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For as long as they’ve been around the bots—their appearance never really occurred to Jack as anything more than just them.
Optimus was a towering figure that made the silo rumble ever so slightly with every step. Ratchet’s markings representing the pulse of what Jack could only assume to be a spark, yet still so similar to that of a heart. Bulkhead was a walking momentum of strength. Bumblebee had the colors and speed of a swift scout—light.
And Arcee had a fierceness to her sharp pointed frame, that her size was the last thing Jack saw in her. She made up for her lack of height against the other mechs with her combat skills.
To Jack and the other humans, the bots were simply themselves, with no bounds of standards set on them. They have no clue what type of thing passed for beauty, strength, or intelligence on their bots' own planet. But to the humans, they were merely titans made of metal, and that was that.
So, with no pun intended, color Jack surprised when on the way back to his home after spending their Saturday in base—Arcee and his mindless chatter took a direction into cosmetics.
“Bee’s thinking about adding flames to his alt-mode…”
“Really?”
“Told him it’d be tacky.”
Jack feels a smile creep up on his face behind his helmet.
“Well what about you, Arcee?”
She slows down as they approach Jasper’s city limits. The light in front of them is a bright red. While no one was around, Jack isn’t going to ask Arcee to test the theory on if traffic light cameras were still active or not. As dangerous as she could be, Arcee had a bit of an odd habit in ‘helicopter parenting’ Jack around.
Whether it be a simple check in at his school when she wasn’t busy, sitting outside his classroom window, as if just daring him to try and skip. You do it once and suddenly it becomes a whole thing.
Or, with her constant persistence of a helmet, no matter what speed it was. Arcee would rather them take up a lane than dare to even start her engine if Jack wasn’t properly equipped for the ride.
It was as annoying as it was endearing. Jack shakes the thoughts away as the light turns green, and Arcee finally answers him after a moment to process.
“Orange on blue? Pass.” Arcee says in a way that Jack could just picture her face, mouth twitched upwards in a sarcastic smile.
“No, I mean—you ever think of changing how you look?”
They take a left as the partly empty streets of Jasper zip by them. Arcee hums to herself, vocalizer quieter due to their now more public surroundings.
“Why? Don’t tell me I embarrass you, Jack.”
Jack shakes his head in argument almost immediately, one hand rising from his grip on her handlebars, “No, no! I promise I just—“
“I’m kidding, Jack, I just haven’t ever had time to think about it.” Arcee reassures before adding, “Both hands.”
Her charge complies without a second thought. “But if you did have time..”
At the end of the street, Jack can see the familiar lights of his garage—it seemed his mom was home early—like a welcoming embrace just waiting to be returned. While the Autobot base became somewhat of a second home to the children—there was always a sense of wanting to come home to a warm bed.
Arcee barely misses the curb as she pulls them up his driveway and into his garage. It isn’t until Jack’s hoped off that her mirrors twitch towards him—her alt-mode rocking back and forth on its wheels. Aching to get back on the road and moving. Jack didn’t blame her one bit.
“Pink.” Is what she finally settles on, and before she could hear Jack’s remark, she reserves back out into the street. Her tires leaving marks on the road as she speeds out of there. Jack frowns, wondering if she could be convinced to take him that speed, before his head returns to her response with a dropped jaw.
“Really?!”
He yells to nobody. The indoor garage door leading to the rest of the house creaks open, and June pops her head out with a less than pleased expression.
“I thought keeping a government secret meant you’d learn how to be quiet.” She scolds, before offering space for him to walk. Jack glances back at the road, sighs, and then turns to his mom—taking the offer as he does so.
“You have tomorrow off, right?”
“Yes..why?”
“I have a few errands to run.”
At a certain point, when you’re constantly reminded of the alien threat lurking just above your planet’s atmosphere, Jack feels a nervousness invading his systems that he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. The kind that makes him look over his shoulder, and check his phone twice, and then his shoes to make sure he wouldn’t trip on his laces.
