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.

Summary: In which Smokescreen meets Evelyn. Set in the far future of the Sparkbearer stories.

Rating: T

Warnings: nada

Author Notes: This one is inspired by the Celtic Thunder song “That’s a Woman,” which is the source of both quotes used. The song involves two singers, each with a drastically different view upon the nature of women.

Even Evelyn wears masks.

So engrossed was Smokescreen in reading the orientation files provided to him by the Fortress command crew that he very nearly trampled Evelyn Hughes underfoot on his way to a debriefing. Only the location-beacon worn by the femme at all times saved her from an untimely demise by way of Cybertronian inattention. Though the jamming devices she wore kept her from constant harassment by the Decepticons, the lack of any bio-electric signals at all was disconcerting at best and dangerous at worst.

His proximity sensors detected the beacon just as she stepped out of a side corridor into his path, and he sidestepped to avoid her, then hesitated as she stopped to peer up at him. He recognized her from the profile provided within the orientation files, as well as from several brief sightings from a distance – she was the only human femme seen regularly in the company of mechs such as Optimus Prime, Jazz, and the infamous Lamborghini Twins.

For all that, she did not seem at all aware that she had just escaped a hazardous situation.

She smiled up at him in that easy, warm manner that he had observed her use with most all Autobots – Sideswipe used the term ‘maternal,’ which made no sense to Smokescreen, and he had even researched it.

“Good morning,” she said in faintly accented Cybertronian. “Smokescreen, am I right?”

“Correct,” he said, returning the smile for courtesy’s sake if nothing else.

“Oh, good. I’m still trying to memorize all the names from the latest personnel transfer. You’re the defensive strategist for Magnus’ group.”

It was not an outright question, but there was a slight twist to the inflection of her words that implied curiosity. He nodded and made to go on his way.

“Are you settling in alright?”

To his surprise, she abandoned her previous path and fell in step beside him.

Consulting his data files on human social etiquette, he slowed his own steps drastically to keep pace. He would be late to the debriefing, but from what he had seen of Fortress Metellus thus far, military protocol was more of a gentle suggestion where Evelyn Meredith Hughes was concerned.

“It has been, ah, I believe you would say ‘a learning experience.’”

“Impossible people in an impossible place doing impossible work,” she replied. At his querying look, she grinned and elaborated, “A quote from one of Swoop’s favorite shows. Have you seen M*A*S*H? ‘The people here are mad, quite mad, all of them. They are impossible people in an impossible place doing impossible work. The only act I can think of that would be madder would be to break them up.’”

Smokescreen pondered this. He found it to be very apt and said as much.

“You should have Ratchet look at that, you know.”

Smokescreen nearly misstepped “Pardon?”

“Your right sensory panel. You haven’t moved it at all. Prowl always…” She hesitated, clearing her throat. “The joint is out of alignment. It must hurt.”

Observant, he thought. “It’s not serious.”

The joint had been damaged on the shuttle ride through the space-bridge – the pilot had not been nearly as skilled as they had been led to believe, and more than one mech had sported dings and scrapes by the time they had landed.

“Don’t let Ratchet hear you say that. About the only thing that ticks him off more than someone yowling about their scratched finish is having someone in pain from an injury that he could fix. Especially if it’s ‘not serious.’”

“I’ll remember that.”

“I’ll be sure to check with him tonight to be sure that you do.”

… was that a threat?

Amused, and not a little impressed, he smiled – genuinely this time.

“Noted.”

“Miss Hughes!”

The shout echoed down the corridor, brusque and impatient and startling. A male with receding black hair and a heavily-built frame stalked toward them, his attention riveted upon Evelyn.

Smokescreen’s job was to notice details, be it the mannerisms of his fellow Autobots or the subtleties of Decepticon movements upon the battlefield. It was because of this that he was immediately aware of the change in the little femme’s demeanor.

She stood taller. Her shoulders squared. The open warmth of her earlier conversation vanished as her optics narrowed and her mouth formed a small, straight line. As though she were about to step into battle herself, she tucked her chin ever-so-slightly and even balanced her weight forward upon the balls of her feet.

The change was so startling that Smokescreen turned his attention to the male, searching for any signs of imminent violence.

“Mr. Sutherland.” The femme’s voice was cool and toneless. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Those damn sportscars! How am I supposed to keep the peace with the local authorities when I have Lamborghinis and Corvettes and God-only-knows-what-else running roughshod all through the tri-state area?”

“Disciplinary measures are a matter for their commanding officers, Mr. Sutherland. You know that. Autobot Jazz will be more than willing to help you, I’m sure.”

“Don’t try to pawn me off on him. He’s just as bad as the rest! And those two… two… Those two hulking monsters you’re always off with! They’re the worst of all!”

“Autobots Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are well-known for their less-than-professional behavior, Mr. Sutherland, as I’m sure you know. I’m also sure that you’re aware that they comprise this outpost’s best stationed warriors in case of Decepticon attack.”

“A pretty way of saying that everyone’s too scared of them to say boo about anything they do!”

“Mr. Sutherland.”

The man subsided, breathing heavily through his nose.

“Mr. Sutherland,” Evelyn repeated, quieter this time, “this is neither the time nor the place for this conversation. If you would like, I will schedule a joint meeting with Autobot Jazz and myself to discuss this matter. Are you free tomorrow morning, perhaps around ten?”

The man nodded mutely.

“Perfect. I’ll contact your offices and have it arranged.”

With a quick, suspicious glance up at Smokescreen, the man muttered something of an agreement and stalked off the way he had come.

By the time Smokescreen returned his attention to Evelyn, the tension had vanished from her frame, and she tilted her head in a Cybertronian shrug and smiled at him.

“I’m sorry to have delayed you, Smokescreen. I hope you won’t have any trouble because of it.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.”

“I’ll see you some other time, then. I hope everything goes well. And if you have any problems, just let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the thought.”

She waved and turned back toward her original errand. Smokescreen watched her go, intrigued.