Chapter Text
If you asked Bumblebee- which you should, he was objectively correct about this- solo patrol was one of the worst duties one could be assigned in the Ark. Of course, he was a scout and so it made sense that he was assigned this task more than anyone else (aside from maybe Hound, but that mech loved the feeling of grit beneath his wheels and dust between his plates. Bee would never understand it), but it was boring and lonesome. Spending a couple days out, driving along the outermost reaches of what the Autobots considered their territory (not that they made any claim to the resources within, given they were simply guests on an already occupied planet, but it was territory they could defend easily), ensuring that there was no Decepticon activity, and only breaking radio silence to report area status. Secure. Secure. Secure. His only interaction with headquarters was a repetition of the same word endlessly as he surveyed the area. Boring as slag.
It made him yearn for some sort of enemy activity to report. Sure, he wouldn't be permitted to engage ("Protocol for encountering a threat while on solo patrol is to comm the security officer on duty and remain hidden until you receive further orders," Prowl had told him numerous times- both on Earth and on Cybertron, "if your life is threatened, you are to act in self defense only until you are capable of retreat." It was the same lecture every time, despite the fact that Bee had only broken this particular protocol one time.), but at least it would give him something to tell Red Alert other than "status report: secure."
Internally, he vented a sighed as soil crunched beneath his tires. Patrol was slow going, as well, since his Terran alt mode wasn't designed with off-roading in mind. Patrolling the desert made him wish the Ark had crashed on a higher latitude, icy winter roads be damned. Rolling along, Bumblebee picked up an unknown noise in the distance- subtle, but notable to his well tuned senses. Heavy pedesteps displacing cracked dirt and rocks. A softly echoing grunt and the hiss of exventing through partially clogged filters.
The scout turned up the sensitivity of his horns- their position deep within the shell of his alt mode dampened the vibrations that managed to reach them- and tried to pinpoint the origin of the sounds. He followed the strengthened sensations of the particles in the air displacing for a short distance. Transforming, he ducked behind a boulder and looked beyond the overhang he had been led to. Several meters away, a blue flight frame stood stiffly, the thrusters at the heels of his pedes looking unstable on the uneven ground. His wings were pinned flat against his shoulders, backstrut to Bumblebee as he appeared unaware of the scout. On one wing, an unknown fluid ran down the length, glimmering in the light like in a shimmering river. Among the blue of his paint job, it was hard to tell what lines had been severed. The wing shifted in a jerky motion, a jagged crack in the plating making itself visible as it did.
As the armor flexed, that same grunt and wheezing vent made it's way to him again, the pained sound loud in his audials even at this distance. It would have been easy to fall back and make his report to Red Alert. He should have done that the moment he laid eyes on this mech. It was protocol for him to do so, regardless of the circumstances. However, there was something about the sight of the wounded Decepticon that made his spark ache.
There hadn't been any battle between their factions in the past couple weeks. An injury such as that should have began healing on its own in that time, not to mention the medics that his faction certainly had- though they didn't hold a torch to Ratchet's expertise- could have had it welded, smoothed, and repainted the day it had happened. It left a few possible causes for the damage, none of which he was pleased to think about.
So, instead of sending the comm required of him by protocol, he carefully descended down the overhang and prepared himself to get Thundercracker's attention.
"—hurt—?" He said, speakers projecting into the silence between them. At the sound, Thundercracker whirled around, gasping as metal creaked, aiming his shoulder mounted weapons in the direction of the sound with a grimace. The silence yawned like a chasm between them as he listened to the seeker's shallow, stuttering vents. Bumblebee frowned. Then tried again. "—you—hurt—?—Need Help?"
The gun pointed at him wavered slightly, though Bee couldn't be sure if it was a result of his words or the pain Thundercracker was in. Crimson optics blinked, staring at him as though his helm had cybugs crawling from beneath the plates.
"I'm a Decepticon," the seeker replied, voice a quiet, sonorous rumble, "your enemy?" He said it as if Bumblebee were unaware of the vibrant purple decals on his wings. The confusion in his voice was almost amusing in the moment.
