Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

Title: Juxtaposition

Summary: Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

Rating: T

Warnings: mild cursing, mild gore

Author Notes: And cue the triumphant music! And here ya’ll thought I was dead. X3

Chapter Thirty-One

Ratchet was not a happy mech.

At least, if the twitching hands and pale, narrowed optics were anything to go by, he certainly was not in the best of moods. Evelyn was abruptly grateful for the imposing row of glowing prison bars that stood between her and the infuriated medic, not to mention the thirty-foot yellow mech whose thigh was currently acting as her backrest. Sunstreaker would stop Ratchet if he tried anything violent, right?

Right?

“What,” demanded the medic, “do you think you’re playing at?”

Jazz lurked in the background, mouth pursed in a way that suggested he was trying really, really hard not to grin a Cheshire grin at the predicament. Inferno merely remained seating, though Evelyn was pretty sure that he was leaning away from the fuming medic, as though those few extra feet of distance would save him from a grisly, Ratchet-induced death.

He won’t kill me, she told herself. He’s a medic. Do no harm.

Cybertronians have a version of the Hippocratic Oath, don’t they?

“I’m not playing at anything,” she replied, aiming for breezy and hitting somewhere more around squeaky. “I’m just keeping Sunstreaker company.”

“In the brig.”

“Well, if he were in the rec room or the washracks, I’d visit him there.”

“Get out of there this instant!”

Evelyn eyed the medic thoughtfully, leaning further back against Sunstreaker’s thigh. On one hand, the CMO sounded remarkably like her Uncle Titus that time he had found her crouched within the chicken coop, trying to catch a baby chick too keep as a pet. On the other hand, this was the first time that Ratchet’s infamous temper had been directed her way, and damn if the guy was not scary as hell.

C’mon, girl. Stick to your guns.

“You know,” she said, voice still marred by that treacherous squeak, “I don’t think I will.”

Stunned silence fell over the room. Inferno looked as though he would overbalance and fall out of his chair at any moment now, and Jazz made a quick sidestep nearer to the door.

“What,” asked Ratchet, sounding remarkably civil, “did you just say?”

Wow. Who’d have thought he could sound even scarier? she thought, trying to breathe around where her heart had taken up residence somewhere in her upper bronchial tubes.

“I,” she said – and now her voice was squeaky and quivering, “am not going to move. I promised Sideswipe I’d stay around Sunstreaker, so as long as Sunstreaker happens to be in the brig…”

“He’s scheduled for half an orn of disciplinary confinement!” snarled the medic. Evelyn’s ears rang from the volume of his voice, and she rubbed at the appendages soothingly.

“Ever heard the term ‘indoor voice,’ Ratchet?” she asked.

“Evelyn!” The medic’s voice warbled strangely as he made an obvious effort to control his volume. He drew a deep draught of air into his cooling systems, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“You… are wasting valuable time that I could be using to repair Sideswipe’s shell,” growled the medic, and Evelyn winced. Sunstreaker, silent up to this point and seemingly content to watch the verbal sparring play out as it would, let out a low growl of his own, and she felt it thrum through his armor and into her body.

She glared. “That’s a low blow, Ratchet.”

“It is an honest fact,” he replied icily.

“Oh, you want to talk facts?” She was the youngest child of three and the youngest cousin of seven; she knew a thing or two about fighting dirty. “How about the fact that you have withheld valuable information, pertinent to my situation, from me not once but twice? Twice that I’m aware of, anyway. How about the fact that you insist on treating me like a mindless child instead of a mature adult? You think I’m childish? Fine. Consider this a tantrum.”

“What?”

“You’ve gone out of your way to help me – well out of your way – and I appreciate that, but Ratchet, what makes you think that never telling me anything about my situation is going to make me feel better? Yes, ignorance is bliss for awhile, but that just makes it even more like a punch in the gut when I do find out what’s going on. Want to guess which is more stressful in the long run?”

The medic gaped.

