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Red Alert was only a few vorns old himself when he was first introduced to Inferno, fresh off the assembly line and already filled with a certain gung-ho swagger and thirst for excitement that, predictably, had sent Red Alert scrambling the other way. Not because there was anything actually wrong with him, at least nothing immediately obvious (Primus knows what could have occurred in the construction phase), but because he was, well, Inferno. Loud-with-a-capital-L; carrying himself with enough pomp that it warranted the extra emphasis in Red Alert’s mind.
Indoors or outdoors, elevator or stadium; Inferno always spoke at a thundering minimum. It didn’t matter if he was chatting with his other buddies around the station or if he was sitting in the middle of an employee evaluation, he blew out Red Alert’s audials all the same; voice booming with the exact same volume and cadence he used out on the field, barking orders back and forth with other mechs on duty so that he might be heard over screaming sirens and collapsing buildings alike. He stomped around with a weighty rhythm befitting of a mech two size classes above his own, and he slapped mechs on the back with a force twice as great as that, even.
Inferno didn't know quiet, and that drove Red Alert mad.
Worse than that, somehow, was Inferno himself. He was bright and cheerful and always stood so much closer than any of their interactions really necessitated—and Red Alert didn't know how to respond to that. So he decided that he didn't like it. Didn’t like him, and made a point of keeping his distance, sometimes even physically holding out the line of his radio when Inferno laughed a little too loud across the dispatch console.
Back then, it was easier to dislike someone for small, petty reasons. Back then, Red Alert had never thought that he might even come to like Inferno's boisterous laugh, his enormous presence that seemed to not just fill the room but make it swell, his… oddly invasive interest in what Red Alert, of all mechs, was doing, specifically.
Red Alert huffed to himself, letting a flicker of amusement tug the corner of his lips to the side at the thought. Monitors spanned the length of the wall perpendicular to the door, allowing him to keep a thread running in case the door was broken down—unlikely, but he wasn’t being paid to sit around and bet on likelihoods now, was he?—while devoting the majority of his processing power to the vast array of camera angles spread before him like an ill-prepared feast. The haphazard arrangement was purposeful, in his defense, allowing him to track a consistent flow of movement across the loose grid of a pattern, but it could not be called intuitive by any stretch of the imagination.
And yet, he still found excess space in his active memory to reminisce on old memories and daydream about Inferno. More often the latter. Most often the former involving the latter.
Ridiculous.
Sighing, Red Alert cleared some room on his desk with a single swipe of his hand. It was nothing but emptied energon containers, so he didn’t bother with the odd few objects that clattered to the floor. He was better occupied with digging a fresh cube out from his subspace and keeping his optics fixed steadfast on the monitors.
Inferno had fetched him a cube just the other day. Still sealed, if his words were to be trusted. Red Alert would verify that for himself upon seeing the cube. So long as it wasn’t opened, it would retain its fluorescent pink color and lack of particulates.
When he had asked Inferno about why he would bother bringing him energon, the first time anyway, Inferno responded vaguely:
“Aw, Red, ain’t anybot ever treated you nice before?” Inferno rubbed the back of his helm with a sheepish grin, beaming despite Red Alert’s words. “It’s just common decency between friends.”
“Common decency,” Red Alert repeated flatly, peering up at the mech eclipsing his doorway with open suspicion. Eyes flicking between Inferno and the offered ration, he glanced over the energon cube, checked its seal and sniffed it to be sure before gingerly storing it in his desk drawer. Friends? If it was a prank, it was a very well-disguised one. No way he’d be putting it in his subspace pocket before knowing for sure, though. “Well, thank you for bringing the cube. You’re dismissed.”
Inferno smiled even wilder, clapped him on the shoulder—Red Alert bristled, but didn’t say anything—and with a little (big) wave, exited. “Then I’ll catch you later, Red!” And then he stomped his way down the hall, steps receding in volume at a very subtle rate before crashing into the common area and shouting in excited, muffled tandem with the other fire engines.
Inferno did not know quiet, nor, Red Alert suspected, did he know subtle. If this was a prank, this was exceptionally delivered, a skill which Inferno had yet to demonstrate himself as being capable of.
Just in case, Red Alert tracked every one of his movements on the department cameras for the next two decacycles.
Freshly revived from stasis and back on the clock, the first thing Inferno did was… grab him?
“Inferno!” Red Alert hissed, arms pinned and uselessly dangling in place while Inferno swung him back and forth like a pendulum; squeezing him tight and twirling while several other Autobots watched the show. “Put me down!”
He’d been brought online just a few hours preceding Inferno, given the rough brief of what had transpired after the initial crash, and then asked about any other teammates he might want online most immediately now that energon was being secured at a steady rate. And, well, Red Alert didn’t strictly need anyone to accompany him as a Security Director, but when offered the option, he could only point to one person.
Laughing loud enough that it echoed off the walls of the Ark, Inferno just hugged him closer to his chassis. “Aw, let me have this. Please? I missed you, Red.” Stasis wasn’t a conscious enough state for any of them to really feel the effects of powering down for so long, but Red Alert refrained from pointing that out.