Just in case, y’know?
Since Arcee has been a part of his daily routine, that fear has settled to nothing but background noise. So now, with no one but himself to count on, Jack realizes for a moment how stupid this idea was.
Was he being paranoid? Perhaps. Though in his defense, he’d always been somewhat on edge about every little thing—even when he was younger. The knowledge and experience of an intergalactic war only enhanced that specific quirk.
But Arcee was always there. She made him feel normal despite how abnormal it all was. She towered over him like a titan, but all Jack saw was his friend. A family from another star system. So, sure, going behind her back and promising he was home safe might’ve been a little bit of a misguided decision.
Miko must’ve been rubbing off on him, because here Jack was, standing outside the closest Automobile shop in town—with four heavy paint cans in his grasp.
So he might’ve gotten a little ahead of himself.
How could he not, though? For everything that the bots do for them—everything that Arcee does and puts up with—Jack wanted to do something back. Even if it was something small or ridiculous. Jack doesn’t even know if the paint would even work on Arcee’s frame. Would she even want it? Was this all a matter of him acting before he thinks?
There wasn’t any going back now, however, given the fact that Arcee is currently speeding towards his location. Jack knows this because he’s got his ear pressed into his phone, and she’s all but cursing at him over her own communication line.
“There are three rules, Jack! Three! How hard is it to follow three simple rules?”
“I know, Arcee, I’m sorry—“
“No, you’re not. If you were, I wouldn’t have to be coming to get you right now.”
“I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“You don’t get to pick and choose that, Jack.”
His nerves buzzed through his body like an electric shock. Flowing over him like a sand storm of kicked up dust. It seemed on theme, too, given Jasper’s absence of weather that wasn’t anything other than dust storms.
Another reason why he thought Arcee would appreciate this. She wasn’t one to complain, Jack’s noticed, but he’s seen her lingering stare on her current state. Her paint seemed to be chipping off little by little. Whether that be due to battles or weather, Jack assumes both to be true, but the point was it was bothering her.
And Jack wasn’t about to let that slide.
Before he could retort back, a zipping sound of tires screeching against the asphalt rippled down the street. A second hadn’t even passed before Arcee and her hologram driver appeared around the corner. Jack swallowed the lump in his throat as an awkward smile twitched onto his lips.
When Arcee slowed down in front of him she was silent. Her mirrors glanced to the paint, then to him, then back to the paint.
“Jack.”
“C’mon,” Jack shrugged, waiting for her hologram to dissipate into nothingness before swinging a leg over her leather seat. The paint cans wobbled in his hold. He hadn’t really thought about how he’d get this back to base..
“Hands, Jack, unless you want me telling your mom?” Arcee threatens, but her tone seemed lighter all of a sudden, more teasing than it did angry.
Jack smiled, “Go slow? I-I’m not really in the mood to waste a good paycheck on spilt paint.”
“Better hang on then, kid.” Arcee replied after a moment of hesitation, but because Jack’s squirmed his little human heart right into a place by her spark, she complies. She only jerked them forward to watch Jack freak out before smoothing into a somewhat stable pace. Once they’re out of town, they’ll request a ground-bridge, but in the meantime, the pair enjoy the silence of the slow, Jasper roads.
The base wasn’t quiet. Not anymore, anyway.
Arcee for one was indifferent about it. She was always either out on patrol, or on a scouting mission, or just on a drive to clear her processor. So, whatever happened at base was beyond her control, or her care for that matter.
Especially since the children arrived. Organics had never really been anything of a concern for Arcee. On other organic based planets, the only thing that really bothered her were the overgrown fauna that always got stuck in her gears. However, the three little human charges had a way of sneaking up on their sparks. Arcee’s seen it in her teammates.
The way that—even if they could be reckless, loud, and sometimes borderline annoying—they melted for their companions. Their frames were lighter, their tones less intense, and instead of their conversations always leading back to the their ongoing conflict—they talked. Mindless chatter about everything and yet nothing at all.