“And not that I’m condoning his behavior, but Sunstreaker has been in just as bad a situation. I wouldn’t begin to know what a bond is like, but from the way that ya’ll act, it’s got even more of an effect on your systems than hormones or… or instincts or anything like that do with me. And if the only thing that makes it better is being near Sideswipe, then the best thing for me to do is sit right here, isn’t it?”

“I don’t –”

“So the way I look at it,” she continued quickly, “I’m actually doing you a favor. A calm Sunstreaker means a less violent Sunstreaker means less repairs for you to mess with while you’re trying to get Sideswipe’s shell patched together. Right?”

“The same effect can be achieved by leaving him locked in there until the repair work is done,” said the red and white mech, each word enunciated with careful, furious precision.

“Yes, but this is much more humane, don’t you think?” she replied, smiling sweetly.

The medic grumbled incoherently to himself.

Sensing a proverbial chink in the red and white mech’s armor, she added, “C’mon, Ratchet. I never ask for anything. Think of it as an early Christmas present or late birthday or something.”

She blinked at that thought. Cripes, I missed my last birthday. And Christmas.

God, that’s depressing.

The conversation had been effectively derailed.

“What?” asked Ratchet, mood flipping from irritated to bemused.

“I, uh…” Evelyn struggled to regain her mental footing. “Er, Christmas is a holiday. Friends and family give presents to each other to show how much they appreciate one another. Your birthday is when you’re born; once a year, people give you presents on that day, and you have parties and stuff. It’s mostly for kids. They have parties and invite all their friends. Adults use it as an excuse to get together… in my family, anyway.”

“Ya have a lotta days like that?” asked Jazz, intrigued.

“Tons of holidays.” She laughed. “You might want to research it for yourself. I’d probably crash your programming trying to explain most of them. Like Saint Patrick’s Day. Or Halloween.”

Ratchet mouthed ‘Halloween’ with the expression of one who was curious but was not sure they really wanted to know more.

Feeling reckless and a little vindictive, Evelyn added, “People dress up as monsters and go from house to house asking for food, and if people don’t give it to them, they throw chicken eggs –the reproductive cells of a flying animal- at the houses or cover them with toilet paper - long strands of white fabric that break down when wet. People also buy organic tubers and hollow them out so that they can cut faces into them, then put a light inside so that it will scare off evil spirits.”

Ratchet, Jazz, Inferno, and Sunstreaker all stared at her blankly. She held up her hands.

“I’m not kidding,” she said, giggling. “I swear!”

Jazz started to laugh. “I’m tellin’ Prowl!”

“The frag you are!” snarled Ratchet, aiming a fierce swipe at the side of the saboteur’s helmet – which Jazz easily ducked, even half-incapacitated with hilarity. “Jazz!”

“No! Can ya imagine? What was th’ other one, Evy? Sayn Padrick’s?”

“Saint Patrick’s Day. You have to wear green, or people will try and pinch you.” She mimed pinching one of her arms. “And then there’s a big parade, and everyone gets drunk… just for the hell of it, I guess.”

Jazz’s laughter redoubled.

“Stop encouraging him,” growled Ratchet.

“Easter!” cried Evelyn gleefully, nearly choking on her own giggles. “A giant rabbit – a furry animal with long ears and big feet – hops around leaving candy in baskets, and people dye eggs bright colors and then hide them and make kids hunt for them!”

“Evelyn!”

“And best of all, Christmas!” With difficulty, she managed to choke out an explanation, her eyes watering from laughter. “People cut down trees –big, green, organic growths– and put them in their houses… and decorate them with lights and ornaments. A fat man in a red and white suit loads up a sleigh with toys and harnesses eight reindeer… big, horned animals… named Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen… and they fly around the world, and the man enters houses through heating vents, leaving toys beneath the trees. And sometimes there’s a ninth reindeer named Rudolph, but he only goes out when it’s really cloudy so that he can light the way, ‘cause his nose glows!”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” spat Ratchet, raising his voice to be heard over Jazz’s guffaws.