"—not—enemy—" the scout said, using Thundercracker's own voice in his reply, "—Need Help—let me—look—?"
Sincerity was hard to convey when one was doomed only to echo what they had heard, as Bumblebee had learned quite well since he had awoken on this alien world. Losing his voice to the ravages of time- to a wound that had continued to fester as he rested in forced stasis- typically didn't bother the Autobot. He saved his frustration with the situation for times like this, when he wanted nothing more than to do what was right.
The seeker's optics flickered for a moment, then he nodded once. Lowering his arms- and thus the gun attached to them, he allowed the Autobot to approach on careful pedes. Standing at arms length from the larger mech, Bumblebee motioned for him to turn around. Thundercracker furrowed his optic ridge, tensing even further- if that was even possible. Well, he couldn't be too annoyed with that, it wasn't like the scout would be particularly willing to expose his backstrut to a Decepticon himself.
Huffing, Bumblebee took three steps around him, then paused and took three more to get a look at his wings. Finally, Thundercracker reluctantly turned until his backstrut faced the little yellow saboteur, plating visibly crawling in discomfort as he did.
As close as he now was, he could tell that the shimmering fluid wasn't Energon. Good. Bumblebee didn't know much about the schematics of a seeker frame, but he knew that their wings were much like an organic bird's: delicate with complex structures within. Hound had once told him that a bird with a broken pinfeather could bleed out in minutes if untreated. It made a being so fragile, to be built for flight. If a seeker's wings contained vital fuel lines, Bumblebee was certain that a break could have the same effect. He was fairly certain that the Decepticon didn't want to fall into stasis alone in enemy territory, either.
Still, there wasn't much else he could tell while the injury was too high for him to easily examine.
"—sit—please—?" He expected to have to convince the mech to again, but was instead relieved to hear a grunt and hiss as Thundercracker obliged, settling onto his knees before him. Gently, Bumblebee placed a servo on the unbroken plating near the crack. Pressing down to get a better look at the vulnerable inner workings, he saw the culprit of the fluid leak.
Just beneath the armor plating it seemed that seekers had a complex web of cables and tubing. What looked to be a coolant line- though the fluid didn't quite appear to be for cooling- had ruptured when Thundercracker took whatever damage he had. He took a moment longer to look at it, then decided to leave the internals alone. Hose clamps and sealing tape were part of the standard kit that Ratchet made everyone carry, but- given the tidy lattice of nanites patching the wound- they wouldn't be needed here. Instead Bumblebee sighed- the closest he could get to humming in consideration without a vocalizer, then sent Thundercracker a proximity ping with his comm frequency attached. With a moment's hesitation, the seeker accepted it.
::I have a welding torch in my subspace,:: he sent to his newest contact in warning, ::I'm pulling it out now.::
The seeker scoffed. ::Right. Not like I'm in a position to do anything if you pull something else out,:: he replied after a long period of typing.
::I mean, you have the size advantage,:: Bumblebee pointed out, ::and I'm not deaf. I just don't have a vocalizer. You can continue to talk.:: Portable torch in servo and sterile paneling at the ready, the Autobot reconsidered his words, ::Actually, I'd like if you did. Can't have you squirming around while I try to patch you up.::
"Oh," Thundercracker said, voice crackling a little as the torch fired up, "um, talk about what, exactly?"
::Anything. How'd this happen?::
"Training accident," he answered quickly. Standing so close to him, Bumblebee still couldn't make much out of the larger mech's EM field. When he carefully ghosted a servo over the plating, however, the scout caught the barest hint of unease bleed through. Not a very good liar, Bumblebee decided.
::A training accident that left you in Autobot territory,:: Bumblebee noted. ::You sure that sounds right?::
"It's none of your business anyway," Thundercracker snapped, sending them into a silence lasting minutes- broken only by the crackle of welding and a couple whimpers from the scout's unlikely patient. Hitting a particularly tender spot caused the seeker to yelp and jolt, wings shifting to throw off the source of the pain.