For as long as Arcee had known Bulkhead—fought alongside him on multiple occasions, been there for every fellow mech downed in battle, every moment of fear, grief, and uncertainty—she’d never would’ve guessed him to be the poetic type. Song writing from an ex-Wrecker? Who would’ve thought.
It was because of Miko’s constant streaming of music that dragged that part of him out, Arcee believes. He doesn’t let them see any of it, but it’s clearly a hobby that he enjoys. Arcee was grateful that they could finally feel at peace enough to indulge in those small, fleeting moments of serenity.
Ratchet doesn’t seem that on edge anymore. In fact, she’ll turn her helm and catch the split moment of their resident medic asking Raf—a part of the humans that he once complained about—for a second opinion. Arcee wasn’t too sure if he took the kid’s thoughts seriously, or if it was just to make the boy feel included, but whatever it was—Ratchet seemed more youthful nowadays. In his own grumpy sort of way.
Arcee would forever be thankful that Bumblebee now too had someone else to rely and confide in. The children were more than just a thing to protect, but a reminder of what this was all for, and why they fight until their frames threaten to sink into the dirt.
Jack was no different. He was a quiet kid when their whole situation started, but he was just as feisty as Arcee—or so she’s been told. The amount of times she’s jerked him around corners, or jumped down certain hills, just to see the human squirm was uncountable. Jack had a way of getting on her nerves.
No wonder Arcee came to adore the kid so much. He was just like her, and it was like getting a second chance at fixing whatever went wrong with her in the first place. Jack’s safety—all of the children—had been priority one per Optimus Prime’s request. Over time, however, Arcee unfortunately found herself in the position where instead of feeling obligated to be around the kid—she wanted to.
When was the last time she ever deliberately wanted to ‘hang out’ with somebot? Nevertheless a human.
In the back of her processor, she blames Cliff for the lack of walls protecting her spark. He was the one that broke them down in the first place, and now, despite her trying her very best to build them back up—they’d always be weaker than before. She was going soft and it was all Cliff’s fault.
She swears, the moment she sees his aft once she greets him within the embrace of the Allspark, he better hope she’d have lost her fighting touch by then. Otherwise, she’ll kick both of them into the deepest part of the Pits. Possibility be damned.
Arcee didn’t think of Jack as anything more than as a mission at first. Now, she was asking about his school work, his job, and Primus forbid—she asked him about a human television show he was watching at one point. The kid’s eyes had lit up immediately, and hearing him ramble on settled a lingering ache in Arcee’s spark. If only just for a moment.
She cares about the kid. To a point that if it came down to it—she’d happily trade her life for his, even without Prime’s original request of humankind’s safety over all. Arcee couldn’t quite keep Jack at arms length as she once hoped to try.
It was why when her comm’ rang out with his personal device’s number—she immediately thought of the worst to happen. Her worries only intensified when Jack murmured the admittance that he was out. By myself. In the middle of the day. Without anyone else around.
It wasn’t like cons’ patrolled Jasper up and down. They hardly ever came into town unless it was because one of the bot’s signals went off. However, reason avoided Arcee’s processor, because all she could think about was how much danger that could put Jack in if by some twisted turn of fate—there was a con nearby.
She might’ve broken a few of Earth’s traffic laws to get to him. Not that Optimus needs to know. It wasn’t like any of the cameras on their ‘intersections’ worked.
Arcee wouldn’t admit it, but her frame relaxed in almost an instant when she saw Jack shifting from pede to pede on the sidewalk. Her only issue being the newfound luggage he had acquired.
He didn’t, and if he did, Arcee might just have to hang the kid by his feet again—make some of the blood rush back to his processor to get him thinking straight.
When they finally arrived at base through the ground bridge, Arcee’s audials were instantly met with the subtle, yet still blaring noise of music radiating from the children’s little area. Ratchet was at their center console—face plates screwed up in an expression that told Arcee everything she needed to know—whilst Bulkhead and Bumblebee were by the railings, nodding along to Miko’s guitar strumming.