“That’s what makes it great!” retorted Evelyn, wiping her eyes, cheeks aching from the too-broad smile stretched across her face. “And I haven’t even said anything about Valentine’s Day or Hanukah or Fourth of July… and those are just common where I live. There are tons more all around Earth. I’m sure you could find something even stranger than Christmas if you tried.”

“Pardon me if my curiosity is lacking,” replied the medic flatly. His optics narrowed. “Now, are you going to come out of there voluntarily, or will I have to come in and get you myself?”

A non-audible thrum traveled through Sunstreaker’s body and into Evelyn’s chest where she leaned back against his thigh. Evelyn's mood flip-flopped from giddy to irritated in record time.

“Ratchet, I told you. I’ll come out if Sunstreaker does too. It’s not that big a favor to ask! It’s not like I’m going to run in here and rescue him every time he gets in trouble.” She paused, then craned her neck back and around to frown up at the warrior. “I’m not, you know.”

Sunstreaker looked away and did not reply except for a low growl of his systems.

She looked back at the medic. “So?”

“Well, first of all, I’m not the one he assaulted.” Ratchet glanced pointedly at Jazz. “And Prowl is the one who handled disciplinary measures. I don’t know why you’re asking me.”

Oh. That makes sense. She considered Jazz’s amused expression for a long moment.

“Jazz,” she said. “Please?”

The saboteur grinned. “I’ll talk t’ Prowl.”

Evelyn blinked at the swift reply, then laughed. “Have I ever told you just how cool you are, Jazz?”

“Once or twice.”

Ratchet snorted and stalked out of the room.

“I am not trying to be difficult!”

“How would you describe it?” Ratchet glared down at her. “What has prompted this sudden, overwhelming concern for Sunstreaker?”

“Call it a revelation. And stop trying to change the subject!” Evelyn folded her arms across her chest and huffed. The ‘bay was empty except for a pile of miscellaneous parts that the medic was sorting through, trying to find those that would be suitable for use in Sideswipe’s shell. She stood one table removed from Ratchet’s workspace to reduce the chance of ‘accidents.’ “I’d like to spend as much time with Sunstreaker as possible. That’s all. It keeps Sunstreaker calm, keeps repairs out of your ‘bay, gives the officers less to worry about, shuts Sideswipe up for a while, and gives me something to do. How is any of that a bad thing?”

“And the fact that I’m not sure I trust him handling a very small, very frail organic should a stressful situation arise counts for nothing, I’m sure.”

“Since you had no problem assigning him to my ‘socialization’ schedule in the first place, I can only assume you’ve changed your mind because of the tiff with Jazz. In which case, that’s not a valid argument.”

“Oh, really?”

“No, it’s not. I wasn’t with him. He’s said it himself: Sideswipe is all that matters. If it came down to a brawl or Sideswipe’s safety, it would be Sideswipe every time.”

“Pardon my skepticism.”

“Well, what do you want, then?” She frowned up at the medic, noting the too-pale optics and the constant too-loud hum of his systems. “Ratchet, you can’t worry over every little thing like this. It’s not healthy. You’re under enough stress as it is.”

“I was unaware that you had trained as a Cybertronian medic on your planet.”

“Don’t you snark at me, mister,” she retorted. “You should listen to me. Get some R&R.”

The medic’s expression grew more bemused than irritated. “Arr an’ arr?”

“Rest and Relaxation,” she said. “Comes very highly recommended by human medics as a remedy for stress. You should try it.”

“You’re starting to sound like Wheeljack,” he grumbled, turning back to the pile of parts to sift through the mess.

“’Jack’s a smart mech. Look, if it will make you feel better, I’ll stick around Sunstreaker so long as there’s someone else nearby. Happy? Two chaperones for the price of one.”

The medic mulled over that.

“No minibots,” he said at last. “Someone who has a chance of holding their own against him if he loses his temper… at least until help can arrive.”