::Sorry!::
"Just stop and run back to your base," Thundercracker hissed, wings drawn up high and body twisted away from the yellow Autobot, "or shoot me or anything else."
::No,:: Bumblebee huffed, ::a half finished weld is worse than no weld at all.:: It was something Ratchet was constantly yelling about. A great many mecha tried to leave his work half completed which, according to their docbot, was just inviting rust infection and permanently warped plating growth. Such complications, he reminded them, hindered transformation and could only be properly treated with full replacements of the damaged armor.
::Please let me finish. I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing that somebot is out here with half-afted welds. Alone,:: Bumblebee asked. Then he deployed his secret weapon- the one that few mecha could ever dismiss- and looked at the 'con with his big, round optics.
The seeker held his gaze with steely stoicism for all of two seconds before his optic ridges tilted up and he grimaced. "Fine," he sighed, "just get it over with."
Comming a quick thanks, Bumblebee set back to work on the long crack in the wing, doing his best to be gentle on the delicate structure. In the silence, he caught the hitch in Thundercracker's vents- the pained twitching of his plating under unfamiliar servos. ::So, what do you like to do in your free time?::
"Huh?"
::Y'know, what you do when you're not shooting at my friends and flying circles around our heads.::
"That's more of something 'Warp does," the flier pointed out curtly. He hummed in consideration. "I read, sometimes I watch holovids. Nothing interesting."
::What kind do you like?::
"Like I said," Thundercrackers said, a tinge of wariness coloring the monotone of his bassy voice, "nothing interesting."
::I'll try guessing then,:: Bumblebee commed, sticking his glossa out as he focused on the more important of his two tasks, ::I bet you like those old action holos, the ones where a big strong mech solves all his problems with his fists. And explosives. And guns.::
Those action holos were the type that only got picked if Brawn or Windcharger were in charge of picking one for Minibot Movie Night. That, or they would choose a human film of the same genre. It seemed that a love of thrilling events and big explosions were another piece of common ground between their species.
The seeker snorted. "If that's your bet, you'd be losing your shanix, Autobot. Besides, you're not giving them enough credit. It's not like it's all plating and no processor. Just….mostly plating. Some of them are quite clever, sometimes."
::Sounds like you've seen a lot of them, then.::
"No, not really. A few here and there. I watch them with Skywarp since he likes them."
::And you don't.::
"Not what I said," he grunted, "they're fine. Just not what I'd watch by myself."
Bumblebee continued his guesses from there, trying all of the holovids and datapads he knew. Thundercracker was at least familiar with each of them, if he hadn't actually read or watched them himself. By the time the weld was patched, Bumblebee was left with one final hail Solus guess.
::What about those Golden Era drama series? Like Under Hadeen's Rays.:: At least that's what he thought the show was called, that was what Bluestreak had thought it was called when he had yammered about it. Bumblebee had never seen it, but he'd been on the lookout for a copy of the files back on Cybertron. The chatty praxian's half remembered synopsis had sounded interesting.
"Ah," Thundercracker said, uninjured wing twitching down, aileron flicking back, "they're… alright." It was the least he'd said about any of Bee's guesses thus far. The scout grinned like a predacon.
::So, that's what you like.::
"Shut up," the Decepticon growled, field bleeding out once more for just a moment in a wave of embarrassment before being desperately pulled back against his frame. The wing Bumblebee was working on hitched up and away from his servos.
::What do you like about them?:: He asked, trying to lace the glyphs with as much genuine interest as could be conveyed through standard type.
"I don't."
::But if you did like them?::
The seeker said nothing, but hesitation trickled through the plating that Bumblebee rested his hand upon. "The characters. The way they interact. Their struggles. Triumphs. It's easy to get lost in, and it's easier than dealing with any of that in the real world," Thundercracker finally said, then added hastily, "if I liked them."
::If you liked them.:: Bumblebee sighed in consideration of the larger mech's words, ::Ever watched human television?::
"No."
::You might enjoy it.::
"Is that so," those wings flicked again. Bumblebee's curiosity about the body language of winged mecha grew.