Jack winced on her seat. Arcee pulled them off to the side and let him stumble off her before returning to her root mode.
“Jack!” Raf suddenly shouted, spotting the eldest human from his position on the railing. He was swinging his legs over the bars—laptop balanced in his lap. Arcee was more surprised Ratchet hadn’t told him off yet. He must’ve not have noticed—yet.
The two mechs turned their helms at the boy’s exclamation, a smile breaking out on their dermas. Arcee smirked, nodding her helm in a greeting.
Jack meanwhile, gave a strained wave to Raf while still holding all four paint cans. Balanced on each other in a way that made them sway with every single step.
“Hey, Raf.”
“What took you so long, dude?!” Miko yelled, her last note fading off into the background as she bounced over to the railing. Her momentum didn’t seem to stop, and Bulkhead automatically put a servo out to catch her—just out of habit. Luckily, there was no need for it, as Miko stopped just at the edge of the bar. Her hands gripped it as she jumped up to see Jack below.
“Errands,” he shrugged. Arcee scoffed with amusement lacing her vocalizer, “Alright, come on, Jack.” The fem urged her charge along, much to the confusion of her other teammates and their humans. She didn’t pay them any mind, only giving a small message to Bulkhead and Bee that she’ll be busy for the next few Earth hours.
“Hey, where’ you two going?!” Miko called out, leaning so far over the railing that her balance was off centered. Bulkhead made a wincing sounding whirl, before she eventually stumbled back onto her feet.
“Mind your own business, Miko!” Jack sneered back, but there was an obvious lack of venom in his tone. Arcee smiled to herself as she heard Bulkhead take Miko’s attention back before the two could rile each other up further. While she adored the kids—even if some of their choices were..debatable—this was her and Jack’s time to spend.
Besides, Arcee doesn’t know if she exactly trusts Miko near paint given her..artistic quirk. Especially if that involved her own frame as a canvas.
The walk further into the silo was filled with a comfortable quiet. One Arcee didn’t mind existing in anymore. At some point, it’d be filled with the talkative chatter of a horned mech at her side, but Jack was different in that matter. He enjoyed the silence with her rather than avoid it altogether.
Cliff would’ve liked him, Arcee had summarized deca-cycles ago. Jack had some sense of safety in him, but he would’ve been broken down by Cliff’s own ability to charm his way past that paranoia.
Jack doesn’t fill that hole in her spark, but rather keeps it from being covered up by another metaphorical wall.
It wasn’t until Arcee directed them into a larger, taller area of the silo. If she remembered correctly, the occupants before them used it as a storage area for their vehicles. Ironic, given the Autobots had turned it into a semi-reasonable spar arena. If the dents in the walls were anything to go by. The moment Arcee paused her pedes, Jack immediately dropped the paint as delicately as he could. Huffing for air in a way that made Arcee’s dermas twitched, amused.
“No one told me paint could be that heavy.”
“Gotta’ build your..muscle somehow. Plus, your idea, your responsibility.”
“Ah, c’mon I didn’t even tell you my plan yet!”
“Jack.” Arcee stressed, optics shuttering at him, wondering if he thinks her processor had suddenly short circuited.
The human seems to catch on, sheepishly shuffling from one foot to the other. Jack ducks his head, murmuring something along the lines of ‘you try planning a surprise.’ After a moment of wallowing in his own half-embarrassment, he craned his neck to look up at the fem.
“I just thought about something nice to do for you—y’know, to make up for putting up with me..us.”
Arcee pauses, a frown flickering on her facial plates at the implication of the children thinking themselves along the lines of a burden. Sure, they could be a little loud, and sure, organics in general made the bots a little queasy, but the children were their gross, fleshy creatures.
Even if sometimes Arcee wished them to be more durable so she could throttle Jack for some of his decisions without any lasting consequences. She’ll never forgive him for not turning back during their fight with that eight legged, fem freak.