“… narrowing it down to Jazz or Optimus,” replied Evelyn dryly. “Nice, Ratchet. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a fatalist?”

“Not to my face.” The medic gathered up several parts into a smaller container and turned toward the back room that currently held the remnants of Sideswipe’s shell.

Evelyn hesitated only a moment before hurrying to follow Ratchet along the tabletop. “Excuse me! Could I get a lift?”

The medic spared her only a brief, irritated glance before allowing her to scramble atop his hand. “Are you sure? I thought you didn’t want to see.”

“I’m… curious. Plus Sideswipe is asleep. It bothers him more than me, I think.”

“If you say so.” He remained still long enough to raise her to his shoulder and allow her time to get settled before striding toward the back room once more. “There hasn’t been much work done.”

The sight of the battered, burned, broken pieces atop the berth still shook her more than she would like to admit. Ratchet set the parts bin down near the shell’s feet and began to take out each piece and then move it to certain places about the shell, sometimes comparing it to older, obviously damaged pieces of the same shape. Her perch atop his shoulder allowed her a perfect view of severed wires and dented metal, scorch marks, scraped paint, dried stains… all coming together in a macabre collage that she did not doubt would be making an appearance in her nightmares later on.

“I can’t believe that you can fix this,” she breathed. “What did he do, jump into a trash compactor?”

The medic growled softly. “Assuming he regains access to his unconverted memory banks when we return his spark to his shell, I intend on asking him about that myself.”

“Shampoo and conditioner – not in the same bottle. Two separate things.” She waggled two fingers up at the black and white mech to emphasize her point. “Soap or bodywash. Towels. Clothes… I’m not even going to try and explain human clothing sizes to you, so try and estimate, huh? You guys are good at that.”

“Evy, I think yer overestimatin’ th’ size o’ th’ shuttle’s storage bay,” said the saboteur wryly.

“And food,” said Evelyn. “Chocolate, please and thank you and don’t-come-back-without-it. Any kind of refrigerated meal. ‘Jack should be able to heat that up without trouble, right? Ibuprofen, please.” She rubbed her temples. “Deodorant. Toothpaste. Toothbrush. Do you think you could find a mattress? Nevermind.”

To Evelyn’s surprise, Sunstreaker had sat docilely through her chatting session with Jazz. Well, perhaps ‘docile’ was the wrong word. He had not spoken so much as a word to Jazz, leaving the conversation to Evelyn, and his usual glare was firmly in place, directed at anyone who so much as glanced toward their table, but it was a step up from being confined to his quarters until it was time to go back and be confined to the ‘bay.

It had been four days since her ‘rescue’ mission to the brig. Overall, Sunstreaker was the same as ever: grouchy, suspicious, vain, and violent; but he had taken his increased human-sitting duties with a surprising amount of grace – meaning that no one was maimed or even threatened direly when they explained his new position as Evelyn’s chosen chaperone. Sideswipe, needless to say, was thrilled, and he had even gone so far as to agree to allow Evelyn her conversations with their other friends if she would allow him equal time with his brother.

Mid-October, she mused. Well, probably November by now. Man, I’d kill for one of mom’s green bean casseroles. Or dad’s potato salad.

‘Whatsit?’

Food. Good food. Kind of slimy, though. You probably wouldn’t like it.

She thought of the nutrient cubes awaiting her back in the medbay and resisted the urge to cry.

“Evy?”

Jazz and Sunstreaker were both watching her. Evelyn straightened her shoulders and brushed a hand back through her too long hair.

“Nothing,” she sighed. “Just remembering why I can’t wait to go home. How long do you think you’ll be gone, Jazz?”

“In Earth time? Probably jus’ a few days. No more than a week, sure.”

“I will most definitely be looking forward to seeing you again, along with whatever you manage to scrounge up for me. You’re a saint.”

The mech snickered. “I doubt th’ doc would see it that way.”

“Chocolate, Jazz. Lots and lots of chocolate.”