Prime’s optics darted back and forth at the various computer screens the three were studying. The laptop belonging to the late Petty Officer Mitchell had arrived at NEST during the middle of the previous night, and all three computer geeks had started first thing in the morning at cracking the code.
“Maggie, Glen, Agent McGee, how are things coming this morning?” Prime asked from his position behind the trio of chairs.
“Not too badly so far, Optimus. We’ve managed to figure out how Mitchell partitioned his hard drive and which of those partitions were the most important. It seems that the encryption level goes up with each level of importance,” Maggie stated as she glanced over her shoulder.
“Getting in has been a bitch, though,” Glen said as he readjusted his thick glasses.
McGee’s mouth was still opening and closing as he watched Maggie and Glen talk to Prime. Optimus turned his head to face McGee as Maggie elbowed the NCIS agent to continue where she had left off.
“Ah, I, we’ve managed to get into two of the four partitioned drives. So far, it’s nothing important. Just dates, duty roster applicable to Mitchell and some notes and reminders to pay bills and stuff,” McGee absently answered while he studied Prime as closely as propriety would allow.
“Good. Please inform me when you accessed the system,” Prime finished, his joints hissing as he stood. McGee’s head followed the Autobot leader’s movements all the way out the door, his face alight with a star struck smile of reverence.
“Do you ever get used to that?” McGee asked.
“What, Optimus?” Maggie responded.
“No, the Autobots in general. They’re just-- They’re just so cool!”
“Honestly, McGee, once you get to know them and see their personalities, they become more like people. Yeah, they’re still really tall, made of metal and can crush you with a toe, but they’re individuals,” Maggie said. “But to answer your question, yes, you will get used to them. Just not in the way you think.”
“Hmm.”
Optimus chuckled lightly from down the hall, his sensitive audios picking up the tail end of the conversation. The Autobot leader found himself harboring a growing fondness for the NCIS team, McGee in particular. There was so much earnest curiosity in the young agent, none of which held any malicious intentions whatsoever that Prime couldn’t help but be reminded of himself before the war. After centuries of death and destruction, it was a welcome distraction. The Autobot leader knew cranky, cynical Ratchet shared his sentiments as well. Walking outside, Optimus stopped in the no parking zone directly in front of the hanger doors and folded himself down into his alt mode.
It was still early enough that most of the base was still sleeping or just grabbing some chow before going on duty. Those who were in uniform were coming off shift and ready for some much deserved down time. It was this time of the morning Optimus liked to go for a drive to clear his processor before another long and mentally grueling day. Heading out along the taxiway, Prime beeped his air horn in acknowledgement as he passed Captain Lennox.
“Agent Gibbs! How are you this morning?” Will Lennox asked, waving to the departing Peterbilt as he walked back across the tarmac from his morning jog.
“Be better if I could find some decent coffee. You got any of that around here?” Gibbs asked as he dumped out the sludge from the communal coffee maker in the mess hall on to the ground.
Lennox smiled. “Yeah, that stuff will rot you from the inside out. Follow me. I’ve got a secret stash of the good stuff in my office. I’ll get you a cup, but I want to hit the mess first. I’m famished.”
“Fair enough,” Gibbs said. The two leaders went through the chow line silently. Gibbs grabbed a bagel and cream cheese with his coffee, while Lennox snagged himself something that looked suspiciously like a breakfast burrito if the consumer really squinted. Walking out of the human hanger, Lennox showed Gibbs to his office, located next to Prime’s in the shared building. Will opened his bag of coffee, causing Gibbs to practically drool at the smell. The two human bosses settled into the plush chairs in Lennox’s office and enjoyed a quiet morning meal.
“You know I have to ask, Agent Gibbs,” Lennox started as the coffee began to percolate. “How the hell do you know Optimus Prime?”
Gibbs smiled lightly. “That’s a long story, Captain.” Though highly classified material, the former Gunny figured if Lennox was in charge of this lot, he had clearance to know the Autobots had been here before. Besides, what could it hurt?
Lennox handed him a giant cup of coffee and Gibbs took a welcome gulp. “It’s Will in closed quarters, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Well, it started during Desert Storm when I was still a Gunny…” Gibbs began, recounting his tale of his first meeting with the Autobots. Lennox nearly spit out his coffee at several points in Gibbs’ tale and shuddered at the appropriate times as well. It appeared that Scorponok had not changed his attack strategy in the past seventeen years, and Gibbs’ desire to kill the creature had not waned in any shape or form either.
“Is there anything different about them? The Autobots, I mean,” Lennox asked.