“Jack,” she starts, kneeling down to be somewhat at his height, despite still towering over him greatly, “If I didn’t want you as a partner, you wouldn’t be my partner, end of story.”
She then gestured to the idle paint cans with an extended digit, “And I definitely wouldn’t be letting this happen.”
Jack’s smile was blindly pure, and Arcee all but wanted to shield it from her optics from
the way her spark practically melted within its chamber. Humans and their massive selection of expressions. Any other face and Arcee would’ve grimaced while turning the other way. Jack was just her exception for her somewhat lingering indifference to the species.
“Now get your paint, and don’t even think about letting it streak.”
Arcee was painfully aware of how young Jack still was with the way he audibly cheered. A small ‘whoop!’ and he was back on the move. Arcee rolled her optics, her vents giving a shudder and push of internal air as she sauntered over to the middle of the room. She remained aware as to not accidentally squish her charge and his sudden burst of excitement.
Even if Arcee does end up looking like a scraplet’s left overs, she’s sure Ratchet wouldn’t mind doing a bit of fix-up cosmetic work on her.
It was when Jack was about to touch the trigger to his pneumatic sprayer, directed at the side of Arcee’s pede when he paused. Arcee had settled down onto the floor sometime before they started—content with watching her charge set up. All the while buzzing with an unseen level of enthusiasm that Arcee doesn’t see on Jack often. He was a lot calmer than the other two—even when regarding Raf—yet even he had his moments, it seemed.
“Will this even stick?” He wonders partly aloud and partly to Arcee herself. The fem didn’t know much about the cosmetic side of their frames. She would be the first in line for an oil bath, but when it came to buffing, polishes, and other fancies—she was completely lost.
She never had time to look at herself and decide she deserved to look as strong as she felt. Until now, it seems, but only because an outside force had finally pushed her to it. Even if there’s the threat of it ending in disaster.
“Only one way to find out, right?” Arcee surmises, shrugging her shoulder plates back to prepare for the long coming Earth hours of sitting still. Jack gives her a nod as his confidence returns, and lays his finger down on the trigger.
Immediately, the sensation was cold, unfamiliar, and Arcee did her best not to jerk away. Though she failed in the last regard—only by a bit—when her pede twitched away from Jack’s hand. The boy gave her a look, uncertainty returning, but one helm jerk from Arcee had him resuming his mission.
Was this a bad idea? Maybe. Arcee doesn’t know much about camouflage, but a pink like this will definitely be a spotlight on the colorless deserts of Jasper. Then again, Bumblebee prances around in a yellow so bright the sun reflects off his hood, so Arcee brushes aside her worry.
“So,” Jack starts after a stretch of comfortable silence filled only with the sound of pressurized air. He’s got a good chunk done by now, but nowhere near done with this side of her leg. “How’s the Darby Salon experience coming along? Five stars?”
Arcee stares at him. Jack’s playful smile falters for a moment before waving his free hand around, “A salon is where humans go to get uh—cared for? Their nails, hair, makeup..”
“Right,” Arcee agrees despite not quite getting what that entails. Jack might do well for what he’s describing, given the messy waves of his dark fur—hair—currently catching Arcee’s eye. She holds a digit back from dragging through the fibers. “I believe the closest comparison would be a bot paying another bot to complete a polishing service.”
Jack hums, urging Arcee to continue as he adjusts his grip on his sprayer.
“Most of the time it was an independent practice. Unless of course, you trusted said bot enough to hold a buffer close to your frame.”
Jack snickers, “You trust me, Arcee?”
“Not with a buffer, but make me look nice, and I’ll think about letting you help reverse a few dents in the future.”
That seemed to kick the kid into overdrive—hah—as he directed his attention back to his task at hand. Arcee glanced over as well as she could, noting the pink color applying well over her normally darker blue. She was more surprised she didn’t need an undercoat for the color, but chalked it up to simply not recognizing how badly her original paint had begun to fade.
