Chapter Text
Bringing Ricochet in as The Beat’s “manager” was one of the best decisions Jazz had ever made. His brother took to overseeing the financials of the bar like a dynametal duck to a lake. In doing so, he freed Jazz up to focus on his customers and start planning improvements. Jazz had already ordered new benches for the booths, shelves and decor for the inside and was even contemplating getting the facade of the building repainted.
As he’d threatened to do, Ricochet had overhauled the inventory system and Jazz was humble enough to admit that it was better than it had been. Now they actually had a schedule for picking up potions instead of Jazz just going over to Trailbreaker’s shop whenever he ran out. It was much more organized.
In a fortunate twist of events, Barricade had just been let go from his job as a night security guard and Ricochet had suggested that Jazz hire him as one of The Beat’s new bouncers. They would need more than one eventually, but that was a problem for later. The beastformer was all-too-eager to spend more time at his favorite place (near his favorite bot).
Yes, Jazz was the Keeper and he could just throw out troublemakers with a wave of his servo, but he much preferred dissuading trouble before it started and having a few bots stationed as the “unspoken threat” would help with that.
Jazz commandeered the pack’s help for installation when the new plush benches he’d ordered had been delivered. The Beat wasn’t technically open, but the front door was propped open; the delivery mechs had been in and out hauling in the new furniture to the main area. After Jazz had signed the proof of delivery paperwork and the haulers had been sent on their way with a nice tip, the beastformers began the heavy lifting of clearing out the old benches and putting together the new ones.
The pack was having fun; ribbing each other lightly depending on how much difficulty they were having with the bench construction. Prowl was more than proficient, while Skids and Nightbeat were treating the project as a big puzzle. Streetwise and Smokescreen were doing alright, but Bluestreak and Barricade were struggling just a little bit.
Jazz was currently behind the bar, attempting to distract and wrangle Sparky to keep him from “helping” the pack with their project. He felt a sort of skitter down his spinal strut that he knew meant he was being watched. Jazz looked up and noticed a bot lingering in the doorway. The mech was one he’d never seen before; mostly white with red accents, medic’s decals on his shoulder pauldrons and a white chevron. Hopefully he wasn’t a normal cybertronian, Jazz thought frantically as he held the tiny demon out of sight below the counter.
Perhaps sensing Jazz’s attention shifting, Prowl paused and also spotted the stranger. The beastformer gave a subsonic rumble to alert the pack. When they all stopped what they were doing, opticking the unknown mech warily, Jazz felt the need to break the suddenly tense atmosphere.
“‘M sorry, my mech, The Beat is closed righ’ now, but we’ll be open at th’ start o’ th’ dark cycle.” Jazz said cheerfully.
“Oh, I’m not here for a drink right now, but I’ll probably be in for one eventually.” The red and white mech said with a gruff, but pleasant tone. “I just came by to introduce myself to the Keeper. I’m Ratchet, and I’m opening a clinic next door. We’re going to be neighbors. I had my apprentice write you a message about it, he’s better at the diplomatic stuff than I am.” The mech cracked a smile. “I’ve been told I have terrible bedside manner.”
“Oh, yeah I got it. The message, I mean.” Jazz said, relieved. He walked out from behind the bar, finally able to get Sparky settled on his shoulder. The new bot was, apparently, more interesting to the imp than the benches and beastformers. “Though, ya gettin’ th’ space didn’ ‘ave anythin’ t’ do with me. Th’ city probably just thought a clinic was better than a casino.”
Ratchet barked a laugh. “Probably. We haven’t started setting up yet; we’ve just been in to have a look at the building. My apprentice should be along in a moment, he’s locking up for us.”
“Well, it’s nice t’ meet ya.” Jazz said, EMF extending a welcome politely. “I’m Keeper Jazz, but jus’ Jazz is fine. Are ya new t’ Iacon?”
Ratchet’s field met his respectfully. “Yes and no, I lived here a long time ago and took a sabbatical to see what the world was like, but I always knew I’d be back. It’s just been a while.”
Jazz was dying to ask what sort of other-worlder Ratchet was, but he knew that was considered impolite, so he kept his mouth shut.
“Am I correct in assuming that your clinic caters to other-worlders?” Prow asked while the rest of the pack slowly began to construct furniture again while keeping tabs on the conversation.
“I’ll treat anybody that needs it, provided they don’t make trouble.” Ratchets said, with a steely glint in his optic. “That’s why finding an open building inside Neutral Ground was ideal.”
A call of Ratchet’s name from outside distracted the bot for a klik as he looked over. “Ah, here’s my apprentice. First Aid, come introduce yourself to the Keeper.”
Behind Jazz, he heard a sharp in-vent and then Streetwise’s voice whispered, “F-First Aid?”
A smaller, younger, red and white mech, with the red color taking up his main torso and the white on his arms and legs came into view in the doorway. He had both a white blast mask and a blue visor.
“Hello!” He said brightly. “It’s nice… to…” the mech trailed off as he caught sight of something behind Jazz.
Jazz looked over his shoulder and saw that Streetwise had gotten to his pedes. The Polyhexian took a half-step to the side and turned back to the beastformer. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but a blur of movement past him and an elated yell cut him off.
“Streets!”
Streetwise managed to get out a garbled sound of surprise before he was suddenly bowled over by the smaller red and white form of the newest mech. They ended up in a pile on one of the bench cushions on the floor. The mech snuggled his helm under Streetwise’s chin, chirping happily in a way that sounded like laughing. Large triangular audial shells had folded out of the mech’s helm and a big tail made up of layers and layers of fluffy filaments wagged energetically behind him.
In a soft, fragile voice the beastformer croaked out, “...First Aid?”
The red and white mech churred joyfully. “I finally found you!”