“Not really. Just their outward appearances,” Gibbs responded. “Prime is still calm, Ironhide is still trigger happy, and Ratchet is still grumpy.”
Will let out a laugh and then composing himself, cocked his head slightly to the side. “You knew, didn’t you? When you came here. Did Keller tell you?”
“If any other team had found that shard, you probably wouldn’t know about it, and I would still be in D.C. I pressed Keller for information I knew he had and he confirmed the Autobots were back on Earth. When he sent me and my team here, I was the only one he briefed. But he didn’t tell me who I was going to meet,” Gibbs finished.
Will’s mind drifted, painting a mental picture of Gibbs “pressing” SECDEF Keller for information. “I’ll bet Keller loved that.”
Gibbs shook his head. “John and I go way back. He’s well aware the second ‘B’ in my name stands for ‘Bastard’. But to answer your question, I knew for sure when I saw that semi. Even with different paint, I could tell. Don’t know how, but I could.”
“So, let me get this straight: you saw the glyphs on the shard of the cube you found, and recognized them from where?” Lennox asked.
“Prime might look different than I remember, but he still had the same writing on the sides of his face back when I first met him. Just had to confirm it first.”
“And you had an idea that Keller knew what was going on?” Lennox continued.
Gibbs scoffed. “Nah. It’s just coincidence that Keller’s nephew was with us on patrol,” Gibbs said, draining his coffee and refilling his mug. “But, John got a bug up his ass and decided we’d do well here. Not complaining, but it’s different.”
Will nodded in agreement. “I have to admit, Gibbs, seeing your man DiNozzo pass out was one of the highlights of my week,” Lennox said as he reached into his desk drawer. Pulling out a DVD, he handed it to Gibbs. “I have something for you, courtesy of Optimus. Don’t tell anyone he has a sense of humor, though. The Big Chief claims he has an image to uphold. Just know that the Autobots are all equipped with recording devices. Everything they see, you can see if you download the right information. He told me to give this to you.”
Gibbs took the silver disc. On the DVD was the logo emblazoned on the front of the Peterbilt’s grill and a date. Gibbs noticed it was from yesterday. “Is this what I think it is?”
Leaning back in his chair, Lennox said, “If you’re thinking it’s a video of DiNozzo’s eyes rolling back in his head and passing out cold to the floor, then yes. Just make sure you don’t lose it. The Autobots are visible on it. The quality is remarkable. Puts Blu-ray to shame.”
Though he had positively no clue what Blu-ray was, the NCIS agent was beginning to like the NEST commander more and more by each passing minute. “Captain Lennox, thank you. You have no idea how much this will help me.”
Lennox laughed. “Oh, I have one of my own like DiNozzo, and poor Prime has it worse. Have you met the Minor Twins yet?”
“Nope. Do I want to?”
“Probably not. You’d just want to shoot them. I will admit it’s really funny watching them piss off Ironhide and Ratchet though,” Looking at the clock, Lennox saw it was 0730, and time for him to get moving. Gibbs thought it would be a good idea to go check on his people and Lennox had a war to fight.
“I should go make sure none of my people are blowing up your base.”
“Oh, believe me. That’s been done already. If you’re talking explosion, you’re talking Ironhide.” Will rolled his eyes at the memory of Ironhide’s tantrum over being wet and overruled by none other than his wife.
“Yeah. That’s what worries me. I saw him and Ziva talking this morning,” Gibbs said as he and Lennox both stood.
“Oh, God.” The young Captain’s face visibly paled a couple of shades.
Gibbs walked out of Lennox’s office and toward the oversized hanger door. Following his instincts, he made his way over to the technology center to check on McGee’s progress with Mitchell’s laptop. As he cleared the door, he saw rays of sun dancing off the expensive looking paint job of the red and blue semi currently driving back towards the hanger. Prime revved his engine a couple thousand RPMs as a greeting to Gibbs. In turn, the Gunny raised his coffee cup to the Autobot leader.
Taking a brief moment to run an external scan, Prime’s attention was drawn to the two Autobots approximately fifty yards to his right. Optimus knew, as a commander, certain types of bots were prone to boredom with higher frequency than others. Those soldiers he knew to keep plenty busy, lest the base find themselves victims of all lascivious and lewd pranks said soldiers might dream up.
Namely, Skids and Mudflap.
As Prime returned from his morning drive, he spied both the reddish Trax and bright green Beat talking animatedly amongst themselves as they pointed toward Agent DiNozzo. Narrowing his optics in suspicion, Optimus put his limited reconnaissance training to good use and crept silently up behind his two main troublemakers.