There wasn’t much time to focus on one’s self care when you weren’t sure if it’d last. Why waste the energy in looking good when you were just going to get scraped up all over again. Arcee bristles to herself, knowing a certain Con would argue against that statement with their entire spark.
If she thought about it more grimly, a lot of the mechs she’s found—snuffed or alive—always had some flashy designs on their frame. So, maybe it wasn’t a useless hobby entirely, but certainly one she wasn’t prone to indulging in.
Arcee likes her battle scars to a certain degree. The metal against her facial plates—right below her left optic—sat raised with a pre-mature done wielding. She hadn’t even waited till the energon stopped dripping before she cauterized the deep gash. Ratchet had offered to fix it—after reprimanding her for attempting to fix it herself, of course—yet Arcee passed on the offer.
It had first been a reminder of who she failed, and now, it was a reminder of who she continues for.
And, if she were to get optimistic about it, continuing forward often demanded a change.
Having gotten so lost in her own processor, Arcee didn’t even notice the subtle tapping of Jack’s finger on a non-wet paint covered part of her paneling.
“You okay, Arcee?” He asked, brows tight together with worry, “You aren’t having second thoughts, right? Cause I don’t think I can return the paint. The manager said it was a hazard.”
“I’m fine, Jack, keep going.”
“Cool, and it’d be cool if you weren’t too, y’know?”
“I know, kid,” Arcee’s voice box hums a drawn own tune, barely audible to the boy below her.
Jack straightens his posture out, “Good.”
The sensation of paint hitting her frame started to feel less ‘ticklish’ and more calming after a while. The repetitive nature of Jack going over his work made Arcee’s optics shutter for a second longer than normal. Though she was adamant to not fall into any state of recharge—less she wants to accidentally crush her charge if she falls under.
Time passes as it always did; slow and steady. Arcee’s internal clock reminded her of every minute that ticked by. She’s sat through meetings that seemed unending, she’s been imprisoned behind enemy lines more times than she could count, she could handle the silence and patience required by her charge.
It was a nice change, too, to be able to take things slow for once. Their systems weren’t constantly running combat-protocols, anymore. Not with the children around. Arcee couldn’t remember the last time she had just taken a drive simply for the sake of it.
Including ones with a passenger content with her fluctuating speeds.
Jack always had a habit of not recharging—Arcee came to realize very early on. It was one fateful night a month or so ago that he had com'd her with a simple question floating between their radio waves.
‘You free?’
She wouldn’t murmur a word to it to anyone but themselves, but Arcee had started looking forward to those trips in the dead of night. Even if some mech might comment on how she and her human charge should be getting the proper amount of recharge—rather than go zipping down highways without a care for their own health.
Ratchet cares too much that he often looks past reason. Arcee vented a gust of warm air from her intake—optics falling to continue to watch Jack. Who at this point had taken to refilling the tank on his sprayer.
Arcee takes the moment of freedom to admire the color now dawning over her once blue pede. The pink was a tad bit darker than her other accents, but it complimented well against her sharpened exterior armor, much to the fem’s surprise.
It felt as natural as her blue. It felt less like a ‘re-do,’ and more of a ‘touch up.’
Her attention was taken away by her human’s own ‘vent.’ Jack looked up at her expectantly, a proud grin on his face.
“Mind giving me a hand—er, servo?”
If Arcee didn’t feel like she could melt into the sparring room’s floor at the moment, she might’ve teased the boy on his slip up. With no retort she opened both servos up to the boy—advising him quietly to be watchful to not accidentally get pinched—and brought him up towards her helm.
Jack gave the paint a shake, before promptly spritzing a bit onto Arcee’s upper helm. The fem was caught off guard by the sudden chill, frame giving a surprised shiver, which effectively knocked Jack right off his feet—falling flat in her hold.
