Sticks my head in Hey guys I promise I still go here, have a thing!
“May I ask,” Ratchet started, in a voice that was not anywhere near polite, “Why are we up this early?”
Wheeljack, who’d been up anyways, cast him an amused look.
Of course, considering the room currently consisted of Prowl, Red Alert (both of whom were rumored to never recharge) and Jazz, (who looked like he was about to vibrate straight out of his seat) the general sleepy air Ratchet had about him was drastically out of place.
Or was, until Optimus finally showed up.
The big mech didn’t bother to announce the meeting or ask for details, just gave a tired wave that everyone knew to interpret as “get started.”
“We have a red-level emergency.” Prowl said without looking up from a datapad. He had four spread out in front of him and one in his hands, which was as good a warning sign as any. “One of our deeper secret agents has been outed. They are enroute with critical intel.”
Without pausing he turned to face Ratchet, answering a question before it could be asked. “We don’t know if he’s been injured.”
That woke both the Prime and the CMO up.
“Frame type?” Ratchet demanded, honing in on Jazz. “How deep undercover? Protocols?”
“We don’t have much information, other than that he was outed publically and has burned all chances of going back.” Prowl continued, with a blatant glare towards Jazz--meaning their TIC hadn’t yet divulged any intel.
Jazz shrugged in response.
“This agent’s pulled out of worse.” He said by way of explanation. “There’s a chance he’ll be able to turn this around. I didn’t wanna ruin his chances.”
Which was conflicting information, to say the least.
“But he’s coming here.” That wasn’t said as a question, but as a statement.
Jazz turned towards his Prime and nodded his affirmation.
“How do you figure your agent could go back if that’s the case?” Prowl demanded. “Seeking sanctuary from the Ark will end any chance he has at staying undercover.”
Jazz didn’t get the chance to respond, but then, the interruption that silenced him was answer enough.
A ‘wap!’ sounded, along with the oddest feeling of compressing air--and suddenly, Skywarp was in the room.
Half the staff were on their pedes before they’d even taken in the seeker’s condition--one wing missing and the other askew, frame littered with blast burns and energon.
“Hey boss.” Skywarp wheezed, throwing a box at Jazz. “Brought a present for ya.”
“Ah shucks mech, it ain’t even my birthday.” Jazz quipped back--right before Skywarp collapsed, optics going dark and legs folding like a chair’s.
Ratchet was already on his pedes cursing before the seeker hit the ground.
xXx
“How did he get past Soundwave.” Prowl grit out.
It was not the first time he’d asked that question, and his irritation had grown exponentially the longer it went unanswered.
“Simply put,” Ratchet interrupted, staggering into the room while rubbing a cloth over his hands, clearing it of the last dregs of their agent's energon. “Skywarp’s mind can’t be read. The way it calculates his warping ability would overwhelm anyone attempting it.”
The medic collapsed into the nearest available chair, taking a moment just to vent before gathering up the best glare he could and sending it towards Jazz.
“A heads up would have been nice. Seeker frames are difficult enough when they don’t have an unstable warp drive involved.”
He got an apologetic shrug.
“How long has Skywarp been undercover?” Red Alert asked, handling this to the best of his ability--which was, admittedly, poor.
(The rest of Command felt for Inferno, knowing he’d have his work cut out for him once they all managed to catch a break.)
“Near the start of the war, right about.” Jazz replied. “He ran into Thundercracker a short while after Vos fell. I had him become buddies to get intel. Then Thundercracker met Starscream, got Starscream to meet Skywarp.” Jazz rolled his wrist in an etc., etc. gesture.
“Once we had a shot at getting a spot on the Air Commanders trine, I told ‘Warp to ride it out as far as they’d let him.”
“I can see how everyone else missed it.” Ratchet said, because he did. “But to be in a trine with Starscream and Thundercracker means sharing crucial processor components.”
Jazz grinned at him, reminded the medic all too well of the damn cat that hung around the base and got smug when someone gave in and got it some cream. “Oh that one was easy--’Warp told ‘em he was a spy. Guess what their reactions were.”
He reached out with a pede, poking at a piece of Ratchet’s thigh. “Go on. Guess!”
Which Ratchet could, because he’d been around Jazz enough to see the gambit. “They thought he was lying.”
“Because Skywarp is stupid, and everyone knows he's stupid.” Wheeljack added, working out the play Jazz had made in his head. “If he acted like he was an Autobot spy who had been turned, the other two wouldn’t believe a word of it.”
“Particularly if he told them after a spectacular fuck up.” The human word rolled easily out of Jazz’s mouth, his love for English peppering his vocabulary. “Like say, missing a critical shot and causing them to lose a big battle?”
“They’d think he’s saving face,” Prowl concluded.
He sounded impressed, albeit begrudgingly.
Jazz learned forward conspirituality, a downright fond look on his face. “That one wasn’t even my idea but he pulled it off beautifully. If he ever washed out of the ‘con, I was planning on pulling him in as a strategist.”
“This leaves us with a few major issues though. The primary one being Thundercracker and Starscream. Surely they’ve figured out by now that he isn’t lying.”
“Not sure on that one, mech. Gonna have to ask ‘Warp when he wakes up.”
“Which won’t be for several hours, at least.” Ratchet warned him.
Warned everyone.
Skywarp had been a mess of injuries, and Ratchet had nearly lost him on the table, all dumb quips between him and Jazz aside.
The seeker was going to be out of commission for the foreseeable future, and it was only sheer dumb luck Ratchet happened to even have the materials around to replace his missing wing.
“New problem.” Red Alert said suddenly, his usual nervous manner abruptly gone.
A key indicator that bad things were happening.
He didn’t even give anyone time to ask. Instead just beamed a live feed to each of their HUDs, alongside a packet of information.
“Starscream and Thundercracker just showed up on our door. They’ve requesting asylum, citing their status as Skywarp’ trinemate.”
He turned to Ratchet, shooting over a second packet. “They’re injured, Ratchet. Badly.”
Borrowing a move from Jazz’s book, Ratchet swore in English.