::Yeah, humans seem to like that sort of thing just as much as we do,:: Bumblebee commed with a smile. ::You'd be surprised how similar As the Kitchen Sinks is to Primal Nights.::
Well, some mecha might be surprised that human media had such similar stories to their own, but that would only be if they hadn't been collectors of all those unloved 'disposable' holovids like Bumblebee was back on Cybertron. If a mech knew both shows then obviously they would see that Bob naming Katy his heir was just like-
"You know Primal Nights?" The seeker asked, interrupting Bee's train of thought. "That was bottom of the barrel when it was made."
::You can't say it's not entertaining trash, though,:: he defended, though calling any story trash didn't sit right with him.
"No, you certainly can't," Thundercracker said, with a huff of laughter- it was a warm sound, unlike what Bee had heard from any seeker on the battlefield, "shame it was never finished. Guess the studio couldn't have been expected to rise from the scrap heap after the Occupation, just to work on some low budget schlock-fest. Even if it had potential." Stilling again, the 'con hummed thoughtfully, "If you can find the 'pads, the Newbuilds of Polyhex novels had similar plot points. With the succession crisis and partnership-drama? The writing handled those much better than Primal Nights. More depth. If you enjoy reading, of course."
The way Thundercracker spoke of the novels was so familiar that Bumblebee couldn't help the genuine grin that found it's way onto his faceplate. Because he had recommended media with the very same caveats. Most mecha didn't seem to enjoy reading very much, especially the soldiers who had survived this long. After all, what was the point when you could just watch it? Wasn't that more entertaining? It certainly took less time. Many such conversations.
But Thundercracker… well, he seemed to get it. The joy of losing oneself in a story, conjuring images out of the words and holding the horrible reality at bay.
It was strange, the autobot realized in a sort of detached way, sitting in the desert with his enemy, checking over his welding while sharing recommendations. It didn't feel wrong, though. No, actually if he ignored the Autobrand on his own chassis and the insignia emblazoned on the other mech's wings (easy to do while looking over the dorsal plating of said wings), then nothing had felt more right in a long time.
They continued to chat, even after Bumblebee had finished checking that the welds would hold. Even enraptured in the conversation with his new potential friend, Bee took note of the tension leaving Thundercracker's struts. The scout wasn't the only one who could feel how much they clicked.
For a while, it was like the war had ceased to exist. All there was was Bumblebee and Thundercracker and the alien desert that staged their meeting- seemingly devoid of animate life among the mineral rich soil. Bumblebee could have talked for hours.
Actually, looking at the position of Sol as it crept toward the horizon, it seemed that he had. He looked over at his unlikely new friend, and saw that he, too, was now aware of how long he'd been there. Thundercracker's pauldrons rolled and he sighed, closing his optics. After a moment, they opened. For the first time, Bumblebee could see how tired those optics were. How tired Thundercracker was.
"Go back to your base, autobot," he commanded, a hint of reluctance in his tone, "I've commed for an escort to take me back to Decepticon territory."
Bumblebee was torn for a moment. He'd called for other Decepticons? This seeker had ordered one of his allies into Autobot territory? Maybe it had been a trap the whole time and Bee had been the unwitting fool. It wouldn't be the first time.
But then Thundercracker stood and turned to look at him, a small- but genuine and timidly sweet- smile pulling at his derma. Bumblebee returned it, nodding as he transformed and drove away.
The scout's comm pinged when he was a good distance away and heard the fading roar of jet engines.
::Thank you, Bumblebee,:: it read, followed by ::I'll see if I can watch As the Kitchen Sinks, tell you what I think.::
If he could grin in alt mode, then Bumblebee would look like the happiest Beetle on earth. Something about the promise of continued conversation with the Decepticon seeker made him want to drive donuts in the sand. The thought of maybe being able to meet him again as simply two mecha, rather than enemy combatants, made him do just that, letting off a joyous honk as he did.
He sent off a comm of his own, though to a very different recipient. A comm he'd been putting off for well over four joor at this point.
::Status Report: Secure. Bumblebee returning to HQ.::