“Hey, bro check it out! Ain’t he one of them dudes from NC, uh, that Navy place?” Mudflap asked as he and his twin watched DiNozzo move through the chow line.
“Yeah, I think so. I heard Epps talking to Lennox about one ‘o them passing out on the floor,” Skids straightened up and fell backwards dramatically to accent his story, “when they saw the old guys.”
“Oh, man! You heard about that, too? Sam and Mikeala told me that the little femme was making fun of one of the guys for doin’ it. Imagine that!” Mudflap snickered.
As the twins dissolved into a fit of giggles, a deep voice from behind and high above their shoulders made both Skids and Mudflap nearly wet their armor. “Old guys?”
Skids and Muflap whirled around as fast as they could, knocking each over in the process. The twins fell to the ground, hitting and kicking as they fought to be the first one back to standing. Both came up holding their noseplates and swearing at one another. It was only millions of years of command that allowed Optimus the ability to not laugh out loud at the fools his soldiers were making of themselves. Clearing his vocalizer, he prepared to be as steady as he could in reprimand.
“I sincerely hope you weren’t referring to Agent Gibbs, you two,” Prime said, deadpanned.
Skids and Mudflap shook their heads so fast Optimus thought their neck servos might fail and snap in pieces. “No. No. That’s not who we were talking about.”
“Then who, if I might ask?”
The twins exchanged worried looks. “We’re gonna, uh, what is it again? Oh yeah! We plead the fifth, Prime. That’s it!” Skids implored, hoping his “brilliant” diversion tactic would work.
Optimus rolled his optics heavenward. “You two have too much time to surf the internet and watch TV. Why don’t you go talk to our new guests? You might learn something from them, Primus forbid.” Optimus grabbed both twins by the shoulder armor and emphatically encouraged them to move toward DiNozzo.
Tony looked up from his breakfast to see Optimus Prime practically dragging two of his soldiers in his general direction. Shoveling down the last of his toast, DiNozzo disposed of his garbage and put the tray in its proper place. He still wasn’t accustomed to the sight of a thirty foot alien robot, and couldn’t help the involuntary squirm in his chair when Prime’s intense gaze locked with his own.
“Special Agent DiNozzo, I’d like to introduce you to two of my finest,” Prime said, emphasizing the word, “soldiers, Skids and Mudflap. You two, this is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo.”
“Hey guys. And it’s just Tony or DiNozzo,” he said as he unconsciously studied both new robots. “Are you guys twins or something?”
Skids and Mudflap both laughed. “Hey! Maybe these guys aren’t so dumb--” Optimus cut Mudflap off with a well placed elbow to the Trax’s shoulder. “Ow. That hurt, boss bot.”
“Forgive them. They haven’t been on Earth long, and as such, have not developed much in the way of respecting customs. Though, I don’t think you two had any manners to begin with,” Prime amended, staring daggers into his twin terrors.
“Yeah, what can you do, right?” Skids said with a little shrug.
Dropping to one knee as he had done with Gibbs, Prime looked at DiNozzo. “Tony, may I ask you a favor?”
DiNozzo shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”
“It has come to my attention Skids and Mudflap have too much time on their hands. I also understand they lack any kind of cultural sensitivity. I was hoping you could help them in that area,” Optimus said. If they didn’t kill each other by the end of the day, Prime would count it as a win.
Tony eyed the big leader skeptically. “What do you want me to do?”
“I understand you have an affinity for pop culture. Teach them Earth traditions, please.”
DiNozzo’s eyes shot back to the twins, both looking pitifully confused. Tony cracked his knuckles and rubbed his hands together. “All right. I can roll with that. DiNozzos never back down from a challenge!”
“I thought it was that DiNozzos do not pass out, Tony.” Tony bit the bottom of his lip, Ziva’s smug voice floating through the air as she and Ironhide strolled by.
“We don’t pass out from drinking, Ziva. I don’t know what a DiNozzo would do if they saw a giant alien robot because it’s never happened before!” Tony hissed back. Turning to Optimus, he said. “We can make this work.”
Skids and Mudflap ignored Tony, focusing instead on Ziva’s words. Laughing jovially, Mudflap said, “That was you! Oh, wow, man. You see all the ol- I mean senior officers, and wham! Down you go!”
“That wasn’t me, it was another NCIS agent. I don’t know where you got your intel, but you need to find better sources, guys. First lesson of Earth: don’t believe everything you hear,” Tony said, bringing both hands up to emphasize his point. “Now, where’s your recreation area. I think we should start there.”
“Does that work for you, bro?” Skids asked.
“Works for me,” Mudflap answered.
“Then lead the way,” DiNozzo instructed. This was going to be one interesting day.