“Alright, you’re done—“
Though Arcee’s complaints were cut off by the laughter now radiating from her charge. Jack’s eyes were closed, and smile wide as his small statue vibrated. Arcee stared at him, trying to muster any bit of annoyance to linger long enough for Jack to realize, but that battle was swiftly lost when a mimicking smirk fell into her faceplates.
“I’m sorry!” Jack huffed, though his tone showed no signs of genuine remorse given the amused look still plastered on his face, “Are you okay, Arcee?”
“Perfect,” she snarked, optics whirling as she glared down at her partner, “Now get to it, some of us have patrol.”
That was a lie. Arcee had already planned for Bulkhead to take over her shift so her and Jack wouldn’t be interrupted.
But it got the kid moving again, so did it really matter?
At some point throughout their painting mission, Jack had excused himself to bother Miko about her ‘snack stash.’ Although Arcee was ninety percent wasn’t allowed in base, Jack had already scurried off before she could question it. When he returned, he had a piece of candy that Arcee had quickly scanned the moment her optics met it stuck in his mouth.
Though trying to keep a straight face while the boy tried to talk with human candy between his denta was a challenge. Arcee had him stand a good foot back while he refueled. She did not need crumbs near her drying exterior.
By the time Bumblebee comm’d her to alert her that he’d be leaving for patrol—as per Prime’s request that they all stay aware of their teammates departure and arrival—Jack had finished her helm, shoulder-plates, and even her appendages near her backstruts. Jack made a comment on them resembling the doorwings on Bee, following up with a question on if she could choose an aerial alt-mode.
Arcee grimaced at the idea, and shot it down despite Jack’s half-serious disappointment. She liked the agility and speed of her current mode, and while an advantage on the skies did seem enticing, she doesn’t think it’d be exactly inconspicuous for a human child to be picked up by say a jet.
Plus, reframing herself would be a pain in the aft, and one she wouldn’t make Ratchet go through the efforts of.
Anyway,
Their conversations had been brief. Not the awkward, forced chatter that Arcee was succumbed to back on Cybetron when their team was too large to remember a bot’s name. Rather, it was the content, idle talk that made her spark buzz happily within her chassis. A reminder of a normality lost so many vorns ago.
Jack had long since moved to the floor again after Arcee helped him reach the bits he couldn’t reach—slowly but surely, her frame became more pink as time passed. Occasionally, her charge would whistle something beneath his breath, keeping himself focused with the subtlety of music. Arcee was just happy to indulge in her and her human’s wishes for that evening.
She wanted some peace and quiet, and he wanted to do something nice for her. It worked out well in the end, just like partners are supposed to. They fill the gaps missing in each other's plan.
Amongst the floor are scattered, now empty paint cans. A bit of pink pools out of one knocked over container, but as far as she’s concerned—no one will notice the small pop of color in the otherwise dull silo. Raising her servo, she notes her arm’s contrast against the walls around them. All bright and new versus the void colors of metal and rock. She herself has become a beacon it seemed.
Distracted by her own frame, Arcee doesn’t register the sound of Jack shutting off the sprayer; the pressurized air having dulled to mere background noise about halfway through the paint job.
It isn’t until Jack taps her on a dry part of her pede does Arcee remember where she was. She turns her helm to watch Jack gesture at her—wanting her to stand. She nods, and returns him a look that means ‘back up,’ before rising back to her full height.
Jack’s reaction is instantaneous and simple. One word.
“Wow.”
Arcee’s spark feels an uncharacteristic ache, “What?” She demands.
“You look..amazing, ‘Cee! I mean—wow!”
Her systems soothe with relief. Jack’s eyes trail over her frame, admiring how the pink reflects off the florescent lightening above them. Arcee couldn’t wait to see how she’d shine in the sun given her charge’s reaction.
Speaking of Jack, now that she’s got her full attention back on him, she spots the smears of pink covering his hands, face, and the fabric he wore.