Red Alert sighed, a burgeoning sense of relief in his spark altering his judgment enough that he allowed himself the rare chance to relax for a moment. His helm dropped forward, colliding with the edge of Inferno’s chassis. He didn’t smile, not quite, but he certainly wasn’t frowning so hard anymore either. “It’s good to have you back, Inferno.”
Inferno joyfully crushed him a little harder.
Someone cleared their throat, prompting Inferno to finally (with a great deal of showy reluctance) put Red Alert down and turn his attention towards the panel of commanding officers standing awkwardly to the side. He saluted, standing up straight and grinning bright and wide. And, if Red Alert cared to read into it, a little cheeky. “Sirs! Inferno, Search 'n Rescue—ready and reportin’ for duty.”
Inferno's intake was much quicker than Red Alert's had been. Basic information exchanged and briefing completed, the first stop on Inferno’s tour of the base was, of course, Ratchet for a full-frame check up and diagnostics recording as the medic ushered him into the medical bay. His second?
“You been to your office yet, Red?”
“The first thing I did upon being revived was secure my office,” Red Alert harrumphed. “Optimus informed me that Soundwave got into the Ark the very first day they onlined on Earth, and who know what he managed to do while unattended? Allegedly, he was caught and chased out very quickly. But you know just as well as I do how many blind spots Teletraan I has, so really, he could have gotten into anywhere! I still have to set up my own camera system, and then, of course, I need to sweep the entire ship for bugs—and really, I should see Ratchet about those full-frame scans, too. It should be able to spot listening devices with the proper calibration.”
“So security’s the only spot that’s been cleared?”
“Naturally. Though I loathe having left it unattended for so long. Another sweep may be in order.” Red Alert frowned, screwing up the corner of his intake in a grimace. “I also have yet to examine the vents, but I’ve been asked to give Blaster another week while he himself is still in the process of acclimating to Earth.”
“I don’t suppose any of the mini’s are online?” Inferno suggested, walking at a leisurely pace alongside Red Alert. “One of them might be up for the task. I know—say, what’s the yellow bot’s name again? The real young one.”
“Bumblebee.”
“I know Bumblebee is part of the Ops’, ain’t he? One of the main scouts? Crawling ‘round vents is practically in the job description.”
Red Alert stopped, tilting his helm so he could give the nearest vent a considering look. It was far too small for a bot of his size class, but a minibot could very well make the fit. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll have to see if I can convince him to complete a preemptive scan of the premises; Blaster’s cassettes are better suited to detect bugs and potential weak spots in the ship’s ventilation system, but there is no harm in conducting multiple sweeps.”
“It’ll give you some peace of mind,” Inferno agreed easily, the two of them recovering their pace and leaving the vent behind. “Can’t change the fact that Blaster and his cassettes need some time to settle, so might as well find a way to tide yourself over.”
“I don’t know about that,” Red Alert murmured. “Between the utter lack of security protocols present and the full year I must play catch-up on besides, I’m not convinced I’ll get much anything done within the week. Though I will admit that knowing at least one task is partially done will make me feel…nominally more secure, at any rate.” Red Alert pinged the door to his office to open, and entered as Inferno motioned for him to go first.
“That’s the goal.” Inferno entered behind him, stepping a touch further forward to let the automatic doors slide shut. He nodded his helm towards the entryway. “I suppose that’ll be the first order of business? I’m no Grapple, but I figure even I can manage to install a manual latch ‘til he’s online to do it proper. You still got the schematics?”
“That would be excellent. I’ve already forwarded an order ahead to Wheeljack, though I’ll need to inspect the quality, of course…”
From the corner of his optic, Red Alert could see Inferno smiling as he inspected the frame of the automatic door.
“You’re, like, the closest thing he’s got to a friend. Doesn’t it bother you that he doesn’t trust you?” Inferno was seated at a table with several other frontliners, all of them getting energon after another scrap with the Decepticons when the topic had suddenly turned to Red Alert.
“I mean,” Bluestreak continued, “everyone knows that Prowl is super strict about who goes in and out of his office—no thanks to Sunny and Sides, ‘cause they pulled that big prank on Wheeljack awhile back, remember?—but even he lets other officers ping in so he doesn’t have to get up every time. One time he had a really big case, so he couldn’t leave his desk and so I got to run rations for him—oh, it was this whole thing where the lab exploded and everybot had to line up while the base got evacuated, don’t worry about it—and he gave me temporary access to his office. It’s more convenient, you know? I just don’t get why Red Alert doesn’t give you access when you visit him all the time. We always see you waiting outside, and while it’s nice saying hi in the halls and stuff, it’s kind of weird that he makes you wait.”
“What, all this over a door code?” Inferno snorted, engine rumbling with the exasperated grumble. “If anybody could get in all willy-nilly, it wouldn’t be much of a security center, would it? Short of the Prime, no-bot has got the clearance besides him, and for good reason.”
“Making you wait outside his office to be let in is nuts,” Cliffjumper insisted. “No way you’re just…cool with that!”