“Not sure I’m down for the whole twin partners thing. We already got enough of those,” she chuckles, making Jack pause to check himself, to which he quickly discovers the staining color.
“Ah, man..this better wash out,” he grumbles.
“Better not. We want this to last, right?” Arcee asks, placing a servo on her now pink hip. Jack just gives a defeated smile, “right.”
Jerking her helm towards the direction of where Arcee can distinctly hear guitar strumming—again—she signals Jack to follow. The kid runs in front of her, and while he passes, Arcee manages to ruffle the kid’s hair with a stray digit. Jack squawks, ducking away from her servo as she moves to join him at his—admittedly—slow walking pace.
“They’ll love it,” Jack remarks absently, and Arcee is grateful for the well-timed comment. It wasn’t like it mattered what her teammates thought, but their opinions mattered deeply to her. Though she’d never admit it aloud. “You look amazing.”
Arcee is quiet for a moment; letting the sound of her pedes fill the air around them.
“Thanks, partner.”
Jack nods, “Anytime.”
Arriving in the silo’s main area, Arcee notes the amount of helms in the room. Bulkhead is still over by the railing of the catwalk—conversing absently with Miko, asking questions about her guitar, and offering ideas for a shift in tone. By the ground bridge controls, Raf sits against the railing closest to Ratchet and Optimus. The two older mechs quietly observed whatever it was on the screen.
Arcee takes approximately three steps inside before a voice makes every helm turn her well.
“Holy frag, Arcee!” Miko all but screams, rushing over to the railing as Bulkhead flips around to see what caused such a commotion. “Language, Miko! Who even taught you tha—“
His vocalizer goes silent when Arcee and his optics meet.
“Woah. Look at you.” Bulkhead says, his tone changing from reprimanding to interest. Arcee smiles and gives a small spin for her friend—to which he nods in approval.
“You look amazing!” Miko yelled as if her earlier comment didn’t get her excitement across. Jack beams at Arcee’s side, replying to the fem, “that’s what I said!”
“This is unexpected,” Arcee hears from across the silo, greeting Ratchet and Prime’s optics with a shutter. She takes a moment to let Jack hurry up onto the catwalk and out of the way before walking over. Ratchet continues his words after getting a closer look, inspecting the paint job with a whirl of his optics, “you look nice.” Is what he settles on.
Raf, who had finally turned away from his computer, looked at Arcee and gave her a positive, ‘thumbs up.’ Arcee waved at the youngest human, and was then caught by the shoulder plate by their leader.
Optimus’s face guard had been pulled away, and a rare, barely noticeable smile replaced it. Arcee stared up at him, not hiding the way her EM field radiated a sudden increase in pride and comfort.
“It suits you, Arcee,” Optimus says, servo giving a squeeze on her plating before letting it return to his side.
“Thank you,” she replies, “I had some help,” she turns to Jack, who gives a short, sheepish wave of his hand.
“You deserve something nice. All of you do.” Prime hums, to which Ratchet—who had turned back to the console the second after giving his opinion—gave a grunt of agreement.
On the catwalk, Miko suddenly jumped
up, guitar shaking in her grasp as she picked at the strings, “Bulkhead, you gotta let me paint on you sometime!”
“I don’t know Miko..”
The girl didn’t even seem to be listening now, rambling with her ideas aloud, “Like flames.. or skulls! You’ll look like a real monster-truck!”
Before Arcee could join in her antics to tease at Bulk—Ratchet’s voice caught her and her human charge.
“I hope you didn’t drip any of that anywhere.”
Arcee and Jack’s gazes meet. Her human turns on his heel like the little traitor he was, walking away towards Miko’s still chattering figure.
Oh whatever, she owes him that much. She could handle the Hatchet for an hour or two while she picks paint out of stone.
Besides, she still was the one who took Jack home everyday, so if she accidentally hit a puddle—then they would finally be even.
Hypothetically, of course. Arcee was all about fairness.
Plus, she looks really good in pink. She’ll pick a smaller puddle this time around.