Inferno shook his head in disbelief. “Am I the one waiting outside, or you guys?” He glanced to the side, double-taking, then broke in a grin.
Caught red-handed, Red Alert could only nod at him sharply as he stepped into the room and headed towards the dispensers.
“Shoot, Red, that you? What’re you doing out and about?” Inferno hastily stood to greet him, bumping the table with his hip and eliciting a number of yelps as the others dove to catch their cubes. Inferno absent-mindedly steadied the table with his hand, kicking his chair in as he crossed over the room in long, delighted strides to catch up with Red Alert. “Don’t think I’ve seen you get energon fresh since Stanix.”
Red Alert winced at the memory. Their department had been stuck on a long-distance call for cycles. It was only because Inferno offered to taste every single cube poured that Red Alert managed to get through the experience (relatively) unscathed, even if he did end up locking himself in his office for a megacycle after the fact.
“Through no bearing of my own, believe me.” Red Alert wrinkled his nose at the array of sealed containers stacked before him, selecting one from the second row back so he could inspect it more closely. The seal was fully intact, though there was a small imperfection that created a crease in the wrapping. A needle slipped beneath the seal’s edge and then resealed could have created the mark. Doubtful. He swapped the cube out anyway. “Grapple and Hoist are working on my commission,” a furtive glance about the room revealed no listeners, but you never could be too sure, “and all but kicked me out. Hoist said he would watch the cameras…”
“…but it’s the threats that got’cha, right?” Inferno chuckled. “Ratchet’s bad, but at least he’s got his hands occupied. It’s ‘Aid and Hoist you gotta watch out for. They got the time to actually go through with their threats.”
Indeed.
“Were there any other option,” Red Alert said gravely, “I would not be here.” It was too exposed. And he hated being away from his monitors. Hoist didn’t have nearly the processing power that he did; what if Hoist missed a vital moment? Assuming he was looking at the monitors at all, and not Grapple—
“Well, ain’t no reason we gotta stick around out here. What say I walk you back to your quarters so you can refuel in peace?”
Red Alert thought on the offer, turning the cube over in his hands. It looked fine. Someone could have gotten a fresh seal for the cube. Anybody could’ve snuck something into the mix before it was dispensed. He glanced back at the table Inferno had abandoned in his haste, his own cube sitting forgotten. Inferno followed his gaze. “Would you be willing to refuel with me?”
“Of course, Red. If you don’t mind company.”
“Not yours,” Red Alert declared, and forced himself to part from the dispenser. Inferno reclaimed his cube, waving goodbye to his friends, and followed after Red Alert with loud, thundering stomps that must have reached the other side of the base with such gusto. When Inferno pulled up alongside him, Red Alert glanced over with a furrow in his brow. It was true that Inferno seemed fine enough with their current arrangement, but the others did have a point. “You don’t want door access?” he finally asked, a nervous edge to his voice that he was sure Inferno must have been able to detect, but had no visible reaction towards. “I…would make an exception for you.” He would. It would be a stupid choice that he’d certainly lose recharge over, but he would.
“Nah,” Inferno said, wide, confident grin ever-present on his face.
Red Alert blinked. “No?” he echoed.
“I don’t mind waiting an extra couple kliks for you to open up the door. ‘Sides, no way I’m gonna make you keep the manual doors unlocked just so I can mosey on in whever I feel like it. Not after we spent all that time installing the thing!” Inferno rumbled good-naturedly. Red Alert glanced more openly over at him, the mech looking straight ahead as he spoke. “Besides, it’s not really about me, right? Open the code to anyone, and there’s always a chance it’ll get out to the wrong person. Short of the Prime and yourself, of course.”
“You are much more clever than you make yourself out to be,” Red Alert groused as he pinged into his own scarcely-used room. Not that he minded.
“Shoot, work with a bot for long enough and you’re bound to pick a few things up.” He winked at Red Alert as he ducked into the space, making himself at home on the larger chair set across from Red Alert’s own seat at the mini table. Red Alert slid the unopened cube over, and Inferno peeled back the tab to take an obliging sip before passing it back. “Clear," he said. Then continued, "The way I see things, Red, you’re the one worried for everyone’s safety when the rest of us can’t be bothered. You don't gotta explain yourself to me.”
“I really don’t understand how or why you’re so…fine with all of this. I'm hardly an easy bot to be around.”
“It ain’t nothing. I'd say that going way back helps, but I think I’d be sweet on you regardless." Red Alert choked on his energon, Inferno reaching over to slap his back without pausing. "You’re a great bot, Red, you’ve gotta give yourself more credit. I’m proud to be your friend; there ain’t a single bot I’d want more looking after my hide.”
“…That phrase does not mean what you think it means.”
In sum, Red Alert mused to himself as he clicked through the monitors spanning the wall of the Autobot Headquarters’s control room, drawing a sip from the cube in his hand without looking away from the display: no. No, he did not see Inferno as a friend.
And one day, he hoped Inferno would stop seeing him as a friend, too.